Alexandersmap

    Category: Culture

    • Mothers

      Mother’s Day 2021 seems to be trending back towards where we were before the pandemic, if forever different. Before you just showed up with flowers or a gift, broke some bread and tried to sync with siblings to be there at the same time. Now there are things to consider, beginning with who’s vaccinated and who isn’t.

      Fathers have something to offer beyond teaching kids to drive and fixing things, but let’s face it, in most families mothers are the glue that keep everyone together. I see that in my own mother, and I see it in my wife and how she connects with my daughter and her mother. As a father I like having the kids around, but it’s mom that makes that happen.

      Ryan Holiday promotes this Stoic idea of Sympatheia, which is “a connectedness with the cosmos” and “the interconnectedness and mutual interdependence of all things in the universe”. That interconnectedness doesn’t just happen in a vacuum, it happens one mother at a time, connecting people together and teaching us to see it ourselves. That connection goes beyond family, but family connection is where it starts. And that starts with Mom.

      Happy Mother’s Day to you mothers out there, and particularly to my own. Grateful for the work you all do to keep things interconnected. The universe, and I, thank you.

    • Living Atypically

      “We all know that distinctiveness – originality – is valuable. We are all taught to ‘be yourself.’ What I’m really asking you to do is to embrace and be realistic about how much energy it takes to maintain that distinctiveness. The world wants you to be typical – in a thousand ways, it pulls at you. Don’t let it happen.” – Jeff Bezos, from his final letter to shareholders as CEO

      That pulling at you bit is the trick, isn’t it? We all want to be integral in the lives of those who mean so much to us. We all want to be the glue that holds it all together. We all want to belong, somewhere deep down. And it feels like for that to happen you must be… consistent. Predictable. Who you’re supposed to be.

      I don’t know what atypical means to Jeff Bezos. What’s the ask here? To work relentlessly for the company objectives and scratch and claw your way to the top, or something entirely different? The Amazon culture received plenty of bad press along the way. But doesn’t everything atypical? And Amazon is atypical, and in being so, culturally transformative. Bezos also said this in his letter:

      “If you want to be successful in business (in life, actually), you have to create more than you consume. Your goal should be to create value for everyone you interact with.”

      I can’t argue with this, can you? So what of us? As the world slowly opens up again, what are we to do with the freedom of movement? Will we return to what we once were, or gently alter course towards what we’ve always wanted to be? How are we creating value? For we’re more than individuals living our “best life”, we’re a part of something bigger than ourselves.

      “You have to pay a price for your distinctiveness, and it’s worth it. The fairy tale version of “be yourself” is that all the pain stops as soon as you allow your distinctiveness to shine. That version is misleading. Being yourself is worth it, but don’t expect it to be easy or free. You’ll have to put energy into it continuously.”

      We have this wee bit of time, and then the dance is done. The challenge is to keep thinking bigger, adding more value and meaning in your life and for those around you. This in itself is atypical in a way, isn’t it? So many bury themselves in distraction and pettiness and mock outrage. Where’s the value in that? Get outside of yourself and go build something of substance from that burning vision you have.

      I encourage you to read that shareholder letter. There’s a lot of boldness in there, and it’s clear that Bezos isn’t done yet. And neither should we be done. For there’s so much more to do. In our own unique way.

    • From Fenway Park to Barred Owls in the Night

      Yesterday afternoon I changed up the routine and watched the Boston Red Sox play the Detroit Tigers at Fenway Park. Day games are a different vibe than night games, and all games are a different vibe during a pandemic. But we’re slowly coming out of it, and going to a baseball game on a beautiful day felt pretty cool.

      It’s been decades since I’d seen that many empty seats at Fenway Park. Social distancing requirements demand low capacity, and we were among the lucky few to get in to see the game. Honestly the game was a mess of bad pitching and horrific defense for both teams, with 21 total runs scored. But being back inside the park after a couple of years, and especially the last year, made it special.

