Alexandersmap

    Category: Culture

    • Editing Our Short [Life] Story

      “Stuart Cornfeld once told me that in a good screenplay, every structural unit needs to do two things: (1) be entertaining in its own right and (2) advance the story in a non-trivial way. We will henceforth refer to this as ‘the Cornfeld Principle.” – George Saunders, A Swim in a Pond in the Rain

      I don’t recall who recommended Saunder’s book to me. It was most certainly a podcast or blog somewhere along the way. On the face of it the book seems a bit academic, but it’s a delightful class in writing well using Russian short stories as the vehicle for instruction. If that sounds boring, I understand, but Saunders makes the stories come alive while informing us on the craft of building a story.

      Which brings me to this observation on writing a screenplay by Stuart Cornfeld. Who can argue each point when it comes to building a story? Yet so many fall flat in one or both element. And what of building a life? Shouldn’t a life be built around joy and purpose? There’s a balance there between fully enjoying this short life and making something of our short time here, isn’t there? What do we keep in our stories and what do we eliminate? This Cornfeld Principle offers a simple template, even if the application isn’t always so simple in practice.

      Stuart Cornfeld passed away last year. He’s best known for collaborations with Ben Stiller, including a joy nugget, The Secret Life of Walter Mitty. I don’t know much about him other than his work, but it’s clear he brought a bit of happiness to the world in his brief go at life.

      Shouldn’t we all aspire to a similar contribution? As we write our oh-so-brief life stories day-to-day, don’t we owe it to ourselves to make it both interesting and non-trivial? Whether our story becomes a page-turner of a life or a satisfying epic is up to us. Edit well.

    • The Force of Bitter Need

      First he chipped fire
      Out of the veins of flint where it was hidden;
      Then rivers felt his skiffs of the light alder;
      Then sailors counted up the stars and named them:
      Pleiades, Hyades, and the Pole Star;
      Then were discovered ways to take wild things.
      In snares, or hunt them with the circling pack;
      And how to whip a stream with casting nets,
      Or draw the deep-sea fisherman’s cordage up;
      And then the use of steel and the shrieking saw;
      Then various crafts. All things were overcome
      By labor and by force of bitter need.
      – Passages from Virgil’s First Georgic, translation by Robert Fitzgerald

      When you read something like this, what does it do to you? Most of us won’t ever experience the life or death struggles that our ancestors faced. Yet the force of bitter need echoes in how we live our lives today. As a student of history, it’s easy to treat the migration of humans across the globe as an academic exercise. To treat wars and conflict and the enslavement and genocide of large swaths of people as horrible footnotes in history. But the stories we tell ourselves that keep the world in order is all so very fragile.

      This translation of Virgil is breathtaking to me, because it reveals our shared history, our overcoming of things, to survive another day and maybe build off that to create a generation after us to keep things going. Our human story is one of deep struggle, pain and labor. Of surviving despite the deck stacked against us. May we never forget how all that we’ve overcome as humans has shaped us. And shapes us still.


    • Is This Enough?

      “Whoever is not in his coffin and the dark grave, let him know he has enough.” – Walt Whitman

      The nagging begins in weak moments of fatigue or boredom or frustration: “More“, the voice says. “I want more” it persists. And the voice bleeds over to the blog now and then, with complaints about not being out there in the world, not finishing that book, not reaching that fitness goal…. whatever.

      The moment you woke up this morning you had enough. More than old Walt has, more than every person you can even think of born before 1900 and most of those born before 1921. A hundred short years and most everyone you can ever think of as being alive vanishes to the other side of life. So who are we, complaining about enough?

      Feel life wash over you, in each breath and heartbeat and blink of an eye. For it is enough. That life is outrageously unfair is well-documented. That we might make a difference if we worked just a bit harder is indeed possible. But never forget in those moments of fatigue and boredom and frustration that this business of being alive today is just audacious enough in itself to celebrate the moment.

    • What Song Do You Hum to Yourself?

