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    • The Reach

      “The purpose of life is to live it, to taste experience to the utmost, to reach out eagerly and without fear for newer and richer experience.” — Eleanor Roosevelt

      The thing about reaching is that it’s inherently less comfortable than staying in place. We stretch ourselves in the reach. We experience unusual things, sometimes unimaginable things, when stepping out of the familiar. Sometimes we find this unsettling, but sometimes we encounter delight and wonder. The reach is almost always worth it for who we become.

      Yes, we must seek new experiences, that we may fully live. Life will fly right on by whether we embrace the challenge of living boldly or shrink into whatever timid role we began the day in. Life may be thrilling when we make it so, just as surely as it may be trivial and boring when we stay in our shell. By all means, we must break out of it and try a new one on for size.

      The reach shouldn’t feel impossible. It should simply be a reach. And when we reach that point, reach again. In this way we expand our lives and become something more… and more. Mistakes will be made, lessons will be learned, and we will grow.

      Abundance in a lifetime isn’t a stack of gold or shiny things, it’s the experiences we have and the people we surround ourselves with. To reach is to actively engage with the world and to grow into whomever we may become—closer to our potential, closer to excellence.

    • Time Will Have His Fancy

      ‘The years shall run like rabbits,
      For in my arms I hold
      The Flower of the Ages,
      And the first love of the world.’
      But all the clocks in the city
      Began to whirr and chime:
      ‘O let not Time deceive you,
      You cannot conquer Time.
      ‘In the burrows of the Nightmare
      Where Justice naked is,
      Time watches from the shadow
      And coughs when you would kiss.
      ‘In headaches and in worry
      Vaguely life leaks away,
      And Time will have his fancy
      To-morrow or to-day.
      — W.H. Auden, As I Walked Out One Evening

      January seems to be the time for planning out the year in neat blocks of time, priorities and action steps. It’s fairly easy work to define what must be done, it’s harder to actually do it. The execution of a plan is always the trick, isn’t it? Yet broken down into small enough steps, we somehow find the task more manageable. It seems there’s always enough time for the things that matter most, should we build our lives around our priorities. But time has other plans for us, should we lose our way.

      Lately in my work I talk a lot of urgency. We ought to feel it in our bones, and do something about it now. It’s cliché for a reason, for it matters a great deal in said execution of plan. It’s a call to arms, really—a reminder that time flies and the wishes of today are the regrets of tomorrow. We must therefore seize what flees, as our old friend Seneca reminded us.

      Later in Auden’s magical poem, he writes of wondering what we’ve missed. Wrestling with the eternal, we realize that we are not. We are but a moment’s sunlight, fading in the grass, as Chet Powers wrote and The Youngbloods made famous. It’s an unfair practice to dwell on that which has slipped from our grasp if we use the tally to embrace a helpless state of low agency, but when we use these moments to learn to be bolder in our choices now they may be just the catalyst we need. Feel the urgency yet? Carpe diem, friend. Tempus fugit.

      All this is nothing but a stack of words until we do something with our time. Be bold. Be audacious. Decide what to be and go be it. Today will slip away just as all the rest have. Yet we may still do something with the hour at hand.

    • The Communal Nature of Creativity

      “Your dreams don’t belong to you. If you hold on too tightly to them without recognizing the mutual and communal nature of creativity, your work will probably not have significant impact in the world.” — Drew Holcomb

      Writing a blog doesn’t feel communal, it feels more like a drawing out of oneself something internal and placing it out in the world for the reader to do with it what they will. The fact that almost 8 billion people will ignore it isn’t even the ego hit one might believe it to be, it’s not even the fact that it won’t ever reach the level where it’s a blip on the radar for those almost 8 billion people. Ego isn’t creative, it’s only role is to fuel the audacity to publish anything at all, and then let people in on the secret. After that it awkwardly gets in the way and is best pushed aside.

