Alexandersmap

    Category: Culture

    • Understanding How to Think

      “Learning how to think really means learning how to exercise some control over how and what you think. It means being conscious and aware enough to choose what you pay attention to and to choose how you construct meaning from experience. Because if you cannot exercise this kind of choice in adult life, you will be totally hosed.” – David Foster Wallace, This is Water

      Watching the Pixar movie Soul yesterday, there was a reference to fish in water not knowing what water is. An hour later I was reading Admiral James Stidiris’s book Sailing True North and he also dropped in a reference to the speech, mentioning he reads it at least once a year. So, not one to ignore two disparate neon arrows pointing towards one specific source, I put the book down and re-read Wallace’s commencement speech. And just to be sure of his inflection I then listened to it again this morning (link above). Stidiris is right to read it every year. It should be required reading/listening for every person as part of their education, for if you look around at the highly-polarized America of 2020 it’s striking how on the mark Wallace was.

      I tend to absorb things through repetition and diversity, and maybe you do too. So watching the speech was one method of understanding, but reading the transcript at my own pace is where I fully absorbed what Wallace was trying to say. And in re-reading it at the end of 2020, when so much of what he said in 2005 reverberates differently, was striking. Wallace covers the peril of blind certainty, the contrasting importance of critical awareness and the “basic self-centredness” embedded in all of our operating systems. Critical awareness leads to freedom:

      “This, I submit, is the freedom of a real education, of learning how to be well-adjusted. You get to consciously decide what has meaning and what doesn’t. You get to decide what to worship.”

      “The really important kind of freedom involves attention and awareness and discipline, and being able truly to care about other people and to sacrifice for them over and over in myriad petty, unsexy ways every day… That is real freedom. That is being educated, and understanding how to think. The alternative is unconsciousness, the default setting, the rat race, the constant gnawing sense of having had, and lost, some infinite thing.”

      And there it is: the real, and really important, freedom of learning how to think for yourself. Of listening to the vile poison coming out of a politician’s mouth or written in upper case Twitter ramblings and taking a step back from it and saying “no, that’s bullshit”. And, importantly, listening to a counter argument by another talking head and seeing the bias in their words too.

      Perhaps this is the elitism that the zealots describe independent thinkers as having. I once had a conversation over lunch with a customer in Rochester, New York who was incredulous that I might have a different point of view about Donald Trump. I quickly steered to common ground, pointing out that it would be better if he didn’t tweet quite so much (never debate politics, or anything really, with your customers). I saw right away that there was no helping him understand the underlying issues with Trump. Debating him would have positioned me as a smug liberal (I’m a centrist, thank you).

      The thing is, I’m not sure I’m right about Trump, but the body of evidence and his consistent tendency to do just the opposite of what I would have done in just about everything he’s done surely suggests my assessment is correct for me. And that freedom to consider what is known, assess and reach my own conclusion about a matter, independent of what others say and with full awareness of my own biases, well, that I think is what Wallace was trying to get at with this speech about the value of a Liberal Arts education.

      Wallace committed suicide three years after delivering this Commencement speech at Kenyan College. He was born in Ithaca, New York and got his undergraduate degree from Amherst College. These are two places I’ve immersed myself in during my tenure on this planet, so I feel a small connection to him. Infinite Jest is the book that got the world to take notice of him. But his Commencement speech might just be his most enduring work.

    • The Nature of Robust

      I tripped over a delightful word while reading a John McPhee book, turned it around in my head to assess it, and diligently highlighted it for the definition to be sure I had it right. The word? Pallesthesia. I write it and even WordPress underlines it in red dots of confusion. Pallesthesia is a “vibratory sensation”. A more complete definition may be found here if you choose. Anyway, the word seems appropriate for the topic at hand this morning: coffee.

      This week I’ve had the opportunity to assess four distinct coffee blends with my trusty AeroPress coffee maker. Two Peet’s (Berkeley, CA) Major Dickinson blends, one pre-ground and one whole bean. A Stumptown (Portland, OR) Hair Bender pre-ground blend and finally, a Blue Harbor (Hampton, NH) Sumatra whole bean blend. This gave me a unique testing lab to compare the differences, with the AeroPress and the water consistent for each cup.

