Alexandersmap

    Category: Culture

    • The Great Repertoire

      I’ve reached a point in my life where I don’t depend on the people in my life for happiness, I’m quite happy whether I’m with my family, spouse, best friend or favorite pet or alone.  Don’t misunderstand:  All of the dancers on the floor with me certainly enhance my life and my happiness in profound ways.  But if experience and a whole lot of business traveling alone has taught me anything, it’s that I don’t require others to be happy.  Does that diminish the value of the people in my life? On the contrary, I believe it highlights that they’re in my life for all the right reasons.  So in reading this magnificent book Awareness, I was jolted by the following:

      “What I really enjoy is not you; it’s something that’s greater than both you and me. It is something that I discovered, a kind of symphony, a kind of orchestra that plays one melody in your presence, but when you depart, the orchestra doesn’t stop. When I meet someone else, it plays another melody, which is also very delightful. And when I’m alone, it continues to play. There’s a great repertoire and it never ceases to play.” – Anthony De Mello, Awareness

      I downloaded the Kindle version of this book after hearing it referenced by both Tim Ferriss and Ryan Holiday in a podcast interview and in a book, respectively.  I read a lot, and have a lot of books to get through sitting in limbo, but sometimes the neon sign points to one you should read first, and this was it.  De Mello passed away in 1987, and this book was published posthumously in 1990, building a passionate following ever since.  I’m taking my time reading it, not because it’s tough to read, but because there’s a lot to chew on.  It’s a lovely and profoundly compelling book, and well worth reading.

      This week I’ll see a lot of family I don’t see enough, while next week I’ll be traveling alone in New York and will only see business acquaintances.  Will I be more happy this week than next?  I don’t think so.  But will I enjoy this week more than next?  That’s highly likely.  This all sounds a bit narcissistic to me, but good God I’m really just not that into myself.  Instead I’m trying to be outside looking in objectively. De Mello shakes away any illusions of grandeur anyway:

      “Have you ever experienced your is-not-ness? In the East we have an image for this. It is the image of the dancer and the dance. God is viewed as the dancer and creation as God’s dance. It isn’t as if God is the big dancer and you are the little dancer. Oh no. You’re not a dancer at all. You are being danced!”

      So there’s a little humility for you as we dance (sorry) with the concept of non-dependent happiness. History and travel are actually easier to write about. They seem less… self-indulgent. Whatever: Make the most of the day at hand, wherever you are and whomever you’re with. Dance with life a bit, otherwise what’s a life for?

    • Spending Time

      Saturday I left the house mid-morning to catch our son’s college basketball game with a quick dinner afterwards, dropped the in-laws off and got home eight hours after I left. We casually spend time like this without a thought, for it’s the essence of life. Time spent on a worthwhile investment. At least to me.

      I once worked for a man who blocked time as A, B or C time. “A” time was normal business hours, say 8 to 5 PM, when you’d hustle like everyone else. “B” time was before 8 AM and after 5 PM, when you’d catch opportunities at the edges. “C” time, to him, was where you would become “successful”. It was the weekends and late weeknight time that normal, balanced people spent time with their families, or exercising, going to church or engaging in meaningful, non-work activity. For him “C” time was when you leapt past your competition and did the extra work needed to win. He fired me when I chose to go on a family vacation instead of working. He was summarily dismissed several months later when the rest of the world realized they despised him. I feel a little sorry for him.

      Which of us was wrong in how we choose to spend our time? It depends on what you prioritize in your own life. I don’t prioritize my career over my family, but do the best I can with the time I spend in it. I’ve had a decent career despite my egregious use of B and C time. Go figure. I rarely think about the guy I worked for anymore, but he taught me an important lesson at a crossroads in my career ten years ago: Life is too short to work for assholes.

