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    • A Moment with Eugene’s Birds

      Nay, I will; that’s flat:
      He said he would not ransom Mortimer;
      Forbad my tongue to speak of Mortimer; 555
      But I will find him when he lies asleep,
      And in his ear I’ll holla ‘Mortimer!’
      Nay,
      I’ll have a starling shall be taught to speak
      Nothing but ‘Mortimer,’ and give it him 560
      To keep his anger still in motion.
      — William Shakespeare, Henry IV, Part 1

      In 1890, a man named Eugene Schieffelin brought European starlings to the United States. According to The New York Times, his motive apparently was to have all the bird species mentioned by William Shakespeare in America. So I have Eugene and a single name drop by Shakespeare in Henry IV to thank for the mess that starlings leave in their wake when they come to the bird feeders in my backyard. We ought to be more careful introducing invasive species to places where they never existed, but when has common sense ever directed anything that humans do?

      You learn a lot about the local bird population when you put the right variety of food out for them. I lived in my home for almost twenty years before I saw bluebirds visit the feeders, largely inspired by putting food they’d actually eat in the feeders. From that point on I’ve had an abundance of bluebirds. The starlings were never invited to the party, but they’re masters at crashing it anyway. Perhaps that’s why they call them invasive.

      This winter I brought the feeders back close the house, that we may enjoy the view of wild birds just outside the window. I forget sometimes the mess that comes with feeders in the form of bird droppings and seed shells, but it’s the uninvited guests like starlings, squirrels and rodents that make me question my sanity. But the birds are worth it. Even the squirrels are entertaining, and I give them just enough of a head start before I let the dog out that they stand a chance of escaping (there are some messes I don’t want to deal with).

      Winter isn’t what it once was, but we do have snow again. The bird feeders become very popular when the ground is coated in snow. The buffet is open for business, and as the movie line goes, build it and they will come. And really, that’s the point. When I go into the kitchen for a cup of coffee or tea, I look out in the yard and see life. Life in turns inspires me to be more lively myself, and the work benefits from my time with the birds. I suppose that’s worth a bit of mess from a couple of uninvited guests.

    • Easier vs. Harder

      “Hard choices, easy life. Easy choices, hard life.” ― Jerzy Gregorek

      It’s easier to defer. I’ve been deferring a project for two years that I’ve done twice before and know deep down just how time-consuming it will be for me. But I also recall just how fun it was to do, and how much pride I had in the finished product once complete. Yet I watch the time tick away, days turn into months, months pile into a couple of years now and counting. And what was once a small project is growing into an albatross around my neck.

      The easiest way to start a hard project is to simply begin with the first step. The next step will become apparent, and it turns out it’s not all that big a step. Which brings to mind a holiday tune that may be out of season but never fully out of my brain:

      You never will get where you’re going
      If ya never get up on your feet
      Come on, there’s a good tail wind blowin’
      A fast walking man is hard to beat
      Put one foot in front of the other
      And soon you’ll be walking ‘cross the floor
      — Jules Bass, Put One Foot in Front of the Other

      This blog is a good example in my own life of something that was nagging at me for years before I simply began. One post turned into many, and soon I began a streak that is well past two thousand. Some posts are better than others, but the journey is clearly towards improvement and progression. We are what we repeatedly do, as I repeatedly quote, as much a reminder to myself as to the reader, who is generally a step ahead of me on the concept.

      We began one project this weekend that had been nagging me for years. I mentioned it to my bride, she immediately agreed (relieved no doubt that I’d finally decided to take action) and we’ll finish it this weekend. It turns out the project isn’t as painful as thinking about doing the project. Which brings us full circle back to that albatross I referenced earlier. Now that the one project is done, the other remains, mocking me for the time it’s taking to just leap. Just decide and get to it already.

      The thing is, there will always be projects when we consistently move forward in our lives. The only people without projects are those who choose to linger in the identity they once had. Life is hard enough without us getting in our own way. It will be a whole lot easier in the long run if we do the hard work now.


    • Ageless Wonders

      “Tempus fugit is a good one,” she said, “but time doesn’t always fly, as everyone who’s ever had to wait around for something knows. I think tempus estumbra in mente is a better one. Roughly translated, it means time is a shadow in the mind.” ― Stephen King, Fairy Tale

      We all want to overachieve in life. We all have the agency to put in the work to reach certain goals. No, we can’t have it all, but we can have some things that we focus on more than any other thing. We may choose a lifestyle that enables greatness in specific areas of focus. So much is attainable in a lifetime when we keep our focus.

