Alexandersmap

    Category: Community

    • Centered

      The knight and the castle move jaggedly across the chessboard,
      but they are actually centered on the king. They circle.

      If love is your center, a ring gets put on your finger.
      Something inside the moth is made of fire.
      — Rumi, A Mystic and a Drunk

      We wrap our lives around certain customs and communities, we pursue certain career paths and devote ourselves to certain people. But what is it that centers us there? Are we attracted to comfort and familiarity, or is it something more? When we get a sense of place, from where inside of us do we hear the siren?

      If we are the average of the people we spend the most time with, what in turn draws them to us? What energy are we bringing to the universe aside from a refrigerator full of beer? When friends grow old and drift away, when family is busy and distracted by life and the days grow silent, how do you fill the void? What is your fire that warms you in the dark?

      Our center is not the frenzied world we surround ourselves with. The problem with finding purpose and identity in a world full of noise is that we don’t hear our own voice. For all the talk of finding a burning purpose and following your heart, most people keep looking the wrong way. Instead of throwing more wood on the fire sometimes you’ve got to let things burn down to their essence. Our answers lie deep in the embers.

    • Good People

      “They’ll never be any shortage of good people in the world. All you got to do is seek them out and get as many of them as possible into your life. Keep the rest the hell out.” — Charlie Munger

      “You’re the average of the five people you spend the most time with.” — Jim Rohn

      I’ve tried to live this “no assholes” philosophy in every aspect of my life. We are who we continually surround ourselves with. It’s one reason you’ll never find me on the extreme edges of politics, fighting for every dollar in certain business cultures, or spending any significant amount of time on Facebook. I enjoy living a happy, trusting life surrounded by wonderful people. Call me crazy.

      We’ve seen what a toxic culture can do. The world of assholes has an awful stink. Find the good people where the air is clear. Where the building of bridges happens. Where there’s hope for the future and an earnestness to contribute to it.

      When you find a company that is filled with good people, trying earnestly to make a positive difference, you want to try a little harder to measure up. When you join a company filled with people trying to step on you to climb a notch ahead, you either kick them back or immediately find another company. Seems an easy choice to me.

      Where did all the good people go,
      I’ve been changing channels I don’t see them
      On the TV shows
      Where did all the good people go,
      We got heaps and heaps of what we sow
      — Jack Johnson, Good People

      Sometimes I surprise people when I tell them I don’t watch a lot of television, and definitely don’t watch a lot of news. Talking heads on a program, no matter how earnest they might seem, aren’t there to serve you and me. They’re there to amplify and draw you in. There are surely good people swimming in the red ocean of news programming, but why risk getting eaten alive trying to find them? Swim in the tranquil sea instead. The water’s great, come on in.

      If all this seems rather utopian, well, it’s not a determined ignorance of the dark side of humanity. No head in the sand here, thank you. Rather, it’s an informed decision to associate with the best people you can find, people who will lend a hand. People who make you want to be a better person yourself.

      That kind of good vibe builds on itself. That’s how communities are formed. It’s how families stay together. How marriages last a lifetime. Find the good people and earn a place at the table. You might even discover happiness was right there, waiting for you to stop paying attention to the not very good people.

    • Keeping Watch in the Cape Cod Fog

      Cape Cod is a summer playground, we all know that. But what of winter and early spring? These “off” seasons are often described by well-meaning seasonal snobs as desolate and depressing. I’d argue for the stark beauty of isolation, and seek it out whenever possible. The Cape isn’t desolate off-season; it’s dormant. If you listen you’ll hear the pulse of preparation for the busy months. You’ll see the changes as houses transform from small cottages to McMansions all around you. People want to be here, more than ever, and will pay insane sums of money to have their place in the sand.

      I spoke with a neighbor, who lives alone on a plot of land he bought against the strong wishes of his future in-laws for $10,000 back when the Beatles were still cranking out albums. That view is worth well over 100 times what he paid for it back in the day. But money doesn’t matter for him now, what matters is this spot and his place in it. He keeps watch on the bay, talks of old storms and the last time he saw a seal on the beach. Time flies by, and he’s one of the last holdouts from the original young hopefuls buying property in this small piece of paradise. Five and a half decades watching the tides ebb and flow teaches you a few things, and he’s happy to share lessons if you invest your time. I’m in investor in such time.