      I want to go all over the world
      And start living free
      I know that there’s somebody who
      Is waiting for me
      I’ll build a boat, steady and true
      As soon as it’s done
      I’m going to sail along in the dreams
      Of my dear someone
      – Gillian Welch & David Rawlings, Dear Someone

      There are bigger, more far-reaching songs on the classic album Time (The Revelator), but this one lingers in my head. It likely began with my interest in all things sailing and boats and travel. Or the lullaby rhythm of the song, which comes in handy when you have young children. I no longer have a boat of my own, having sold it off in relief several years ago. For that matter, I no longer have young children, as they begin their own adventures in places all over the world.

      When you want to start living free, what exactly do you want to be free of? Work? Or the life you’ve built around yourself, sturdy and strong, that locks you into a place and time in your brief go on this planet? Are we shaking off commitments and relationships of proximity in favor of the freedom of travel, or are we running from something in ourselves? Or maybe we’re seeking something that we aren’t finding where we currently find ourselves? Fair questions to ask before you set out in your vessel of choice. But never forget that you have that agency.

      A revelator is someone who reveals the will of God to the rest of us. We all decide what this God character is in our lives. We all have our stories about the world and our place in it. There is no better revelator than time, for it reveals within each of us the truth about who we are and where we want to go. Sometimes it reveals that what you’ve wanted most is what you’ve built around yourself. And that, maybe, what you’re seeking is already here.

      Every day I wake up
      Hummin’ a song
      But I don’t need to run around
      I just stay home
      And sing a little love song
      My love, to myself
      If there’s something that you want to hear
      You can sing it yourself
      – Gillian Welch & David Rawlings, Everything Is Free

      The world will open up once again, should we ride out this time and meet it. And then what? What boats are we building? Where do you go from here? Time will surely reveal it all to us, but let’s always remember that we have a bit of a say in the matter too. Over time, if we’re lucky, we learn to listen to the songs we hum to ourselves.

    • Traveling Between Variants

      Traveling again opens up the world, and exploring new places for a few days in Miami leaves me ready for so much more. Miami has some of the best dining options anywhere, and also some of the worst drivers. I delighted in the best sushi I’ve ever had, while marveling at some of the most ill-advised driving decisions I’ve ever seen. Each destination offers its own unique reveals.

      You forget how much you learned to love the life of a nomad until you’re locked in place for a year. One business trip and it all washes over you again. The anticipation and cadence of a meeting, the shift from one hotel to another as you change cities, overcoming language barriers, and the food versus fuel debate in your head as you scan unfamiliar menus. It’s all part of the life of a traveler, and you count your blessings when you can travel again.

      And yet this business of fighting the virus and its variants isn’t quite over yet. There’s an underlying unease about the virus amongst the thoughtful, and a heightened awareness of crowded spaces. Eating out in a place like Miami involves many crowded spaces. You hear of Australia locking down and patrolling streets and contrast it with the freedom of movement and the casual closeness in packed spaces in Florida. Who is right?

      We may move closer to normal, but the generational impact of the pandemic on the collective psyche of humanity will be felt for our lifetimes. When you travel again you immediately see the world differently than those who are still sheltering, because you have to. The world is moving on even as the virus is doubling down, and you’re either casual with your personal health and responsibility to others or you’re not. I’m surfing the edge and I know it, but the thrill of travel fills me up anyway.

      Travel by its nature requires a leap of faith and calculated risk. If you have the freedom to travel, then do so responsibly. That begins with getting vaccinated and practicing good hygiene. Risk is never eliminated in life, but it can be mitigated. Because getting back out there illuminates this beautiful gift of living, and it would be great for everyone to get back to the brighter days.

    • Rafting Up on Lake Winnipesaukee

      This hasn’t been a great month in New England for some of the traditional activities of summer. Not a lot of beach days, not a lot of dry hiking days, and not a lot of days when you’d want to raft up with other boats and soak up the sun, casually float in the lake and catch up with people you don’t spend a lot of time with. July 24th was one of the exceptions to an otherwise wet month, and it was an opportunity to take advantage of an invitation to raft up for an afternoon.