      Nothing hammers home the idea of time flying like a reunion. The people who were not all that far ahead of you seem older and more frail. The young bucks who were coming up right behind you seem much older too. And a look at the pictures reveals that we’re right there with them all. Tempus fugit: time flies. And so it goes with youth.

      That doesn’t make us old and frail. A decline in health makes us old and frail. There are people at a reunion who seem to be ageless wonders. They’re exercising, eating well, they don’t drink in excess and generally live the kind of lifestyle we all hear is our best bet for a long, vibrant lifetime. We all know the examples, and with the right choices, sometimes we’re the example ourselves.

      “The time to repair the roof is when the sun is shining.” — John F. Kennedy

      We know the path. We know the exceptions. We know how it all ends someday. That doesn’t mean we have to accept declining health and a long slog to the grave. When we build a foundation of fitness and good nutrition, we too may be the ageless wonders at the reunions of the future.

      A strong foundation is built on our habits and routines. When we read every day, we become well-read and more insightful. When we brush our teeth and floss every day, we aren’t scolded by the dentist and have fewer cavities. And when we eat well and exercise more than the average, we are more likely to stand out from the average as an ageless wonder ourselves. If nothing else, it makes that look in the mirror feel less like a trip to the dentist.

      Time is a shadow in the mind. We don’t all age the same, and we have some control over the path we take. Choose wisely, that we may have many reunions to come.

    • The Beauty in Our Memories

      “I can only note that the past is beautiful because one never realises an emotion at the time. It expands later, and thus we don’t have complete emotions about the present, only about the past.” — Virginia Woolf

      I was scanning through some old pictures while looking for a certain image to highlight a conversation I was engaged in and smiled at the memories in the scroll. We forget the blessing of pictures in our march through time. I am that person taking pictures at gatherings because I want to lock in some of those memories. Of course, there’s a fine line between locking in memories and living in the moment. We must first live should the moment slip away.

      In the moment, we know when something is special because we enjoy it so, but we may not realize the impact on our life until well after. We become anchored to these moments with memories—both our own and those of others, through photographs and other media, and through triggers. My mind would go back to the summer between high school and freshman year of college were I to smell the cologne I wore at that time. It floods back to me even writing about that cologne. I haven’t worn cologne since then, making it a uniquely strong trigger for that time in my life.

      I’m attending a reunion tonight that will place me with some of people who may associate me with that cologne. Surely that’s not the whole of my identity, but it might be something that would trigger memories of the character I was then. Reunions are time travel events on their own, and surely stories will bring us back there more than some long lost production of cologne. In all that jovial recollection I hope we remember to savor the moment to lock in those memories to follow. For that’s what makes life beautiful.

    • To Fish or Cut Bait

      “An ounce of action is worth a ton of theory.” —Ralph Waldo Emerson

      We can plan indefinitely but not go anywhere, and we can leap into the unknown with nothing but a flash of inspiration to guide us. But at some point in our lives we must fish or continue to cut bait.

      Some days we look up with amazement at how much we have done. Some days feel completely wasted. The only thing to do is learn its lesson, put it behind us and lean into our next day. We win some, we lose some—the only tragedy ls to never try again.

      Just don’t return to cutting bait. What kind of life is that? Go fish.

    • The Reassurance of Snow

      Whose woods these are I think I know.
      His house is in the village though;
      He will not see me stopping here
      To watch his woods fill up with snow.

      My little horse must think it queer
      To stop without a farmhouse near
      Between the woods and frozen lake
      The darkest evening of the year.

      He gives his harness bells a shake
      To ask if there is some mistake.
      The only other sound’s the sweep
      Of easy wind and downy flake.

      The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
      But I have promises to keep,
      And miles to go before I sleep,
      And miles to go before I sleep.

      — Robert Frost, Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

      Winter hasn’t been normal the last few years in New England. Heck, what is normal nowadays anyway? We don’t always have to love snow, but we know it has its time and season. When we get it we celebrate the magic or curse the timing, disruptive to our very human plans as it seems to do. With it we recalculate what is possible in our days. Without it we wonder what we can control anymore in an upside down world.

      Snow in January calms me. Sure, there are inconveniences and struggles associated with snow that are not found in southern climates, but with snow we get the reassurance of the seasons playing out. We must embrace change in our complicated lives, but Lord give me a winter in wintertime.

      I write this on a mountaintop as snow falls all around this snow globe paradise. There’s magic quite literally in the air, and it piles up like dreams in a blessed lifetime. I watch with wonder knowing I have work to do still, but like old Robert Frost once upon a time, a pause to wonder at the beauty of a snowy moment is warranted. For the world goes on, and our youthful dance is the briefest of seasons.