      Last night as I was evaluating my time spent during the day, I thought to myself that half the weekend was gone and what had I really accomplished? My answer; I’d spent my time well, in the company of people I wanted to be with. A worthwhile investment of precious time. Will my choice enable me to squash my competition? Get promoted? Make more money? Ultimately I’m richer for having spent the time of other pursuits. I’ve learned not to focus on what other people do with their time, even when I don’t understand it. Sometimes this actually works.

      As we approach Thanksgiving in the United States, it once again presents an opportunity to spend precious time. Four-day weekends in this country are rare indeed. So with this much time, how to spend it? Use the time for a trip to a faraway place? Use it for chasing sales at stores desperate to separate you from your money? Binge watch a Netflix series? Sequester yourself away from others in your happy place? Or maybe spend that time with people you don’t see enough? I know what I’ve chosen, and anticipate a wonderful time.

    • The Joyful Pursuit of Fish and Chips

      How did I get on this track? Surely I’d have been better off looking for the best kale salad? But I’m in search of the best fried food. I know where it started. I blame Halifax. I’ve had exceptional fish & chips, and I keep chasing it in restaurants around the northern Atlantic Ocean trying to find the best in an evasive, sometimes frustrating mission.

      The very best I’ve ever had was a lunch special at The Five Fishermen Restaurant in Halifax. It was super fresh with a crisp, light batter and chips seasoned just right, all presented beautifully on a modest plating. It was an epiphany, and I haven’t had a better one yet in Canada, New England, New York, London or Scotland. Are there equal or better fish & chips in those places? Probably, but I haven’t found it yet.

      Now to be fair, The Five Fisherman is a fine dining experience with a menu to be savored, and I was the right audience for that dish. Pubs and most restaurants that serve fish & chips aren’t focused on the delivery of a world class dish, they’re simply feeding the masses. So I don’t bash the places that don’t do it well, I just don’t mention them at all. I’ve had truly awful fish and chips only once, in the shadow of the London Eye, at a tourist trap. Soggy, greasy and full of bones. I had one bit and threw away the rest. Shameful waste of food, and a fish that died in vain. I had no business ordering anything in that place so the fault lies squarely with me.

      But as you might expect, that was the exception in London. The city has some excellent fish & chips places in every corner. Pub food bliss with large servings of fish overflowing the dish, mounted on a healthy pile of chips (“next to” is the preferred serving, thank you). The only thing stopping me from ordering it everywhere was a natural desire to eat a bit of everything, but I give a respectful nod to the UK for the consistently great fish & chips. Shame my last experience having it there before leaving was that tourist trap place. Circumstances being what they were it was what it was…

      As I’ve hinted, the best fish & chips offers fresh, flaky white fish (Cod, please) in a light, crispy batter, served with a reasonable pile of crisp fried potatoes sliced just right. A side of fresh coleslaw is welcome. Tartar sauce, lemon and ketchup should be strictly optional, not required to get through your meal. When I see a piece of fish presented with a slice of lemon already sitting on the fish I think “not fresh fish”, and when the fish is thrown on top of the chips I think, “soggy chips”. Yes, it’s a basic, working-class dish, but presentation still matters.

      I’ve written close to 500 words on the modest topic of fish & chips. Candidly, I could go on much longer on the topic. Ultimately, my search continues for a better fish & chips dish. Like any experience, once you’ve had something truly exceptional most things afterwards won’t measure up. But there’s joy in the pursuit.

    • Self-Steering and Control

      I’ve been trying to get an answer from a customer for a week. Business marches on, but he’s been impossible to connect with. And I’ve grown frustrated by his lack of responsiveness. And then I realized it’s hunting season and he’s almost certainly out in the woods somewhere and completely disconnected from the world. My frustration melted away to acceptance of the reality of the situation. There’s some things you simply can’t control in this world. The time to communicate was before hunting season.