      The entire experience, like everything else nowadays, occurs with appropriate precautions. They zip tie the seats you’re not supposed to sit in, and have some ushers walking around asking you to put your mask on if you aren’t eating or drinking. I saw plenty of people breaking this rule, but people are spaced so far apart that it didn’t matter much. The group I was part of is fully vaccinated and more comfortable than we might have been otherwise. No food vendors walking up and down the stairs pitching hot dogs and popcorn, and there were limited options below. But we were still at Fenway Park and loving the afternoon vibe.

      Back at home in New Hampshire and ready to call it an early night, I heard the calls of Barred Owls in the woods behind the house. Loud. Close. And what sounded like three or four owls. We don’t generally have Barred Owls in the neighborhood, mostly because we have Great Horned Owls and they stay clear of each other. But here they were, and the night was filled with the apocalyptic sounds of Barred Owls in the night.

      You can’t just slip away to dreamland when there’s a cacophony of owl calls outside. So I walked outside on the deck and stood listening to them in the dark. High up in the tree canopy, making baby Barred Owls or at least deep in negotiation. I thought about the contrast between Fenway Park and the woods of New Hampshire on this beautiful day in May. I’m not sure what this “new normal” will be, but if this was it, I felt lucky to have been a part of it.

    • Poems and Cat Puke

      The clouds have left the sky,
      The wind hath left the sea,
      The half-moon up on high
      Shrinketh her face of dree

      She lightens on the comb
      Of leaden waves, that roar
      And thrust their hurried foam
      Up on the dusky shore.

      Behind the western bars
      The shrouded day retreats,
      And unperceived the stars
      Steal to their sovran seats.

      And whiter grows the foam,
      The small moon lightens more;
      And as I turn me home,
      My shadow walks before.
      – Robert Bridges, Dusky Shore

      There’s a moment when expectations meet reality. Certainly we all expected more out of 2020 than we got, and I can say the same about this morning’s blog. It started with a poem – Dusky Shore, as you see. It became cleanup in aisle 5.

      I’ve toyed with Bridges’ famous poem for some time, undecided about whether to dance with the classic romantic lines, or leave well enough alone. It has all the ingredients sprinkled together just so – the moon and the sea, post sunset dusky bliss and a turn towards home… but it still misses the mark for me. And I’m not sure why.

      I believe it’s in the way the words are stacked just so. It feels like he’s playing to the audience a bit to me, instead of mining his soul. But still the words are lovely in the way that a Thomas Kinkade painting is. Pretty, I suppose, but not really my style.

      As I walked down the stairs contemplating this poem and whether to go there, I came across the apocalyptic mounds of yellowish cat puke on the area rug that announced my quaint dalliance with Dusky Shore was going to take a back seat for the moment. As the designated early bird in a house full of night owls, I’m faced with such moments more than I care to remember. You either pretend not to see it or grab the paper towels and deal with it. I’ve learned it’s best to tackle the demons head-on and get on with your life. There’s nothing more demonic than cat puke on an area rug.

      I wonder about Robert Bridges, turning from the white foamy sea towards home, shadow walking before. As he opened the door to his humble home, what greeted him? For all the beauty of the prose, every now and then a little cat puke intrudes upon your Rosebud Cottage. It may be unwelcome, but it teaches you a bit about who you are when the moment of bliss is interrupted.

    • Worthy of Good

      “Isn’t it more appropriate for us humans to endure and be strong? We understand, after all, that we suffer for the sake of something good, either to help our friends, to aid our city, to fight on behalf of women or children, or for the most important and weighty reason of all, to be good and just and self-controlled. No one achieves this without pain. And so I conclude that because we humans acquire all good things by pain, the person who is himself unwilling to endure pain all but condemns himself to being worthy of nothing good.” – Musonius Rufus

      Looking back on the last year I wonder at the person I was a year ago, optimistic yet unsure about the pandemic. Working from home all the time was new; different and unfamiliar. A year later, the work is once again taking over. But we’re different, aren’t we? And so is the nature of the work.

      Ultimately, we either do the work or become masters at hiding from it. In general, and over time, this becomes a self-fulfilling prophesy for us. Do the work that matters, harden the softness that threatens your effectiveness and eventually good things will come your way.