    • On Leadership

      “The ultimate impact of the leader depends most significantly on the particular story that he or she relates or embodies, and the receptions to that story on the part of audiences (or collaborators or followers).” — Howard Gardner, Leading Minds: An Anatomy of Leadership

      “Leaders and audiences traffic in many stories, but the most basic story has to do with issues of identity. And so it is the leader who succeeds in conveying a new version of a given group’s story who is likely to be effective.” — Howard Gardner, Leading Minds: An Anatomy of Leadership

      What makes someone a great leader? Isn’t it the story we embrace about them, and in turn, identity with on some deep intrinsic level? When we choose to follow someone, what exactly are we following? They make us believe in something greater within ourselves that will best be realized by joining them.

      We each strive for something better. Life is a voyage of becoming, and that voyage is full of twists and turns, ups and downs. We write our life history one of these moments at a time. That story either draws people to us or repels them. Great leaders build a story that isn’t just about them but about the greater good that they (and always: us) will reach in the quest from here to there. Stories are indeed powerful.

      Leaders may be false prophets: creators of stories that aren’t theirs. Do as I say, not as I do. We see plenty of examples of that in the world. The fastest way to get people to believe their lies is for them to point at others and demonize them, that attention is drawn away from the false god. That’s not great leadership, but it is leading others.

      The best leaders lead by example. They exemplify their story and thus amplify it that others see a path forward in following their steps. We know who the greatest of these leaders are because their stories are woven into our collective story.

      So what of us? Are we not leaders ourselves? What is our story? What are the chapters to follow? When we write a compelling story we have an opportunity to inspire others, and create a ripple. The aim isn’t to lead but to live a great life story. As with everything, we must first choose ourselves, and follow our own dream. The rest writes itself, for leaders are chosen.

    • Let Us Play

      “Health lies in action, and so it graces youth. To be busy is the secret of grace, and half the secret of content. Let us ask the gods not for possessions, but for things to do; happiness is in making things rather than in consuming them. In Utopia, said Thoreau, each would build his own home; and then song would come back to the heart of man, as it comes to the bird when it builds its nest. If we cannot build our homes, we can at least walk and throw and run; and we should never be so old as merely to watch games instead of playing them. Let us play is as good as Let us pray, and the results are more assured.” — Will Durant, Fallen Leaves

      Health lies in action. We know the drill: sitting is the new smoking. We must get up and move, and not just move, but delight in moving. To play is to live. Life is full enough of tedious moments, don’t you think? Our exercise ought to be fun.

      For me walking is a more fun form of exercise than just about anything save paddling or rowing. Walking in places that inspire and awe is wondrous, and ought to be a regular part of our routine, but sometimes a simple walk around the block is enough to reset the soul and stir the blood. Sometimes we focus so much on the spectacular or the glory of the summit that we forget the benefits of the activity itself. We must move, and glory in the act itself.

      This past weekend I’d contemplated a hike. Knock off a couple of summits that were particularly evasive for me on the list for one reason or another. When you hear the call of the wild you ought to listen, but sometimes that call is a siren. It was treacherously cold in the mountains, the kind of cold that will ruin a perfectly good day for the prepared, or kill the unprepared. Not exactly the play I was craving: lists be damned. So instead of a 4000 footer I opted for sea level and a January beach walk. Also bitingly cold, but distinctly more accessible. It also offered an easy opportunity to simply bail out and get back into a warm car (or bar) if needed.

      My bride and our pup are both beach bunnies at heart. Off-season walks on the beach are their kind of play, and mine too. I can spend all day at the beach so long as I’m not lying still like something that washed up. Surf speaks to me almost as much as summits do, and I view a great walk on a long beach as delightful as any walk can be.

      We chose Hampton Beach, New Hampshire for our off-season walk. We wanted to take stock of the damage from the winter storms last week, and to have a long stretch of beach sand. That biting cold ensured few people would brave the exposure of the beach, so our only company were other dog walkers and a few determined metal detector miners looking for lost riches. We each chase the American dream in our own way, and everyone needs a hobby.

      We should never be so old as merely to watch games instead of playing them. The trick is to stay in the game. To play in the sand is just as fun as playing king of the mountain. Just move, and delight in the company of others. That’s a simple recipe for a great life.

