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    • A Day in Athens

      “A Greek is alive to the fingertips; he oozes vitality, he’s effervescent, he’s ubiquitous in spirit. The Englishman is lymphatic, made for the armchair, the fireside, the dingy taverns, the didactic treadmill.” — Henry Miller, The Colossus of Maroussi

      Athens is named after Athena, the ancient goddess of wisdom, and the Parthenon is dedicated to Athena, so one surely must make a pilgrimage to the Acropolis and the Parthenon when one is in Athens. And so it was that I joined thousands of people climbing the stairs to visit these ancient sites. But a day in Athens ought to include more than a visit to a few touristy places.

      A bit of traffic, a healthy portion of delicious Greek food and wine, a few Olympic sites, and mostly, some time with the lovely Greeks is essential for one to know the place. Athens, and Greece as a whole, is an easy place to fall in love with. So too the people. Highly energetic and passionate, Greeks exude the spirit of carpe diem. One must follow their example and seize the day oneself.

      The history buff in me appreciates the historic sites. The stoic in me appreciates the sense of place. The artist, the beauty. It’s surely overcrowded and a bit crazy, but timelessly lovely just the same. To ooze vitality, to be fully alive, this is the Greek way. To experience it was extraordinary, to return is essential.

    • Santorini—Calliste (the Most Beautiful)

      There’s an ancient myth that Santorini was formed when the frisky son of Poseidon, Euphemus, got the daughter of Triton pregnant. Knowing her father would be angry she told Euphemus to collect a lump of soil from the island Anaphe and to throw it in the sea to make another island that she could hide on to give birth to their child. Euphemus named this island Calliste (“he most beautiful island”), and we now call it Santorini. One could easily stick with the original name, for Calliste surely still fits.

      Today Santorini is a tourist destination known for whitewashed buildings, black sand beaches, blue-domed churches and magnificent sunsets. This naturally brings crowds, traffic and worst of all, Instagram poser types. But the place is worth the effort to get there. If you go, it’s best to linger awhile, so book a stay. The people are lovely and gracious, and incredibly, tolerate the crush of tourists quite well.

    • Meeting Marcus Aurelius

      “Does the light of a lamp shine and keep its glow until its fuel is spent? Why shouldn’t your truth, justice, and self-control shine until you are extinguished?” — Marcus Aurelius, Meditations

      I met an old friend in Rome over the weekend. First in his (replica but still impressive) statue at the Palazzo dei Conservatoriin in Rome, then the next day on a walk through the Vatican. Marcus Aurelius was a big deal back in the day. Many of us feel he still is. To encounter statues of him isn’t surprising, but it was surprisingly thrilling. It was like seeing a celebrity out in public—you know they’re just people but you’re still just a wee bit starstruck. So it was for me with Marcus Aurelius.

      The thing is, I view Marcus Aurelius as a kindred spirit of sorts, and not just an ancient mentor. We share the same birthday, so I’m often receptive to what the Emperor has to say. so to go to Rome and not seek him out seemed inappropriate, if not ungrateful. The statue on the Palazzo dei Conservatoriin was an obvious choice, as was a visit to the museum to see the original (not in the cards this trip), but stumbling upon him at the Vatican was a bonus.

      Meditations was Marcus Aurelius’s diary, becoming public after his death. It’s foundational work in Stoicism, and the work that resonates most with me. So meeting a few days after our respective birthday seemed appropriate. Perhaps we’ll meet again one day, but as the Emperor would say, there are no guarantees in this lifetime. But we may shine bright today.

    • To Go to Rome

      You hear a lot about Rome from those who have been there. Nearly all agree it’s a crowded place, too full of tourists and the aggressive hawkers and pickpockets who prey on them. Rome is complicated: like all cities it’s got its share of beautiful and ugliness all right there waiting for you. The layers of history are undeniably present all around, impressing on you that you are simply just one more soul passing through this place.

      And yet we pass through. Rome would be nothing but ruins were it not for the masses of people who live here and visit in such startlingly large numbers. To visit is to feel a part of the hive of humanity. Personal space is ridiculously impossible to find when you seek out the places everyone must go to. Yet we still go, feeling the call, or perhaps simply a fear of missing out.