      The days fly by when you’re deep in productive and rewarding work. Over the last year there were plenty of days that felt both unproductive and unrewarding. Sometimes you feel that things will never get back to normal. But the rewards are there for those who push through the pain and frustration and loss. Which makes me wonder, have I done enough to be worthy of those rewards? Are we doing enough now?

      If we know we can do more, shouldn’t we?

    • There’s a Tool for That

      Tool collections speak to me. You know what someone has done when they’ve got shelves full of well-used tools. If you’re observant, you can tell when they picked up a certain skill along the way too. I walked into the basement of an older gentleman I know who doesn’t get around much now to change out his dehumidifier. His tool collection was accumulated in the 1950’s through the 1970’s. And it could still do the job today.

      My own collection of tools grows with every to-do list. It took off when I began working construction jobs during college breaks. And then started rigging boats, maintained a temperamental F-150, pulled network cable and finally as a homeowner a few times over. I added an angle grinder last weekend because it’s the only good way to cut vinyl siding. How I’d gone so long without one is a mystery to me, but now it’s handy for the next odd project that requires that certain tool.

      There are some tools you buy in case you need it later. Those tend to grow lonely and still look new years later. Tools shouldn’t be bought on speculation. A tool is best acquired when you’re in need of it. The immediacy of the task demands a quick learning curve, and a lifetime of working towards mastery. Tools patiently wait for you to develop the skills to use it to its potential.

      I don’t ever worry about working, because I could leave my dress clothes behind today and start a small construction business. Or simply work for someone else. There’s always work in the trades, and never enough people willing to roll up their sleeves, grab their tools and get to it. What’s more permanent, the forecast I’m contemplating or the brick patio I laid down in 2006?

      A guy I worked for a long time ago once told me that there was nothing to any profession but learning the tricks of the trade. Every trick is now easily found on YouTube. Mastery is a different story, but you can make that up with time and patience (and a few do-overs). Those projects just need a willing apprentice to tackle them. And, of course, the right tool.

    • Present

      “No one imagines that a symphony is supposed to improve as it goes along, or that the whole object of playing is to reach the finale. The point of music is discovered in every moment of playing and listening to it. It is the same, I feel, with the greater part of our lives, and if we are unduly absorbed in improving them, we may forget altogether to live them.” – Alan Watts

      “For there is never anything but the present, and if one cannot live there, one cannot live anywhere.” – Alan Watts

      There’s no moment to reflect on the present quite like a Monday morning. It informs where you are in meeting the expectations you have for yourself. Looking ahead at the work that must be done, and looking back at where you’ve just been. So how does that symphony sound?

      The last two days flew right by as I worked on my garage doors. If spending your entire weekend in your garage sounds off-putting, I understand. It’s not Paris or a beach in the Caribbean, but mix the focused work of crafting something of lasting value with a greatest hits playlist and suddenly the garage wasn’t such a bad place to linger after all.

      A weekend of accomplishment meets the quiet reset of another week. When you come off the glow of building something of substance, what do you do the next morning? Hidden in that Monday morning to-do list is our purpose and direction (sometimes its really well-hidden).

      Weekends are great, but 72% of our lives is lived between Monday morning and Friday night. Life presents us with a succession of Monday mornings, all asking the same question: How do you like me now? Love the tune or not, it’s your move.

    • The Parking Lot Pop-Up Exhibit

      The impact of the pandemic goes well beyond the health crisis. You can see it in the price and availability in a growing number of items in the store. You can see it in the awkwardness of once commonplace routines like whether to shake hands or have an actual face-to-face meeting with someone. And yesterday, you could see it scattered throughout the parking lot of an orange home improvement store.

      Committed as I was to spending the stack of gift cards on the latest project on the house, I’d foolishly arrived at the store on a Saturday morning thinking I might just get a lumber cart. It seems there is a distinct lack of lumber carts at this location, for as carts are damaged they aren’t repaired but retired permanently. And replacements are apparently hard to come by. So that left people wandering the parking lot like zombies in an apocalypse movie, looking in vain for the one or two lumber carts that might still be available.