      The communal part of blogging is when you click publish. The work is then out there for others to interact with. For random strangers who stumble upon it, it’s a chance to hear a new voice and accept or reject that voice on their own path to finding out. For the loyal subscriber, it’s a choice of whether to let the steady drip, drip, drip of a daily blog become a part of their daily conversation. And for the inner circle of family and friends who read what this character has to say, it’s a chance to reconcile the person they know with the words they might be surprised by. I’m just as surprised, some days.

      Writing a blog isn’t thought of as collaborative. It’s the writer’s thoughts and opinion put to page, and not generally the product of the community with which that writer engages in. And yet we are the average of the five people we surround ourselves with. The influence of my community is as clearly reflected in the work that I produce as any book I’ve ever read or experience I’ve had. In fact, many of those same books and experiences are being had by that community and discussed over beverages now and again.

      There’s no doubt that music is one form of creativity better expressed communally. Lennon had McCartney and was the better for it. And then he had Yoko, and took his work to a different and far more personal place. When one looks at his entire body of work, we see his transformation as the influence of those around him ebb and flowed. The chorus naturally reverberates more than the solo artist. That doesn’t take away the power of the individual artist, it amplifies it. For art to speak, it must engage with others, which means that the artist must also engage with others. So, hello and welcome! Nice to have you here. Drop a comment.

    • Life Happens

      “When something bad happens you have three choices. You can either let it define you, let is destroy you, or you can let it strengthen you.” ― Dr. Seuss

      Talking to an acquaintance recently, he relayed a series of tragedies that had befallen his family. One day everything was relatively normal, the next bad news was dropping all around them. Having been there a few times in my own life, empathy and supportiveness are drawn upon readily. We can take all the measures to be more resilient, but no matter the measure, life happens.

      “Be still, my heart; thou hast known worse than this.” ― Homer, The Odyssey

      The more we live, the more we live through—the good, the bad, and the downright ugly. Each informs, and when we pay attention, we learn lessons that will mitigate the impact of the next. Life isn’t easy and it’s definitely not fair, but it’s still worth the ride. Often our most beautiful moments are on the other side of darkness. Yet so many people among us focus only on the darkness, hate and misery in the world. They never get to the other side where beautiful lies, instead sinking deeper and deeper into the well. What kind of life is that?

      “The darkest hour is just before the dawn.” — Thomas Fuller

      Remembering that this too shall pass, with a purpose transcending our darkest days, is one way out. Sometimes it’s simply finding others who have been there before us, that we may see the light. Strength comes from stressors, whether we welcome them or not is beside the point. The best way to climb out of the abyss is to find climbing buddies. We may all lift each other up to a brighter place. If not now, then someday.

    • The 75% Lifestyle Choice

      “Scientific studies suggest that only about 25 percent of how long we live is dictated by genes, according to famous studies of Danish twins. The other 75 percent is determined by our lifestyles and the everyday choices we make. It follows that if we optimize our lifestyles, we can maximize our life expectancies within our biological limits.” ― Dan Buettner, The Blue Zones: 9 Lessons for Living Longer From the People Who’ve Lived the Longest

      When you think about it, most of us have far more agency over the quality and length of our lives than we believe we have. Accidents will happen, genetics are what they are, but on the whole we have a say in how healthy and resilient we are. So it follows that we ought to make better choices in our day-to-day routines. Eat better, move more, find time to decompress and place ourselves in a supportive environment with people more like the person we want to become. Simple, right?

      January has come to be known as “damp January” or “dry January” as people cut out alcohol from their daily lives. If we moderate our consumption more in November and December, perhaps we all wouldn’t collectively feel the need to quit cold turkey. But Americans in particular love the pendulum swing. One extreme to the other is our game, but is it a long-term formula for winning the game of life? Probably not.