      If Vienna waits for you, so too does Paris and Istanbul and Amsterdam and Barcelona and yes, Rome. The great cities of Europe aren’t simply waiting for us to grace them with our presence. They’re doing just fine without us, and yet they welcome us when we finally do arrive. I know that every picture or observation I make about Rome has likely already been taken or made, to be repeated again by the soul to follow me. Yet I feel compelled to share them anyway, for having been there.

      To go to Rome is to see what all the fuss is about, and to perpetuate that fuss for those who will follow one day themselves. Rome may not be the center of the universe as it once aspired to be, but it remains an integral part of our imagination. Having been, I want to believe I’ll return again one day. That, I think, is when you know a place has you in its grip. And surely, it has me.

      The Pantheon and lots of company
      Build it and they will come

    • Historical Memory

      “History is written by the victors and framed according to the prejudices and bias existing on their side.” — George Graham Vest

      History writes itself as humans progress generation-to-generation, but that’s no guarantee of it being remembered. For, as Vest, a Confederate Senator who managed to retain power after the American Civil War pointed out, our written history is only remembered when subsequent generations choose to remember it. How many billions of souls are nothing more than a footprint? How many heroic figures would have been portrayed as villains had the other side won?

      The point was hammered home for me on a visit to the Colosseum in Rome. The Colosseum affirms history—for who doesn’t know of the Colosseum?—while also emphasizing that remembering or saving anything from one generation is at the mercy of those who follow in the next. Whole sections of the Colosseum were removed and recycled into other things, which themselves may have been removed and recycled again and again. Were it not deemed sacred the Colosseum likely would have disappeared like the statue Colossus, from which it got its name, did.

      Most Emperors, Presidents and Popes fall away into history, let alone you and me. The lesson is to enjoy the ride while we’re here, but also to be so valued by those we leave behind that we’re remembered for all the right reasons. Ultimately, our lives are fragile enough as it is without the burden of being remembered beyond a generation or two after we’re gone, so we ought to simply pursue excellence for its own sake. Our time is not some dusty monument, we write our memories now. The rest is up to those who follow.

      Rome’s Colosseum

    • A Trevi Snapshot

      The Trevi Fountain (Fontana di Trevi) is named after the three roads that converge where the fountain sits. It ought to translate into something more, but it’s come to mean quite a bit to those who make the pilgrimage to it. And it is a pilgrimage for tourists. It’s one of the must-see attractions in Rome, and so we did our part as confirmed tourists to visit it first.

      According to Wikipedia, the fountain was “designed by Italian architect Nicola Salvi and completed by Giuseppe Pannini in 1762”. It’s “26.3 metres (86 ft) high and 49.15 metres (161.3 ft) wide”. And it needs to be that big to accommodate the massive crowds that converge on it every day. The Trevi is worth a visit, but be prepared to have a lot of company. Just remember to take a snapshot and throw a coin in to ensure your return one day.

      The Trevi Fountain, with its statues of Oceanus, Abundance and Health.

    • Onward, Lisbon

      “Perfection is the fulfillment implicit in art, and [James Joyce] achieved it. Imperfection is life. All forms in life are imperfect, but the function of art is to see the radiance through the imperfection.” — Joseph Campbell

      I returned to the scene of the crime today. For it was in Lisbon that I spent the last days working for a company I didn’t love, with some characters I didn’t like all that much, simply to prove to myself that I hadn’t made a mistake joining that company two years prior. The crime, as you may have guessed, was selling one’s soul for financial gain. Immediately after Lisbon we parted ways, I began blogging in earnest and choosing culture over money in my work. The rest is history (mine anyway). Lesson learned, and passions pursued.

      This time I’m not lingering in Lisbon, but I’m using the opportunity to assess where I am versus where I was. On the whole I’m better, and still a work in progress. We must never rest on our laurels or settle for something that isn’t us. I’m surprised by the blog in many ways, for it hasn’t been the journey I thought it would be, but I’m still at it, even as I’m no longer that person who departed Lisbon six years ago.