      “What you are aware of you are in control of; what you are not aware of is in control of you.” – Anthony De Bello

      I drove back from the train station and had two choices as I pulled out of the garage; turn one way and go around the city, or turn the other way and go through the city. I opted to go around the city. In normal circumstances the drive would be equidistant, but the city offers more opportunities for delays, even at 10 PM. It turns out I chose the wrong way and sat in standstill traffic as four lanes shrunk down to two. If I’d turned on Waze prior to leaving the station I’d have been aware of the state of the roads and might have chosen the city route. The tools were there to inform, and I chose to proceed unaware anyway. It was on me, so instead of getting angry about it I turned up the music and waited it out with everyone else.

      I had dinner in Manhattan with a man who’s grandparents had been at Auschwitz and survived. I’ve been thinking about the fate of the Polish Jews since visiting a museum in London. They were caught in the trap of history, with limited control over their situation once the Germans and Russians made their first moves. There are forces bigger than us that control our lives, and no matter how good a person you are, how much you eat the right foods or how big your nest egg is you get swept aside by these forces like an anthill being kicked in the playground. That’s fate, and largely out of our control.

      My good friends on Fayaway have left their safe harbor in Bermuda bound for Antigua. Unlike my trip home from the train station they’ve diligently tracked weather variables, added a redundant self-steering system and re-stocked critical supplies for the long journey. They’re aware of the risks on the open ocean and have prepared accordingly. Larger forces may sweep you up in unforeseen circumstances anyway, but you control what you can and mitigate risk.

      De Mello’s quote was directed at our own self-awareness of how we react to things, who we instinctively like or don’t like and how that plays on how we interact with them, and how we might change that interaction with better awareness. It’s no secret the world has become more antagonistic and divided. But there are plenty of examples of people doing the right thing, treating others with kindness and respect, self-aware and in control of their emotions. Being in control requires a level of diligence in our self-awareness akin to preparing for a long voyage in a small boat on a big ocean. Larger forces will do what they will, but we can mitigate their impact on our lives. It’s the self-steering that ultimately means more in most circumstances.

    • What’s in a Name?

      Within an hour yesterday I experienced two moments that are familiar to most of us. The first occurred when I said hello to a man I worked with in a previous company several years ago. I saw his face light up in recognition, a quick hello and a betraying glance down to my name tag for help. Reassured we carried on with our conversation and moved on to others. An hour later turnaround; an industry acquaintance from years ago said my name with a big smile, shook my hand and it was my turn to betray a glance to his name tag. These two moments occurred a couple of times over during the day. Such is life at a trade show.

      You know many people at a trade show when you’ve spent any time in an industry. Faces are familiar, names are sometimes elusive. A trade show is a sensory explosion of people and product, sights and sounds, quick meals and long, slow expensive meals. Grasping for a name is understandable given the distractions, but it always bothers me when I’m at a disadvantage. Saying someone’s name is a sign of respect, and I don’t want to slight an old acquaintance, even if the acquaintance was brief and long ago.

      Names are part of our identities, and I make the effort to learn a bit about the people I’m doing business with and stay in touch afterwards. But jobs and roles change, time marches on and years later you’re facing that person once again after just looking up from another conversation and… blank. And so we begin again.

    • Writing with Purpose

      “I believe that God made me for a purpose. For China. But He also made me fast. And when I run, I feel His pleasure. To give it up would be to hold Him in contempt… To win is to honor Him.” – Eric Liddell, Chariots of Fire

      I re-watched Chariots of Fire tonight with the perspective of having recently been in Edinburgh and London, and in immersing myself in the horror of World Wars I & II in reading, visits to museums and the epic long-form Hardcore History podcast on the First World War. It’s an entirely different movie when you watch it through the lens of history and the accumulation of life experience. But then again, the same can be said of life. Too many people ignore the lessons of history, and we all suffer as a result.

      Eric Liddell died in a Japanese internment camp in 1945. He’d dedicated (and sacrificed) his life to his missionary work in China. But he’ll always be remembered as an Olympian who chose not to run in a qualifying heat on the Sabbath, who would go on to win the 400 meter sprint and solidify his place in history. You can make a strong case that his Olympic medal was secondary to the rest of his life’s work.