      It may go without saying that there’s a distinct difference between whole bean and pre-ground coffee, but sometimes you just need the convenience of pre-ground. Given the time it takes to grind a tablespoon of whole coffee beans, it isn’t even convenience, really, but lack of motivation to get the grinder out and do the necessary work. Since I’m waiting for water to boil anyway, why not grind a few beans?

      The difference between pre-ground and freshly ground whole bean was most pronounced between the two bags of Peet’s Major Dickinson beans. The whole beans offer undeniable richness and flavor profiles that you don’t get with the pre-ground. I’m not one to ever turn down a cup of Peet’s, but given the choice the whole bean is the way to go.

      Stumptown is a famous name in coffee, and it’s a good cup, but it suffered in comparison to the whole bean Peet’s. I think it’s partially the Hair Bender roast being blended for mass appeal versus the richer blends I tend to favor. That said, I’m sipping a cup of it now while writing this blog, and it will do the pallesthesia trick when you just want to get moving in the morning.

      And that brings me to Blue Harbor’s whole bean Sumatra. This turned out to be my favorite of the lot. I think it comes down to it being the freshest roast of them all (being a local roaster that doesn’t mass produce bags of coffee at the scale of a Peet’s or Stumptown) and Sumatra is a go-to blend for me anyway. Peet’s guarantees that their coffee is no older than 90 days when you buy it at your local market, but that Blue Harbor is likely no more than 9 days old. Both are great, but you really taste the difference in a freshly roasted, just-ground coffee. So a nod to the local New Hampshire roaster for this round of the coffee wars: best in class this week.

      One thing is clear from all of this sipping and contemplation: great coffee matters. And whole bean great coffee roasted recently is profoundly more interesting than a whole bean brewed a while back. Another example of buying local making a big difference in the quality of your life.

    • The Wait

      Christmas morning for early risers is all about the wait. The scene is set, the stockings are strung by the chimney with care and stuffed full of candy and knickknacks and gift cards. The coffee is made, sipped down, and sometimes made again. The waiting game has begun.

      Back when the kids were in the magic age when Santa Claus and Rudolph dominated the conversation on Christmas Eve, sleep deprivation was the name of the game. You’d stay up half the night assembling the shock and awe gift of that particular season. And then they’d wake you up in a flurry of excited activity as one or the other would stir, realize what the moment was, whisper loudly to the other to wake up! and then they’d rush in to finish the job of getting you out of bed too. At the height of this mad dash we’d often be done with the early shift unwrapping by 7 o’clock.

      Not so when they reach adulthood. Now it’s all about the waiting game. The residents of the house get up in stages like it’s a Saturday morning with no place to go. We’ll get this celebration rolling around 9 o’clock I’d guess, but then again, who really knows? But they’re worth the wait.

      We won’t see everyone we’d like to see this Christmas, but we’ll add Zoom to our day and make the most of it. It’s a different vibe, but the same love. No assembly required. But maybe some tech support and reading glasses.

      Merry Christmas. And Happy Holidays. For all this year brought I hope this morning brings you Peace.

    • The Cold Water Initiation

      “Though it be the hottest day in July on land, and the voyage is to last but four hours, take your thickest clothes with you, for you are about to float over melted icebergs.” – Henry David Thoreau, Cape Cod

      The stretch of water between Cape Sable Island in Nova Scotia and Cape Cod in Massachusetts is known as the Gulf of Maine. A lot of history has floated between these two points, from Native Americans and later the Basque fishing and whaling these rich and vibrant waters to explorers like Giovanni da Verrazzano and Samuel de Champlain mapping the coast and looking for places for settlements. The Gulf of Maine remains the one constant that each would recognize, though they might wonder where all the fish went until they glance back at the developed shoreline.