      January at Hampton Beach. Lot’s of footprints in snow, few people.
      Winter means walking in brisk solitude

    • On the Wire

      “Youth is as confident and improvident as a god. It loves excitement and adventure more than food. It loves the superlative, the exaggerated, the limitless, because it has abounding energy and frets to liberate its strength. It loves new and dangerous things; a man is as young as the risks he takes.” — Will Durant, Fallen Leaves

      “Life is being on the wire, everything else is just waiting. — Karl Wallenda

      I was talking to a bright young man we have welcomed into our family. He feels trapped in his job, working to pay bills accumulated trying to make a go of it lumped on to that all-to-pervasive source of misery for young adults nowadays: college debt. The thing is, that feeling of being trapped is a common refrain. If it’s not paying down debt it’s some other commitment we’ve made. To step out of line is viewed as audacious for a reason; The world wants us to fall in line, not to leap. A line of credit is as rigid a line as we can fall into.

      One compliment we give to certain young people is to call them old souls. Mature beyond their age, they can hold their own in a conversation with an adult, are measured in their approach to living and have a strong idea of their identity. When you raise children to be responsible, empathetic and deliberate, this idea that they’re old souls is a compliment you hear often. Being an old soul doesn’t mean you’ve prematurely lost your youth, it means that you’re making the most of it as seen from the perspective of people who have been around the block a few times.

      Those people who have been around that block might suggest taking more risks while you have that youthful exuberance. Taking more risks doesn’t mean being reckless, though it may appear to be reckless to the timid souls who believe they know what’s best for us. Risking is a form of breaking free from the hold of expectations. Risking is putting ourselves out there on the proverbial wire that we may find out who we may become for having done so. We should go to great lengths to put ourselves in challenging and identity-stretching situations, not to risk our well-being, but to shatter our beliefs of what’s possible for us.

      We are indeed as young as the risks we take, differing as they do from the risks we contemplate taking but defer to another day. As Wallenda put it, that’s just waiting. We may want to be bold and adventurous in our lives, but the very idea of risking everything that makes life so comfortable and familiar warrants strong consideration before the leap… or does it? What’s the worst thing that will happen should be do this thing? Can we recover from that worst thing? If the answer is yes, then we ought to put ourselves out on that wire. A bold life can’t wait very long for a decision, for we know life is short and youth is but a state of mind soon tempered by commitments and lines.

      What are we waiting for anyway?

    • Some Impulse Rose

      Wanly upon the panes
      The rain slides as have slid since morn my colourless thoughts; and
      yet
      Here, while Day’s presence wanes,
      And over him the sepulchre-lid is slowly lowered and set,
      He wakens my regret.
      Regret—though nothing dear
      That I wot of, was toward in the wide world at his prime,
      Or bloomed elsewhere than here,
      To die with his decease, and leave a memory sweet, sublime,
      Or mark him out in Time . . .
      —Yet, maybe, in some soul,
      In some spot undiscerned on sea or land, some impulse rose,
      Or some intent upstole
      Of that enkindling ardency from whose maturer glows
      The world’s amendment flows;
      But which, benumbed at birth
      By momentary chance or wile, has missed its hope to be
      Embodied on the earth;
      And undervoicings of this loss to man’s futurity
      May wake regret in me.
      — Thomas Hardy, A Commonplace Day

      Some of us are naturally adventurous of spirit, impulsive and keen to dive into bold things. We live our lives in a state of active temperance that we may be useful to others. Now and then the impulsive spirit bursts out of us, like a sudden flame in a fire we thought was dying out. Anyone who knows this writer has seen a burst of boldness now and then. Sometimes expressed as a leap into cold water or a crazy dance at a party, or simply a bit of mischievousness in the midst of an otherwise dignified conversation.

      In the last week, I’ve squashed plans schemed in audacious moments. Plans to hike in temperatures well below zero, fly to another country for the weekend, and quit my job and buy a boat. None of these impulsive moments rose to spark a fire, but they burn inside nonetheless. Will they become regrets for having not done them, or relief for having come to my senses? Only time will tell. In general, we are slaves to reason more than impulse.

      The counterpoint to reason is impulsiveness. It’s straying from the expectations the world places on people like us and boldly stepping outside the norm. What is more prudent than doing what people expect of us? What is perceived as more irrational than turning those expectations upside down?

      The most common way to temper impulsiveness is to defer those adventures to another time. To bow to practicality and prudence and shelve that crazy idea for another day. Those days never come, we know, but they make us feel better in the moment. Until one day we’re watching the rain bounce against the window pane realizing that those days are behind us. Enter regret.

      The battle within us rages on. To stay the course and be the steady and reliable anchor or to weigh anchor and see where the current takes us? There are hazards in each extreme: a boat forever anchored eventually rots away and sinks, while a rudderless boat eventually is dashed on the rocks. Somewhere in the middle is a life of adventure anchored in calculated risk. Be bold, but not reckless. Just don’t wait for regret.