      I check in on him whenever I visit the Cape, especially off-season. I might be the last person who stepped into his house over a month ago. I’m surely not his first choice for visitors but he hasn’t locked the door on me yet. I did a couple of chores for him while he settled in for story time. He spoke of old cocktail parties as I brought up a few bottles of scotch and bourbon coated in a decade of dust from his basement. His sister was coming over in a week or two (what’s time?) and they were going to light it up once again, having a cocktail with a view of the bay.

      Walking alone in the thick Buzzards Bay fog the next morning, I thought of him alone in his house with the million dollar view. He’s like a lighthouse keeper forever on watch as the world changes around him. He’s both an anchor to what once was and a witness to what is becoming of the upper Cape. Walking around, I was drawn to the bits of hardscape that rose up out of the fog, to reflections in water and the sense of timeless change. We’re all lighthouse keepers in the fog, both anchors and witnesses. We hold relationships and communities together, remember the lessons of the past and share them when we have an audience willing to listen.

      Fog is disorienting because our eyes have nothing to lock on to. The swirling white mist hides both the objects we seek out and the ones we hope to avoid. A lighthouse keeper cuts through the confusion and helps us realize our place. Moving around the bay, seeing objects rise up to greet me, I understood why I’d come down here alone. I was simply keeping watch, it was and always has been about the lighthouse.

      Monument Beach, in the Upper Cape town of Bourne
      Cape Cod Railroad Bridge swallowed in Buzzards Bay fog

    • Let Your Steps Dance Silently

      And if your feet are ever mobile
      Upon this ancient drum, the earth,
      O do not let your precious movements
      Come to naught.
      Let your steps dance silently
      To the rhythm of the Beloved’s Name!
      — Hafiz, A Wild, Holy Band

      It’s easy to slip into dark places in a world where insulin and baby formula cost more per gallon than gasoline or whiskey. It’s easy to slide sideways into despair watching the news or scrolling Twitter. To grow impatient and angry with all that is wrong in the world. For that is what they want of us. To divide and provoke for personal profit seems to be the growth model of the dark side of humanity.

      And yet we might dance across our time on earth as steady unifiers. We might tread softly in beautiful places and leave it as we found it as a quiet gift for those who follow us. In our silently determined way leave a message of hope for generations well beyond us to use as an anchor in their own time. Even in the darkest days we may still shine a light on something others might have missed, and offer a lifeline for those who are drowning in the stream of horror and outrage.

      Surely, we can’t dance lightly across time with a heavy heart, and the world offers plenty of reasons for us to despair. But at the very same moment, while we’re focused so intently on one bit of misery, the universe offers hope and love and a reason to carry on just beyond the corner of our eye. Which do we focus on? For that is what we become.

      We are Pilgrims for hope and love and spirituality. We dance across our time offering a lifeline for those who might otherwise drown in the dark. Don’t mistake the dance as blithe ignorance, but as silent vigilance. We’re here to hold it all together, not to run off the cliff waving our arms and screaming in despair. We’re here to dance with life and in our courage draw others out onto the dance floor with us. To use our dance across our time as an inspiration for others to rise.

    • Living a Bit More Like Thich Nhat Hanh

      “People usually consider walking on water or in thin air a miracle. But I think the real miracle is not to walk either on water or in thin air, but to walk on earth. Every day we are engaged in a miracle which we don’t even recognize: a blue sky, white clouds, green leaves, the black, curious eyes of a child—our own two eyes. All is a miracle”. — Thich Nhat Hanh

      When Thich Nhat Hanh passed away in January, I didn’t treat it like a celebrity passing, I didn’t mention it at all, really. I let the moment pass with a virtual bow. He may have passed from this world, but he’ll live on as Thoreau or Mary Oliver or Marcus Aurelius lives on. Such is the power of the written word.

      “I promise myself that I will enjoy every minute of the day that is given me to live.”

      We live in a contentious, angry world. And yet, you and I aren’t angry or contentious. You and I are living a contemplative life, a celebratory life. We embrace every moment for all that it implies. We walk through this world like our feet are kissing the earth, gently embracing our time here. We fight the urge to amplify hatefulness, and offer love instead.

      “Breathing in, I calm body and mind. Breathing out, I smile. Dwelling in the present moment I know this is the only moment.”

      If we pick up anything from Thich Nhat Hanh, it ought to be this hyper-awareness of each moment for all that it offers to us. We will surely slip back into the hectic and annoyed frenzy of our purposeful action bouncing up against an indifferent world, for life isn’t just meditation and sipping tea, but his wisdom offers an opportunity to recenter ourselves. A chance in the madness to pause, breath in and celebrate the miracle of that particular heartbeat.