      I have no idea if Liddell ever uttered the quote above. But I do know it fits what I know of the man, and I can imagine him saying it. I’m not particularly religious, but the quote resonates for me. We are created by some miracle of God or infinitesimally random luck, completely unique from the 100 billion other people who have ever lived. I’m no Olympic runner, but I have some talents that I work to bring out. Writing seems to be one… if a work in progress. To give it up would be to hold Him (and myself) in contempt… So why not embrace whatever magic makes you who you are?

    • 2020 Vision

      “No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man.” – Heraclitus

      There are just 44 days left in 2019, and with that realization, I’m looking ahead at 2020.  What will the new year bring?  Major political change?  A swing away from nationalistic tendencies towards a global, we’re all in this together outlook?  An acceleration in the economy or a recession? Environment progress or rapid climate change after years of neglect?  A return of common sense and dignified communication or an increase in bitter, antagonistic rhetoric?  I don’t see the future, but I’ll hope for improvement in 2020.  Either way, I do know that change comes whether you want it or not, and it’s best to be as prepared as you can be for when it does.

      So with that in mind, and a look towards the New Year, what’s the mission?  Outside of a vote I can’t control larger political forces at play in the world that may lead to conflict, but I can control my general fitness and health through exercise and better nutrition.  I can’t control whether we go through a global recession in 2020, but I can control how much money I spend and to a certain extent how much I earn.  I can’t control the clickbait, extreme views that pull society apart, but I can choose what media to consume.   If stoicism teaches you anything, it’s to focus on improving yourself, and don’t try to control what the rest of the world is doing.  Step in when you can make a difference, offer support and encouragement, but don’t try to change people.  That’s on them.

      Reading, exercise, writing and travel have done more to improve my state of mind than anything else.  Doing more of each makes a lot of sense, and will help build a stronger foundation as I turn the calendar into 2020.  Looking at the future and assuming you’re in it is a fools game, but not preparing for the future is too.  So building habits that offer value today and long-term benefits tomorrow makes sense.  It’s a win-win when you pick the right habits. Change happens, and building resilience through positive habits helps us survive and maybe even thrive when it does.  So that’s my focus as we march towards 2020, tweaking the good habits and phasing out the bad whenever possible.  Acknowledging my small role in the universe, I’m hoping that occurs on both a micro and macro level.

      Today’s post was directly influenced by The Daily Stoic, providing both the Heraclitus quote and the reminder that we can only change ourselves.

       

    • Whispers of Montaup: Mount Hope Farm

      Undiscovered places offer a bit of wonder, and I had that in spades on an early morning walk at Mount Hope Farm in Bristol, Rhode Island. Mount Hope Farm is a non-profit, running a bed and breakfast, educational programs and a camp. Walking the grounds is a time warp, with mossy old stone walls lining the road and running perpendicular off into the woods. They say this land has been farmed since the 1680’s, and there are places on this walk that feel like you could be stepping into that time. This land was once called Pokanoket, where the Wampanoag lived for untold centuries. It’s said that the first Thanksgiving actually happened here in 1621, when Pilgrims were welcomed by Massasoit. Walking the land, it whispers convincingly of those early days.

      When Massasoit died, his sons had a very different experience with the English settlers. The oldest, Wamsutta, took the name Alexander and his younger brother Metacom took the name Philip, which would become more famous. Alexander would die after getting roughed up by the English during an interrogation. Philip would unite tribes and wage war against the English in King Philips War. The land around Mount Hope was the heart of operations for Philip, and it’s where he would ultimately be killed in 1676. His wife would be sold into slavery in the West Indies. Not all whispers are pleasant.

      This land was eventually the property of the Royall family, which made their fortune from the slave trade. For all the beauty here now, there’s a healthy dose of human tragedy whispering through the grounds. Eventually the land was sold to a loyalist who fled during the Revolutionary War, and old New Hampshire friend General John Stark and General Sullivan would use the land as an encampment for the 2nd Rhode Island Regiment during the Battle of Rhode Island.