      There are 258 islands on Lake Winnipesaukee, each unique and full of stories. I found myself rafted up near Little Bear Island in about 18 feet of water, one of six boats and twenty people each with plenty of stories themselves. I don’t usually slow down enough to enjoy this type of activity very often, but when you’re rafted up on other people’s boats for the entire afternoon, it forces you to chill out a bit and enjoy the moment.

      In a raft up, boats tie on to each other, and at least a couple drop anchors to hold the entire floating island together in one place. With all the rain the water in the lake was higher than normal for the third week in July. It had finally warmed up nicely, making it easy to float for hours in the water, warm up in the sun on one of the boats and then take another plunge when the mood struck you.

      If you like big crowds, people watching and a wilder vibe you might choose to raft up in another location on the lake. There’s an abundance of wilder scenes for the party crowd.. For us, anchoring just outside the channel near Little Bear Island was the best of both worlds. Plenty of opportunities to watch boats motor by in a no wake zone, and of course plenty of chances to ignore the rest of the world and look at the beautiful mountain and lake scenery all around us.

      There are plenty of people who are experts on navigating the lake and it’s many islands, coves, eateries and pubs and history. As a visitor, I had a chance to play tourist on someone else’s boat, experience the lake as a relative newbie and marinate in its waters long enough that it soaked deep into me. A weekend on the lake is just enough to help you see what all the fuss is about. And fill you with memories and anticipation to return again someday soon.

    • Dancing in the Gap

      “Don’t lament so much about how your career is going to turn out. You don’t have a career, you have a life.” – Cheryl Strayed

      “Cease to be a drudge, seek to be an artist.” – Mary McLeod Bethune

      “I knew I had been transformed, moved by the revelation that human beings create art, that to be an artist was to see what others could not.” – Patti Smith

      Today is a Friday. which in the world of work means something to the majority of people making a living. Back in the day, Thursday and Friday night meant having a few drinks after work to wait out the traffic, commiserate about the grind suffered in earnest that week, and to talk of plans for the weekend.

      I’m done climbing that particular ladder. But I haven’t quite weened myself off being a drudge. But I fight and cajole myself towards some measure of artistry. Admittedly, it’s an odd place to reside. I know people who delight in their drudgery and shun artistry. I find that they live the rest of their lives in a similar fashion.

      We’ve built this social structure where taking one for the team and being a cog is celebrated. Cheryl Strayed is right to point out that your career is merely a part of your life, but it’s a big part. Aren’t we obligated to rise above the grind? We all know salespeople and engineers and accountants who spin delightful work out of what others might view as drudgery. Life is what you make of it, and so is your career. You can and should create beautiful art in your daily work.

      I’m particularly excited about a couple of projects I’m working on in my career. I’d like to weave a bit more art into each, and really, that ambition to raise the project to a level above the norm is where artists begin their work day. So what if it’s a sculpture or a PowerPoint presentation; make it beautiful.

      Our short, fragile lives are built on whimsy and chance and a bit of gumption. So why succumb to drudgery? Why not begin a notch or two above the norm and see how much you can stretch yourself? To dance in the gap between drudgery and art is to lift yourself beyond a job or a task to a place where the beautiful and noteworthy begins.

    • Magic is the Moment

      I have a bucket of magic carefully collected from places near and far. I scoop it out by the ladle and mix it together in jumbles of words with a twinkle of the eye and share it in conversations and social media and blog posts. Sometimes my efforts spark imagination and sometimes they fall into the void of indifference. It seems that sometimes I do a really good job of hiding the magic I’m trying to share. And I try to learn from these stumbles and find new ways for it to be seen.

      I’ve looked to refill the magic in Buzzards Bay and next to waterfalls, in quiet conversations, in books and in bits of poetry and lyrics, in experience and growth and learning. And yet I’ve noticed lately that my bucket of magic is running empty. But I’m unable to capture more of it for some reason. Blame it on a month of rain, or the smoky haze from wildfires thousands of miles away covering the northeast yet again, or the bad news on the COVID front about the Delta variant and the impact it’s having on the unvaccinated I care too much about.