      Stubbornly creative in such moments, after two laps of the parking lot and one through the inside of the store, I decided to grab an orange shopping cart and use it instead. I wasn’t getting heavy lumber, I was getting PVC trim boards, I figured. Since weight wasn’t an issue, it was all about balance. And who’s more balanced than me?

      Stacking eight foot PVC trim boards is a simple matter. Adding ten foot trim boards on top of those is also simple. I even positioned the boards in such a manner that the stickers were ready for easy scanning. Fitting them into a car was completely secondary, I’d achieved proper balance on the cart and glided effortlessly through the store. Lost souls still searching for lumber carts nodded in understanding. The laws of the jungle apply in adversity.

      As you might have guessed, this masterpiece worked perfectly on the poured concrete floor of the big box store but didn’t pass muster when I started rolling across the parking lot. Vibration became the primary factor, creating instability, and the entire pile slid gently but uncontrollably forward and right off the cart. I’ve learned not to catch the sliding stack, for there is where injuries occur. I simply waited for the sculpture to speak to me. Luckily a father and son quietly joined me in putting the masterpiece back together again (quiet, but I knew what they were thinking – Wow, this guy is a genius!).

      And then I got the stack to the small SUV and began the process of fitting all of this in. I enjoy a good puzzle now and then. But here is where I missed having a truck. I might get creative with a shopping cart in a store, but the public roads are a different story. Soon I was back in the store purchasing a saw to make it fit just so. You do what you must in this apocalyptic world.

    • Memories, Like Sunsets

      “You may fancy yourself safe and think yourself strong. But a chance tone of color in a room or a morning sky, a particular perfume that you had once loved and that brings subtle memories with it, a line from a forgotten poem that you had come across again, a cadence from a piece of music that you had ceased to play. I tell you Dorian, that it is on things like these that our lives depend.” – Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

      The subtleties of memory drawn out from the senses alerting us to moments linked forever to that certain smell or that certain song lies dormant in all of us, awaiting the awakening. We never know when something might trigger an old memory. I was listening to a podcast while driving yesterday and the person being interviewed mentioned one moment from his life that triggered a memory of a similar moment in my own life, and the rest of the drive was down memory lane.

      I try to live in the present, with an eye towards the future. Living in the past does us no good. Lingering memories draw you into a different version of yourself, seen through the lens of who you are now. There are parts of the old me that I’m not particularly fond of, and other parts I reflect back on fondly. All of those parts built who I am today, and the me I might be tomorrow.

      Memories aren’t such a bad thing. They keep alive the people and places from our past that might not be with us anymore. They draw a smile out of us in quiet moments of reflection, or poke at us for the foolish behavior we don’t ever want to try again. Memories serve.

      “Loss brings pain. Yes. But pain triggers memory. And memory is a kind of new birth, within each of us. And it is that new birth after long pain, that resurrection – in memory – that, to our surprise, perhaps, comforts us.” – Sue Miller

      So I guess the answer is to live in the present, but embrace the memories when they’re triggered awake by the senses. Memories can be like the lingering glow after the sun sets. Sometimes the afterglow is better than the event itself, but sometimes it’s a continuation of something pretty spectacular. Memories, like sunsets, ought to be celebrated. Even as we look ahead to a new and different future.

    • Making Antibodies

      It turns out the second Pfizer shot beat me up a bit. Between the 20th hour and the 36th hour seems to have been my scheduled antibody manufacturing time. It began with chills, moved to aches, then lightheadedness. And then it sort of went away for a time. It turns out the vaccine was resting up to double down on the wave of suck. Suddenly I couldn’t get warm, then couldn’t stay cool. My body started aching down my right side (where I got the shot) to my lower back.

      And I’d have done it all over again in a second. If the vaccine beat me up like this I have no doubt the virus would have been 10x worse. Which is an admission this tough guy isn’t comfortable making.

      The takeaway is to get your vaccine whenever you’re on deck. Because I’d love to have you stick around for awhile. Because we have celebrations and travel and some version of normal waiting for us.

      So make some antibodies. It might not be as fun as making pizza or love, but it’s a good way to help get us back to where we all want to be. We’re almost there.