      In 1604 Champlain ventured south from Port Royal to explore the coast of Maine. It was on this trip that he discovered Acadia, and further south, the “baye longue” between two capes and a long stretch of sand beaches on the present coast of New Hampshire.” (David Hackett Fischer, Champlain’s Dream. It’s on these beaches that generations of New Englanders and vacationing Canadians have discovered the truth in Thoreau’s words: this water is as cold as melted icebergs!

      Cold water gets in your blood, and you don’t celebrate it so much as accept it for what it is: a shocking reminder of how insignificant we really are. The Atlantic Ocean is divided into the Northern Atlantic and the Southern Atlantic, but really, there are divisions within divisions. A swim in Miami is not the same as a swim in Virginia, and a swim in the Hamptons on Long Island is definitely not the same as a swim at Hampton Beach in New Hampshire.

      You aren’t really a New Englander until you’ve taken the plunge into the Gulf of Maine on a hot day. It’s an initiation of sorts into the extremes. There isn’t a person who swam in early July at Hampton Beach who couldn’t relate to the bobbing passengers at the end of Titanic. The cold water hardens you, tests your mettle, and reminds you of your mortality. And that’s why I’ve grown to love a bracingly cold swim now and then. That stinging skin is a shocking reminder that you’re still very much alive… if a bit numb.

    • En Passant, Knowing Your Place and Breaking Rules

      I once got in a debate with my grandfather about the rules of chess. Specifically, he would execute En Passant when I would attempt to move past his advancing pawn. At the time I thought I knew the rules of chess, but it seems I’d never fully grasped the rules the pawn plays by. It wasn’t until I took the time to learn chess at a deeper level that I realized he was right all along. And I can see him winking at me in my mind.

      For those who don’t play the game, a pawn may advance one square forward, can’t move past a piece that blocks its forward advance until that piece moves and may capture another piece diagonally forward only. Simple. And then they added another rule to help speed up the game a bit, allowing you to move every pawn two squares forward on its initial move only. Well, this created a problem as well, for if an opponent’s pawn had advanced to a point where your move two squares forward eliminated their ability to capture your pawn in it’s forward diagonal move, you were essentially stealing the already limited power from the opponent’s pawn.

      En Passant, French for “in passing“, is a rule that allows the opponent to say “not so fast!” (Well, really they would say “en passant“) and execute the move of putting their pawn onto your square where your recently deceased pawn had once been. It’s a way of telling you not to get too far ahead of yourself or you’ll pay the consequences.

      And there lies the dark side to En Passant: It’s reminding the pawns of the world to know their place, to not get ahead of themselves or they’ll suffer the consequences. En Passant was invented long before democracy, and pawns generally knew their place and skated their lanes. The bold were snuffed out if they went a step too far.

      In democratic societies we chafe at being pawns, and the bold among us do leap forward. The rules of law can still remind you you’re a pawn if you grow reckless, but mostly it’s other pawns telling you not to stick your neck out. And worse, En Passant largely resides in our own minds: Imposter syndrome, timidity, and fear of the unknown keep us skating in our own lane, one square at a time, while the big players in the world spin around us.

      A pawn that plays by the rules may advance forward diligently and become a queen or any player it wants should it reach the end. There’s a subtle message there too, and you look around and most people play that game. Skate your lane, reach the end and retire… Fine, I suppose, but a little less sparkle for your time on the board, don’t you think?

      No, there’s a place for boldness in this world. We are each in passing here for a very brief time. En Passant only applies to pawns, after all. And who said you had to be a pawn anyway?

    • Planets Dancing

      “in other breaking news
      a silver moon
      sailed
      above the world
      and the only ones
      who knew it
      were the ones who looked up”
      – Kat Lehmann, Small Stones From The River

      The skies cleared in New England after a day of heavy snow, allowing the few who ventured outside to see the waxing crescent moon looking like a giant in the western sky. A bit further along in their dip towards the western horizon was the equally stunning dance of Jupiter and Saturn. They’re slowly moving towards each other for the “Great Conjunction” on December 21st. Last night the moon was at 10% illumination, giving Jupiter and Saturn the spotlight. The three together made for a magical picture.