      “My actions are my only true belongings.”

      Sure, celebrating each moment of aliveness is lovely, but what are we offering back to the world for our being here? What is our contribution? This is where East meets West, for we all want to bring something to the dance, don’t we? The very question means we don’t see the forest for the trees. Our lives should be a positive vibration that tickles the fancy of those we touch, that inspires a smile for the encounter. Maybe that’s our ripple.

    • Catching Up & Bridging Gaps

      The idea of catching up is tantalizing. I use this phrase often in two contexts; catching up with someone I haven’t spoken with in some time, and catching up on work that’s piled up in my work or personal ambition buckets. This week I did a fair amount of catching up in both contexts. But we never really catch up, do we? We mostly just shrink the gap between people, workload or expectations before we inevitably see the gap widen again. We’re all just so… busy.

      The act of getting reacquainted, of meeting to see how someone’s been, what’s up with the family, how so-and-so’s doing, is a lovely form of catching up. There’s so much loneliness and division in the world today, fueled by the pandemic and political inclination, and the general categorization of people into one camp or another. It should be so easy to just put it all aside and listen to each other. Many people just don’t want to deal with conflict or focus on differences of opinion, and so we just don’t communicate at all.

      But there’s joy in bridging the gap. Finding common ground and dancing in the light of understanding and acceptance. When we close that gap we draw closer together, and feel the humanity of another. When we ghost each other, block people on social media, and gossip about what the other is doing the gap widens. I’ve shrunk from a few people over the last several years, finding their opinions repulsive. Yet I know there’s still common ground should we ever sit down to catch up. We go on with our lives without those people in it, but feel the void where the relationship calved. Stack up enough of these and it’s death by a thousand cuts. No wonder people are lonely and stressed out.

      At least there’s work to take our minds off the world, right? But even here the gap between what needs to be done and what we can possibly accomplish feels impossibly large. We catch up on one thing and see the gap widen in another. Supply chain issues, labor shortages, trust issues… it’s enough to make you throw your hands up in the air and buy a boat or camper to get out of Dodge. We work until the wheels come off and then teeter trying to balance on what’s left.

      The reality is we’ll never quite catch up, and that’s okay. We decide where to close gaps and where to let things stay adrift. When the time is right–if the time is ever right–we’ll come back to that which we’ve neglected and, well, catch up once again.

    • Trivia Night

      You might say it was doubling down on trivia. A local pub hosts a trivia night contest in Rhode Island. I met family there to participate. I’ve done this before, but the crowd seemed bigger this time, as if people are eager to get out in the world again, variants be damned. I understood all too well. Vaccinated, boosted, and with a mild case of COVID during the holidays (when it became particularly trendy), I felt super immune and ready to get around people again. The couple hacking away at the table next to mine made me wonder if I was pushing my luck. We’ve all become hyper-aware of other people’s sniffles, haven’t we?

      As the questions rolled out, one-by-one, it was clear we could have used another ringer or two in the group. Trivia contests are part knowing the right answer, and part getting the right questions in a series that you know the answers to. The last ingredient to success is having the courage to go big when you have an opportunity to. The last time we played trivia we were leading (!) with one final question to answer. We bet conservatively and other groups overtook us in the end, even though we all got the question right. Such is the nature of trivia contests.

      In the corner of the pub, quietly playing while we all participated in our game of trivia, Jeopardy! was playing on a big screen television. If you haven’t been keeping track, or are from another country that doesn’t broadcast it, Amy Schneider was on a 40-game winning streak, becoming a millionaire in the process. But lately she’s been missing the final Jeopardy! question. It hasn’t been a problem because she’s been building such a lead, but in this game, in front of all these trivia folks, the game was a toss-up going into the final question with Schneider and another contestant. So it would literally come down to who answered correctly and who bet what.

      As you might imagine, in a room full of trivia people, this quickly captured the attention of the entire room. Our own trivia game paused as the final Jeopardy! question was answered, and one-by-one the contestants answers were revealed. The challenger, just behind in money, had the right answer and bet big enough to take the lead. A hush came over the room as Schneider’s answer was revealed–wrong answer! The room erupted in astonishment, the queen dethroned! This is the world of trivia geeks, treating this moment like the Super Bowl or World Cup final. And why not celebrate general knowledge? The world could use a few more educated people agreeing on facts.