      My meal choices the last two days reflect that of a business traveler. Too many carbs and fat and sodium, too few fruits and vegetables. The only bright spot in my diet is that I haven’t consumed alcohol on this trip. But deep down I know I ought to be exercising more and eating less junk. We usually know what we should be doing, we just don’t always do it. The more we systematize our choices, the easier it is to stick with what we should do.

      We’re all works in progress, but we should remember that every choice is a step in one direction or the other. We either move towards healthier or move away from it. A good routine makes that direction easier to follow.

    • On Action

      “Action may not always bring happiness, but there is no happiness without action. ”
      ― William James

      There’s nothing more essential to getting to where we’d like to be than a bias towards action. Want to have a better relationship? Earn it with attention. Want to be a better writer? Read, experience the world more and write about it often. Want to be fit? Stop wishing for it and get moving already. We know deep down that the answer is action.

      We can’t close a gap without effort. We can’t climb a corporate ladder or a mountain peak without moving one step at a time higher than we currently are. To open a door previously closed to us, we must first reach the door before we can open it and step through. Take the steps necessary to get there.

      Personally, I have a five year plan for where and who I want to be. To reach that person in that place, there are some clear steps necessary to bring me there. Most essential is taking care of the mind and body that will carry me there. We can work all our days for a goal, but we won’t reach it if we physically slide sideways off the cliff. The rest is identifying the systems, routines and habits essential to getting us to our goals, scheduling and tracking them from now until the end. We’re building a lifestyle of active participation, not just reaching some summit.

      How we want to live is as essential to ask ourselves as who we want to be. We may never close the gap fully, but a lifestyle built making ourselves better than we were yesterday is inherently optimistic and happier than one built trying to hold on to the pieces of who we once were. Be a builder instead. What is the gap and what are the steps necessary to close it? Once it’s all laid out for us, the rest is taking that first step and following with the next.

    • First Snow

      I’ve had many snowstorms in my lifetime. Blizzards and lake effect dumpings, heavy wet snows and light and fluffy snow globe snows, white-outs that scare the heck out of you and ever-lasting slow drifts that barely seem to pile up. You tend to grow used to it after awhile, but that first snow of the year is always magical. Having a few mild winters in a row, and snow this year taking forever to reach the part of New Hampshire I reside in, it just began to feel like we’d never get another good storm. So there’s delight when if finally arrives, tinged with calculations about cleanup, road conditions, viability of the power lines and how much bread and milk one might consume before it all spoils.

      This first snow brings with it the perspective of a puppy, just nine months old, experiencing a heavy accumulation for the very first time. Now this in itself is appointment watching, as she steps timidly outside at this new world awaiting her, sniffs and licks at the white blanket and slowly steps ever deeper. My own obligations took a back seat as I watch her figure it all out. Eventually she grew bolder and began walking more quickly, and then in a spark of instinct or insight, began to prance like a deer through the drifts, ever faster. Soon she was running about the yard like it was her best day ever, and who was I to argue?

      The thing about heavy snow days is you learn to time the cleanup, that you aren’t out in it all day long, but you aren’t letting it accumulate so much that it’s difficult to work with. There’s an efficiency to snow cleanup that is learned through experience. Whatever the perfect moment is, it feels like the entire neighborhood decides to go out at the same time. The nods and waves and getting back to the business at hand inevitably follow, like some scripted scene from a pharmaceutical company’s drug du jour commercial. We’re all keeping an eye on each other in a way, even as we mind our own business.

      With all the responsibility of adulthood, sometimes we get caught up in the cleanup and calculations, and forget to just play in the snow. A new puppy, like children, teach us to delight in the wonder of a fresh snowfall. To roll about in it and clop through it and fly across it laughing at the sheer magic of the changed landscape. The cleanup is never the fun part, but we ought to remember the do fun part in our rush to clean up. Life deserves more magic and delight, don’t you think?