      I witnessed this dance across a field that cows graze on during the day, on days when it isn’t coated in snow. Last night the cows were huddled in their barn and the field sloped down towards the west, giving a wonderful view of the dance. I wonder if the cows took turns sneaking a peak through the barn door at this once in a lifetime event? Probably not. Most humans pay no attention, who can expect a cow to grasp the significance?

      Monday, December 21st seems to be trending towards rain and cloud cover. That’s par for the 2020 course, as we seem to have cloud cover for most of the celestial events this year. So maybe having the opportunity to witness something that hasn’t occurred at night since the year 1220 will be next to impossible here in New Hampshire. But we can hope for clear skies, for we’ll never see it again in our lifetimes.

      I wonder why more people aren’t lining the roads in wonder at the universe. But every day is a once in a lifetime event for each of us. Maybe we’re used to squandering moments? And maybe the world is too complex and broken for such things as great conjunctions. But I’d like to think that, maybe, they just haven’t looked up yet.

    • Which Comes First?

      Enter first applicant.

      “You understand that this is a simple test we are giving you before we offer you the job you have applied for?”
      “Yes.”
      “Well, what is two plus two?”
      “Four.”

      Enter second applicant.

      “Are you ready for the test?”
      “Yes.”
      “Well, what is two plus two?”
      “Whatever the boss says it is.”

      The second applicant got the job.

      Which comes first, orthodoxy or the truth?
      – Anthony De Mello, The Job, from The Song Of The Bird

      Hard to read this story and not immediately see similarities in the world of politics lately. You either kiss the ring and accept (and parrot) doctrine or you look for the truth outside the door. You see it with people who dare speak of the facts in the face of an overwhelming win in the US Presidential Election, and you see it with people who call you a snowflake if you believe Climate Change is an existential threat or wearing a mask in a pandemic might make a little sense. Call me what you want; give me science, thank you.

      There’s nothing new in this, of course – refer to Galileo or Darwin for examples of the dangers of proposing that the way people see the world might not be entirely accurate. This is especially true when you mess with people’s ideas about religion, politics, and nationalism. Americans generally come together when it counts most, and perhaps we’ll see that once the man who fancies himself the boss for life has less of a hold on power and his spin on orthodoxy.

      The question is, are some things worth the fight for truth, or is everything?

    • Learning to Love Them

      “A man who took great pride in his lawn found himself with a large crop of dandelions. He tried every method he knew to get rid of them. Still they plagued him.
      Finally he wrote the Department of Agriculture. He enumerated all the things he had tried and closed his letter with the question: “What shall I do now?”
      In due course the reply came: “We suggest you learn to love them.”
      – Anthony De Mello, Dandelions

      2020 is almost over, but the damage done this year will be with us for a long time. Damage to our confidence about walking around in public places. Damage to our relationships with people who took the other side in an election. Damage to our faith in humanity itself. Which makes you wonder, what will plaque us when this is over?

      Will we not talk to “certain people” again? Will your neighbor keep their Trump sign up until 2024? Will social change gradually become accepted by the vast majority? Will we ever stand closer than six feet with strangers again? Will those who had COVID suffer from the invasive symptoms of the virus for their lifetimes? Will the planet quickly reject humanity as a virus of its own?

      So many questions developed and honed in the tumultuous forge of 2020. So what shall we do now? What could we possibly love about this year?

      We can get rid of the number on the calendar but we can’t rid ourselves of the lingering resentment for what was taken away from us when the New Year rings in: Loved ones. Friendships. Events. Time.

      We can love the lawn despite the dandelions.

      Personally, I’ve lost a step-father but grown closer to my mother. I’ve found time with friends who were supposed to be on the other side of the world right about now. I’ve missed out on a graduation ceremony and an anniversary trip to Hawaii but gained moments with my children and my wife. I’ve lost time in places far away but immersed myself in necessary home projects and sunk my hands deeper into the garden than before.