      How can you capture magic when you’re so focused on the outrageous acts of the counterfeiters and conmen? How can you quench your own thirst when we encounter so many who drink a different kind of Kool-Aid? How can we possibly fill our buckets with magic when there’s so much misery in the world? When we share magic with people who try to refill our own bucket with judgement and hate and deception?

      Does sharing magic lead to a depletion of your own? We know this to be untrue. Just as loving leads to more love returned to you, so it is that magic magnifies magic.

      And here lies the secret: Magic lives in the place between where we once were and where we are going. You might know it by another name: now. Magic sparks in connection and our realization of the possibility of now. Magic lives in the moment. Magic is the moment.

      Instead of capturing magic and parsing it out by the ladle we would do better forming a bucket brigade to pass it from one person to another to fill the world with hope and wonder. A bucket brigade that might douse the flames of hate and division and selfishness. A steady flow of magic that could fill an ocean. Imagine that.

    • I’ve Loved Them All

      And in the end
      The love you take
      Is equal to the love you make
      – The Beatles, The End

      Which Beatles album is the greatest? The answer is different for most everyone, but it usually comes down to Rubber Soul, Revolver and Sgt. Pepper’s each wrestling for number one, with a couple of votes each for The Beatles (White Album) and Abbey Road. It’s a bit like asking which is your favorite child; you simply love them all as they are.

      The Beatles are always in the background of my life. Always. Born at the height of their popularity, you simply grew up listening to them. For those of us born “too late”, we missed out on the anticipation of a new album being released, for it was all out there when we began listening in earnest. When you’ve heard the later work, your jaw doesn’t drop quite as far to the floor when you listen to Rubber Soul. But you still appreciate the creative leap forward from Help! (a great album itself).

      All these places have their moments
      With lovers and friends I still can recall
      Some are dead and some are living
      In my life I’ve loved them all
      – The Beatles, In My Life

      Which is your favorite Beatle? This tells more about you than you might think. For me it was always George Harrison. The quiet Beatle. And for all the brilliantly prolific work of John Lennon and Paul McCartney, it was George who dropped some of the best songs into the mix of “best Beatles song”, which is close to impossible to determine.

      With every mistake, we must surely be learning
      Still my guitar gently weeps
      – The Beatles, While My Guitar Gently Weeps

      If George has 3-4 songs that ought to be in the mix for the best Beatles song, Lennon and McCartney had even more individually, and collaboratively co-wrote some of the greatest songs ever written on some of the best albums ever released. So how do you choose the best? Look at their solo careers? Here too, the ratio seems about the same.

      We could spend our lifetime debating such things or just agree that it was a brilliant run for the Fab Four. For this business of picking a favorite is nonsense. In the end we love them all.

    • COVID Truth and Consequences

      “It’s often easier to discover the truth if we believe it’s there in the first place.” – Seth Godin

      Speaking with a gentleman I once worked for a dozen years ago, we quickly caught up on life since the last time we saw each other. You do that with old acquaintances, find the common anchoring points, fill the voids, and reset to the present. In filling voids I’d heard about his brother, who recently passed from complications related to COVID. He spoke of the abruptness of it all, and the hole it left in his heart. He then told me he didn’t believe in the vaccination, felt it was too dangerous to take and he was going to Las Vegas for a trade show this coming week. And my head spun.

      We all choose the information we consume. We all get to decide what’s right for us. The problem we have today is there’s more conflicting information available to choose from than at any point in our history. And we’re choking on it. And it’s killing us.

      There’s no time for all of this. If the truth is that the virus is far deadlier than the vaccine, and far deadlier for those who are unvaccinated, then we have no time to debate ad infinitum whether the vetting process was long enough for the vaccinations. The barbarians are at the gate, throw up the damned defenses. Will there be long term health issues for those who opted to vaccinate? Highly unlikely, but possible. Is the Delta variant accelerating through the unvaccinated at alarming rates? Definitely, and highly probable.

      The truth is out there, but seemingly harder to reach consensus on than ever before. And maybe this is our fate, to stall and debate and wait for the world to fall in line with our beliefs. Knowing all along that it doesn’t really work that way.