Alexandersmap

    Category: Learning

    • Giving Attention

      “Time and attention are not something we can replenish. They are what our life is. When we offer our time and attention, we are not merely spending and paying. We are giving our lives.”
      — Robert Waldinger, The Good Life: Lessons from the World’s Longest Scientific Study of Happiness

      Many get it wrong when they think about making changes in their lives, believing they’re giving up something instead of the other side of that coin: choosing something better. Transformation begins with what we focus our attention on. Just imagine what we could do if we simply paid attention to the right things for a year, or a decade, or a lifetime? But that’s too broad a spectrum. Focus on today instead. Today will always be the day that requires our full attention.

      So what do we pay attention to? Inevitably, that’s where our time goes. Time in itself is a measure, but we can spend time without giving our full attention. Consider a casual restaurant on a busy night. How many scroll their phones while sitting at the dinner table? Are they giving attention to those they are dining with, or is it merely spending time together? When we pay attention to those we love, we are giving more than just our time, we are putting the rest of the universe on hold for the person in front of us. Isn’t that the ultimate gift?

      What gift are we giving ourselves today? What are we consuming that will make us better? Not just food, but information, and feedback from the network of people that surround us. What are we telling ourselves in these moments, or are we distracting ourselves to drown out that inner voice? Maybe we ought to pay more attention to that voice. Surely it has something it wants to tell us.

      Attention is a muscle that we may develop. It brings us to awareness, which is essential to our growth and development. This idea of personal excellence (arete) that I write about frequently in this blog is not some clever affirmation, it’s a daily ritual of discovery and reach. Decide what to be and go be it. What are we waiting for? More time? Our time is right now, waiting for us to finally pay attention and get to it already.

    • The Best We Know

      Let dreamers dream what worlds they please
      Those edens can’t be found
      The sweetest flowers
      The fairest trees
      Are grown in solid ground
      We’re neither pure nor wise nor good
      We’ll do the best we know
      We’ll build our house and chop our wood
      And make our garden grow
      And make our garden grow
      — Leonard Bernstein, Make Our Garden Grow

      One of the many habits I’ve managed to keep going is to enter a daily line per day to log whatever it was that made the day unique in this string of days I’m blessed with in this mad sprint to infinity. We know the ending, we remember the highlight moments, but what of the everyday? What makes today, of all our days, special beyond ensuring that the string isn’t broken?

      Yesterday’s line per day entry filled the entire space. It will be a day I’ll remember for consequential events, but I shouldn’t let time rob me of the other moments wrapped around those events. Publishing a blog post, painting the pergola or evaluating the progress of the cucumber blossoms turning to fruit may not feel noteworthy, but they’re layers on our timeline just the same. Those layers are our life happening in real time—we ought to capture a few of them in words.

      We will remember these days for whatever we brought to them. So it follows that we should bring our very best even when we cannot control everything thrown at us by the universe. What do we want from this day? What will we give it in return? The best that we know is ours to offer. And usually, that’s enough.

    • The Path

      “You can figure this thing out. And your path is going to be different from my path… but there’s certain principles that you can apply to whatever your individual path [is]. And you can learn about the value of discipline and of personal autonomy and personal accountability and figure out how to get better. You’re going to have failures and they’re going to feel awful, they’re going to feel terrible, but they’re very valuable. And you can’t shy away from them because that’s where you learn how to get better. And then your feelings of success, don’t dwell on those either because it’s not about that. It’s really about this path. The path is what it’s all about. It’s really about learning how to live, and learning how to exist in a harmonious way with not just other people but also with yourself. And you have to have respect for yourself, and the only way you develop respect for yourself is you have to know what you’ve done. You have to know that you’ve worked really hard. That you’ve overcome things. And known that you’ve had these little mental battles, these bad ways of thinking, that you’ve turned around. And you realize that that’s possible. I did it before I’ll do it again.” — Joe Rogan, Episode 23352 – James Talarico

      I don’t listen to a lot of Joe Rogan podcasts, because I’ve unfairly thought of him as another bro perpetuating conspiracy theories. But he runs far deeper than that, beginning with a strong desire to listen and understand those that he has conversations with. This episode with James Talarico is a great example of that. But what really caught my attention was Rogan’s description of the path he’s been on, from martial arts to wealthy and influential podcaster. The path is the thing—the path has always been the thing. We just get so distracted by the noise of life that many of us neglect staying the course.

      The thing is, we’re all on a path of our making. That path may lead to the promised land or to our destruction, but it’s our path because we are the ones who are on it. Don’t like the path? Step off of it and take your first steps on another path. See where it leads and decide whether to stay on that one. Paths are simple (if not always easy)—it’s our busy and distracted mind that trips us up. Discipline, focus and an earnest desire to see the path through are what keep us on the path. That’s a life leading towards arete: personal excellence. May we all get closer to our version of it this day.

      I’m on my current path just a little while longer. For 52 days I’ve been focused on better health and fitness, learning and practicing a higher level of discipline and mental toughness. I’ve learned a lot in these 52 days, but mostly I’ve learned to simply stay on the path and do what I promised myself I’d do. Next month I may stay on this path or climb up to something even more challenging, but I know that this path is leading me to that one. Sticking to a path always leads us somewhere. Why not make it somewhere better than where we’ve been?

    • Learn How To Be You

      “Nothing you can do but you can learn how to be you in time.”
      — The Beatles, All You Need Is Love

      Learning to be you is delightful. It’s also occasionally painful. We learn and grow and stretch ourselves beyond what is comfortable and learn from that and the cycle repeats ad infinitum.