      There’s no doubt this year will leave a mark. We’ll all look back on it with complicated emotions. But even soldiers in war would talk of that time fondly for the bonds formed under duress. We’ll learn to love some of 2020, despite it all.

    • Have a Look

      “The universe is full of magical things patiently waiting for our wits to grow sharper.” – Eden Phillpotts

      Rumors of Aurora Borealis potential had me looking up at the skies last night and tracking its progress across the globe with my trusty Aurora app. Overcast skies last night combined with being too far south made it all but impossible to see it where I am, but there’s hope tonight when I’m further north. Expectations rise with the solar flares.

      Do you wonder at the skies the way that I do? I should hope so. Without magic and wonder life would be a quiet bore. A bitter slate of scarcity and distraction and isolationism. There are plenty of people in this mad world who consume and sling bile. That’s no way to live.

      The Northern Lights are big and evasive when you live far away, but there’s magic right in our midst, should we look for it. It’s in the eyes of a toddler looking at you with a soggy smile. In the vibrating purr of a cat sneaking in for body heat and affection. In the wispy steam drifting from your coffee on a cold morning. Lurking in a dusty book on the shelf that you’ve skipped over for years. It’s right under your nose waiting for your wits to grow sharper.

      Have a look.

    • To Hell With Comparison

      “We have so far to go” sighed the boy
      “Yes, but look at how far we’ve come.” said the horse
      – Charlie Mackesy      , The Boy, The Mole, The Fox and The Horse

      I listened to an associate talk of stocks purchased and his regret that he only made $300K on his Moderna but would have made a million if he’d stuck with it. He’d already made millions selling his business, and talked of starting another business to build and sell. He’s a hustler, a builder, a big shark in a red ocean always hungry for more. And a charming guy who quickly wins people over with his personality and work ethic.

      Another friend who worked for this friend learned all he could from the big shark and started his own company. He’s built it up to be substantial. There’s no doubt that he’s a big shark himself now, and he talks exactly like the first guy. Rattles off accomplishments in every conversation, big wins, and a trophy house on a famous lake. Also a hustler, he’s built something special but isn’t slowing down. No, he’s got an empire to build and the climb isn’t over.

      You can quickly feel inadequate when you talk to someone who leapfrogs the average. These two make me dizzy when I talk to them, and there’s plenty more just like them who will rattle off wins like entrees on a Cheesecake Factory menu. I can’t help but admire them, and compliment each accomplishment for what it is. And there’s a little bit of comparison that slips in right about then where I think about what I’ve done in the industry versus what they’ve done, and… I silently curse myself for not being a bigger shark.

      “Comparison is the primary sin of modern life.” – Michael Ray“

      When you try to keep up with the Joneses you willingly enter into an arms race you can’t win. But the tendency to compare runs deep. And I thought about my two friends. They talk often, and I wonder about their conversations. I did this! Well, I did this! And so on until their next client calls with a billion dollar deal just in time for the holidays. And I shake my head. I don’t want to swim in that ocean.

      “Comparison is the death of joy.” – Mark Twain

      When you live your life based on how you perceive yourself to be in relation to someone else you can never measure up. And you set yourself up for a life of frustration and exhaustive one-upmanship. And yet most of us do it anyway. Worse, we start looking at what our children have accomplished compared to the neighbors kids and seed our issues right in to the next generation.

      “The trouble with the rat race is that even if you win, you’re still a rat.” – Lily Tomlin

      You can’t help but think about how far you have to go when you start comparing yourself to others. But it helps to look back and recognize just how far you’ve come. Often the best views are well before we reach the summit. We’re all on our own path, and it might just look pretty good to someone else. Shouldn’t we recognize that ourselves and appreciate where we are?

      And still comparison persists. Comparison can be a spur or a cancer. It serves to fuel progress, inspire action, alter our course and generally goad us out of complacency. Comparison isn’t all bad. Until you use it to degrade yourself or those you love, or to win at any cost. In those moments, to hell with comparison. Isn’t it better to be George Bailey than Mr. Potter?