      As the buzz in the room calmed, we refocused on our own trivia game. Questions weren’t lining up in our favor, and we finished in the middle of the pack. Such is the way. You get the questions you get, and you go big or you go home.

    • Lending an Ear

      Every tree, every growing thing as it grows,
      says this truth, You harvest what you sow.
      With life as short as a half-taken breath,
      do not plant anything but love.
      — Rumi, Every Tree

      I had lunch with a man of Ukrainian descent. He spoke with love for his old home, before he came to America, before he raised his family and built his life removed from his origins. We spoke about his country, about what might come to be. He spoke about bringing his daughter there for summer vacation. “I suppose we’ll have to put that off a year.” He said.

      We dance along in life, oblivious to the stoic pain of those around us. It’s easy to get wrapped around the pole with our own problems, for they nag at us incessantly if we let them run free. No doubt, we all ought to get our own houses in order. But the easiest way to forget about ourselves is to focus on others. To lend an ear. To help those in need. We all need a bit more love and understanding, don’t you think?

      The world keeps tapping me on the shoulder, asking me to listen. For a long time I wouldn’t give it the time of day, so absorbed in my own life as I was. But now I hear it’s cry for help.

    • Yesterday, Today & Tomorrow

      We treat our plans as though they are a lasso, thrown from the present around the future, in order to bring it under our command. But all a plan is—all it could ever possibly be—is a present-moment statement of intent. It’s an expression of your current thoughts about how you’d ideally like to deploy your modest influence over the future. The future, of course, is under no obligation to comply. — Oliver Burkeman, Four Thousand Weeks: Time Management for Mortals

      Yesterday I played chess for two hours with my brother, him shaking and physically beaten up from radiation treatments, but sharp-witted and sarcastic as ever, with his gallows humor in heavy use. I chipped away with bold chess moves that almost sunk me a few times before I ended up winning in the end. I don’t take it easy on him when it comes to chess, nor would he expect that from me. He’s won his fair share. Ultimately we were both grateful to play against a fellow human instead of the cold comfort of mouse clicks and a glaring computer screen. Chess is amongst the most beautiful games life has to offer—why do we play it so infrequently?

      Today I’d contemplated a long hike on a 4000 footer, but in the end I’m opting for dinner with friends to celebrate a birthday. I suppose I could have done both, but we prioritize what we will in our brief dance under the stars. The friends will be gone soon, sailing away in the fall to faraway places. Lasso time with them while you can, I think, and stop worrying about what you can’t do. We miss so much in our lifetimes—how many shooting stars did I miss by not gazing upward a beat longer? How many frozen ice sculptures melt away without my ever seeing them? We can’t worry about such things, we can only do what we might in the present moment. And try again in the next should we arrive there.

      Tomorrow may just arrive, and we ought to make our plans and live in hope that it all comes together. We have to place a little faith in a future we might not see, don’t we? Life is a collection of memories of moments gone by, but can only be lived now, with an eye towards then. All that matters is living with intent, and embracing the good while managing the rest. I intend to find a little magic in the world, to keep sending sparks of light wherever and whenever the opportunity presents itself, and celebrate it in my own modest way. Maybe that’s enough.

    • Our Sum of Moments

      “We are the sum of all the moments in our lives – all that is ours is in them: we cannot escape it or conceal it.” — Thomas Wolfe

      The interesting thing about seeing is that you can’t go back to being oblivious to the world around you. More to the point, you learn to see yourself as you are. And then you spend the rest of your days figuring out what to do about it.

      Figuring out how we got the way we are is a different story, and there are plenty of people who make it their profession to steer you down the path towards enlightenment on this particular question. Personally, I like to leave the past where it lies and focus on the bits I can control now. But there’s no getting around the fact that the sum of our lives brought us to this point. How that fuels the fire in our heart and soul determines where we go from here.

      I went to the wake of a kind soul yesterday, a man who always smiled when I saw him, and built a collection of family and friends who honored him at his passing. I reviewed the obligatory poster boards and digital display on the monitors full of his life memories. This wasn’t the sum of his life, but it was a good sample pack of the highlights. His hopes and dreams passed with him, but the momentum of his life was on display for all to see.

      Seeing ourselves as the sum of our moments, we recognize we’re still collecting. Still changing the story of our lives one memory at a time. Like stamps in a passport that shows where we’ve been, pictures and stories flesh out our past. Each face looking back at you is a part of the whole, and part of your whole, whether the ripple was large or barely perceptible. Each reminds us to move through this life with elegance and intent. To collect our own sum in our time. And share it with the world.