      Walking the farm, I’m thrilled to see the land preserved, but also used as a functioning farm. And for all the whispers, this farm has a strong foothold in the present. The Mount Hope Bridge is omnipresent, rising solemnly over Narragansett Bay, spanning the gap between Portsmouth and Bristol. The bed & breakfast, run out of the Governor Bradford House, is a wonderful place to stay and immerse yourself in history. The barn hosts weddings and a great farmers market every Saturday morning. The Mount Hope Farm – Montaup – is very much alive and well.

    • November Woods

      My favorite walks are November walks in the woods. The leaves stir underfoot, announcing your progress for those who would listen. And I have no doubt they listen. Deer, fox, squirrels and rabbits for sure, and many more I don’t consider. But I’m not here for them today, I’m here for the land, and the productive solitude it offers.

      I don’t take the time to understand people that don’t walk in the woods. There’s nothing to understand, really. You either come alive in the woods or you remain detached and resistant. Some people come alive shopping for bargains, a place where I’m detached and resistant, so I know that we all have our element. Mine is the woods.

      I walk on and come across wintergreen in a sea of brown oak leaves, which reminds me of Carlisle, Massachusetts and the Great Brook Farm State Park. I pick a leaf, snap it in two and smell the minty freshness. Memories of wintergreen moments from years ago invade my mind for a moment, and I smile and release them with the folded leaf.

      I walk slowly through the woods; I’ve already reached my destination. I’m here to see not to get somewhere. Climbing a rise I wonder at the moss-covered granite ledge. Ferns cling to the moss, catching oak leaves that only wanted to fly. Will they return to the earth, or feed the ferns right here on the granite? That’s a question for time.

      Conservation land offers familiarity without risk. Risk that this will become yet another housing development. It’s a friend that won’t be betrayed like that friend down the street was. The land has been betrayed before, you see it in the walls and cellar holes. It may be again someday, but in conservation there’s hope for more permanence. At the very least these woods should outlast me in some form. Still, there are no guarantees: Even these woods show signs of recent harvesting.

      I turn back towards home. The days are short now and I have things to do. But I pause once again for the hemlocks. For all the bare trees in the November woods, a few remain evergreen. My favorite is the hemlock, with their lacy green limbs riding the breeze. These limbs fold down neatly under snow load, while the oaks stoically resist. This means the oaks stand naked in November while the hemlocks still proudly wear their deep green dress. A case for being flexible under stressful conditions, it seems. So I stay still, watching one limb bouncing above a stone wall that stand tired but proud amongst the clutter of fallen late autumn leaves. It reminds me of an Irish step dance on a carpet of oak leaves in a granite hall. I reluctantly walk on from this performance for an audience of one with a nod to the performer. And I’m awake once again.

    • Walking In Their Footsteps

      There’s a moment 7:24 into the James Corden Carpool Karaoke with Sir Paul McCartney when James remarks, “If my grandad were here right now he’d get an absolute kick out of this” and McCartney replies, “He is.” That moment grabs me by the throat each time I’ve watched it. After a trip to Liverpool a couple of weeks ago, I’ve revisited the episode on YouTube a few more times for the “I was right there” time warp it offers. Which is closely related to the “They were right there” experience of walking in their footsteps on that day.

      We’re all souls marking our time on this planet, eventually our time ends and we’re remembered in moments like Corden’s. Generations later we’re just a small ripple, echoes that show in the traits of future generations, the equivalent in personality to having the same color eyes or the same shape to the earlobes. I can only hope my children carry my better traits to the future, and leave the more annoying stuff behind. But whatever will be will be.

      As I write this my friend the Carolina Wren is singing her morning song outside. We’re well into November and I thought she’d have migrated south by now. But it seems she wanted to stick around a bit longer, brightening up the days with her songs. It’s a sound I wasn’t familiar with until she arrived just this year, but one I won’t ever forget now. It’s funny how little things like that mean so much over time. Which makes me wonder, how will we be remembered?