    • Revisiting the 20/10 “Stop Doing” Exercise

      “Suppose you woke up tomorrow and received two phone calls. The first phone call tells you that you have inherited $20 million, no strings attached. The second tells you that you have an incurable and terminal disease, and you have no more than 10 years to live. What would you do differently, and, in particular, what would you stop doing?” — Jim Collins

      “If it’s not a hell yes, then it’s a no!” — Derek Sivers

      This idea of contemplating our expiration date (memento mori) combined with the possibility of having the financial freedom to do whatever we want with the time is an essential filtering mechanism for designing our future. It’s almost never about the big ticket money activities, it’s about carving out time for the simple things in life, like being there for the kids or having the lifestyle commitment and personal responsibility to get a puppy. Sure, money helps, but it’s freedom people seek in their lives. The fastest way to freedom is saying no to more things.

      We ought to remember we all have a terminal disease, whatever our timeline, and get busy prioritizing the essential over all the rest. Life is a short game, best fully-optimized. We’ll never fully reach that level of excellence, but we can aspire to close the gap. Instead of resolutions, we may choose instead to define what our “no’s” will be, that we may have the space for those “hell yes’s”

    • Unfailing and Habitual Consistency

      “Remember we wrote in Good to Great that big things happen by pushing on a giant, heavy flywheel. You start pushing in an intelligent and consistent direction, and after a lot of work you get one giant, slow, creaky turn, but you don’t stop. You keep pushing and you eventually get two turns and four and sixteen and thirty-two and sixty-four and one hundred and one thousand; pushing; cumulative, consistent momentum; and at one point it’s one hundred thousand and then a million turns in that flywheel. Big things happen because you do a bunch of little things supremely well that compound over time. This is what we learned. We see tremendous consistency in any truly great enterprise. The signature of mediocrity is not an unwillingness to change—although, and we’ll get to this, if you don’t change, you become irrelevant—but the true signature of mediocrity is chronic inconsistency.” — Jim Collins

      If the signature of mediocrity is chronic inconsistency, then the signature of personal excellence (Areté) is unfailing and habitual consistency. It’s staying to task, every day until something more essential to our being becomes our task. Blogging every day is pushing the flywheel. So is exercise and changing the engine oil and washing the dishes and doing the most tedious-but-essential things in our chosen path. We do these things not because they’re always joyful, but because they are part of our identity today and ensure that we continue from here to our future identity. The opposite of order is chaos.

      There were several times writing this blog that I thought it would be my last post. There’s so many things to do, and beginning each morning with writing delays some other essential habits from forming. But the writing has taken me to places I hadn’t anticipated when I began, and the path forward looks promising. That’s not a reason not to question the flywheel I happen to be pushing (who wants to run around in circles for nothing?), but to embrace the process of becoming what’s next that the writing offers. The trick is to stack other positive habits into this routine to ensure success. The writing isn’t pushing me away, it’s those other habits that need attention that are pulling.

      Systems and routines are our salvation or an albatross. We are what we do. We must therefore keep pushing.

    • The Evening Walk

      “A dog can never tell you what she knows from the
      smells of the world, but you know, watching her,
      that you know
      almost nothing.”
      — Mary Oliver, Her Grave

      Walking the pup the last few nights, I’m reminded of what hides in plain sight from us. Rabbits standing still, waiting out the passersby. Other dog walkers, faces glowing in rapt attention to the phone while their dog cries for attention, if not from her leash mate, then perhaps from us. A phone ruins night vision immediately, but that’s not the only sense ruined. Awareness is a fragile thing, stolen away in an instant.

      Some things still scare the pup, even as she approaches nine months. She’s a teenager now, as dog years go, and most things don’t scare her on the surface. When she grows timid I pay extra attention, wondering what in the night draws her in so. A good flashlight usually reveals nothing but shadows. The pup knows better.

      The walks were what I missed most about having a dog. Dogs force a break from the comfort of the home, and pull us outside to engage with the world. Where we learn to be more aware. To confront our own senses and what we miss when we’re not fully present. Like poetry, sometimes the smallest thing means everything in this lifetime.