      I’ve learned to accept imperfection in my writing, But work towards improvement. Perfection is an audacious act reserved for the very best, but who says we can’t strive to get closer to it? Today, the journey continues, literally and figuratively. Onward, Lisbon. A lot has changed since we’ve been together.

    • Happy Endings

      “If you want a happy ending, that depends, of course, on where you stop your story.” — Orson Welles

      Not every story has a happy ending. Some might say that every single one of our stories will end badly. I say life is a series of beginnings and endings, and we may strive to be happy for most of our story. To pursue happy is folly—there’s no depth to it. Depth is found in the lows as much as the highs. We must wade through it all, accepting our story as it unfolds—amor fati. We ought to begin with the end in mind, but focus on making this particular chapter compelling, such that it is.

      Having an impromptu dinner with friends last night, talk went to the number of trips around the sun we’re on. That cast of characters clearly read too many of my blog posts, for they’ve written this one for me. A trip around the sun on this planet is 365 days and change. This is a leap year, which accounts for that loose change. It’s all just numbers and science and passing our days on planet Earth in the best possible way we can muster given the circumstances. Cheers.

      This blog will end one day, just as surely as the soul writing it will. The end is assured. What matters isn’t that it’s a happy ending, simply that we wring the most out of each day. Some fall flat, some resonate, and some are downright terrible, but on the whole, a happy life is attainable when we are fully aware and engaged with a supporting cast of amazing people. We know the story: we are the average of the people we surround ourselves with. So build it and they will come. There’s your happy ending.

    • Breaking Up with Temporality

      “You give yourself to life by leaving temporality behind. Desire for mortal gains and fear of loss hold you back from giving yourself to life.” — Joseph Campbell

      Admittedly, I’ve had a complicated relationship with time. I spent too much of it rushing from one commitment to another, always striving to be early so as not to waste someone else’s time should the universe align itself to create delays. I write this very blog post in a coffee shop having arrived early for a meeting just down the street. Temporality is deeply engrained within me. It’s a hard relationship to break with.

      That doesn’t make it a healthy or enabling relationship. In fact, much of the stress I’ve felt in my lifetime is related to my relationship with time. Productivity calculations in a quarter, splits on a screen as I try to beat some preconceived expectation of how quickly I can complete some workout, or the pressure I put on myself to read or write a certain amount in the time I have available for such things. Time isn’t a great measure of our worth, unless you’re an Olympic athlete or attempting to solve a Rubik’s Cube or some such thing. Tempus fugit, indeed.

      So I’ve promised myself I’d break up with temporality, once and for all. Maybe not today, mind you (for I do have these commitments lined up), surely not tomorrow (I have a flight to catch, after all), but very—very— soon. How soon? Well, maybe time wIll tell? But know this: I’m serious this, uh, time.

    • On Home and Garden

      Ah, yet, ere I descend to the grave
      May I a small house and large garden have;
      And a few friends, and many books, both true,
      Both wise, and both delightful too!
      And since love ne’er will from me flee,
      A Mistress moderately fair,
      And good as guardian angels are,
      Only beloved and loving me.
      ― Abraham Cowley, The Wish

      I keen observer recently challenged me on how much I telegraph desired change in my writing. The perils of writing to an audience that includes people I interact with regularly… We write what we write and things fall out as they may. So forgive the repetition, it’s not dissatisfaction with the current state, it’s a strong focus on becoming better. Sometimes that means habit change, sometimes it means habitat change, but there’s no rush to move to a place faraway. I do kind of like it here.

      Here, of course, is far more interesting when the garden grows and stick season gives way to budding trees soon to leaf out. The garden changes everything. We might pay lip service to the hardscape of winter, but it’s the dance of annuals with perennials in that hardscape that makes the life of a gardener joyful.

      Cowley poetically sums up the simple joys of a good life. I seem to revisit this poem every couple of years just as the season changes. A few good friends, a few great books, a roof over one’s head, a garden to roam about in and someone to cherish it all with. Change will happen, some chosen and some a much a surprise to me as it will be to you. That’s the game we’re all in. But isn’t it more lovely with a bit of sun and color?