      As Aristotle put it, we are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act, but a habit. One workout won’t transform our bodies any more than one book or poem or old Beatles song will transform out mind, but each can be the first step on a journey of transformation.

      Learn how to be you…. in time. It’s the time invested walking the path that is transformative. Sorry—no quick fix. And that’s the whole point. We’re meant to figure it out as we go.

      Consistent action in the direction we wish to move towards matters far more than one bold leap. Sure, the leap is thrilling, but it’s just the bold start. Embrace the grind after the leap, knowing it leads to something more still. Something we build ourselves.

    • So Is Life

      “As is a tale, so is life: not how long it is, but how good it is, is what matters.” ― Seneca

      The neighbors must think I’m crazy at this point. Walking all the time, sometimes with the pup, but sometimes without. Rain or shine, extreme heat or biting cold. I don’t care if they think I’m crazy. They’ve known me long enough to have formed opinions I can’t possibly sway one way or the other. What matters is the walk, what matters is doing what I said I’d do.

      I tried writing later in the day. I keep returning to the morning, so long as I’m not rushing off to catch a flight or some such thing. When something works extremely well for you, why change it? Surely we must test our theories, beliefs and assumptions, but having done so, we can safely stick with the things that move us in the direction we wish to go in. The writing habit is fully embedded in my identity now. The question now is where to take it next?

      As is a tale, so is life… What kind of creative storytelling are we doing with our lives? We forget sometimes that we are the authors of our days while we’re so busy reacting to the world and our place in it. We must remember our agency. We must remember our lives are an expression of growth and creativity born out of time well spent.

      Seneca also said that life, if well lived, is long enough. But what is well lived? That’s different for each of us, but I think it begins with growing closer to the personal excellence we aspire to. A bit of exercise, a bit of creative work, time with friends and family, and the pursuit of a larger life than the one we started today with seems the path to health, wealth and happiness. Those three pillars may or may not be in the cards for us, but they’re more likely to be a part of our lives if we apply ourselves to constant and never-ending improvement.

      When is enough enough? When do we stop working to grow and begin to simply enjoy what we’ve got? The question itself is a test of philosophy. Would we stop reading books because we finished a great novel? Would we stop writing because we reached some milestone, be it number of blog posts or publishing that book that’s been forever haunting us? The question is flawed, for it infers that we may be more content settling into satisfaction and rest. But isn’t stasis decline when viewed against the progression of life?

      How good a life we have is measured by more than how happy we are, it’s measured by how big a ripple we might leave one day. It’s measured by the love reflected back at us by people we care to move through this one precious life with. It’s measured by how long our health span is, and what we do with that healthy time. We will all be dust one day, but not just yet—so what matters greatly to us this day? We must be earnest in our pursuit of it, for there lies our evasive personal excellence. Look at how far we’ve come. Is this not good? Our tale grows more compelling by the day.

    • Deliverance

      “From heresy, frenzy and jealousy, good Lord deliver me.”
      — Ludovico Ariosto

      Some days are full of frenzy and quick turns of direction and focus. The only thing to do in such chaos is to prioritize the essential and timeless, and fend off the urgent but unimportant as best we can. Easier said than done. But we were made for this by all that brought us here. Overwhelm is simply letting the madness wash over us. We must see the storm and swim to calmer waters as soon as possible or risk drowning.

      Deliverance takes many forms. Sometimes circumstances arise that pull the storm away from us. The pending loss a loved one shakes us loose from focusing on the frenzy long enough to show that deliverance was in a completely different direction than we believed. A conversation with a trusted friend or mentor may shift our perspective just enough to find salvation. Sometimes just walking in the garden can remind us to tend to the more essential in the moment, and let the noise drift away without dragging us along.

      We ought to remember the lessons from moments such as these. What we focus on is not always our deliverance, but the storm itself. When we focus on the wave about to break over our heads we aren’t focusing on the lifeline just in front of us. We tend to realize what we focus on. In our craziest days, we must seek out stillness, even if it’s a deep breath before moving on to the next wave. There may be a calm after this storm too, but we only reach it if we keep our heads about us when we’re deep in the midst of the tempest.

    • A Rich Life

      “We do not remember days, we remember moments. The richness of life lies in memories we have forgotten.” — Cesare Pavese

      I went out for a ride yesterday, cycling the streets in this small town I’ve lived in for so many of my days. It was the first ride of the season for me—admittedly very late to be back at it again, but we get pulled in so many directions, and cycling is only convenient when we’ve got everything ready to roll (including our mind). As with any habit, we make it easy and we’re more likely to do it. We make it hard and it never happens.

      I’m a kid again on a bike, and sometimes I forget to be a kid. A quick ten miles just to blow the rust off a bit and remind myself that I can do this more frequently if I would only put aside the excuses and just go do it. The ride was a rolling reminder of how much I love to ride a bicycle, of how many hills there are in this small town, and a series of flashbacks to who I was at different moments moving through these streets. The days are all a blur, it’s truly the moments that stand out.

      Knowing this, we must aim for the memorable in our days. Moments of clarity, moments of exuberance. What in this routine day will be the thing we will most remember one day when all the rest of it fades away? Break out the highlighter! Dare to be bold, or watch it blur into the obscurity of a life cautiously lived one day at a time. Rise each new morning with insatiable curiosity, wondering, what will we remember of this day? And then being that person that does those things. That’s how to live a rich life. That’s how to make this journey a hell of a ride.

    • The Produce of Our Season

      “Work while you have the light. You are responsible for the talent that has been entrusted to you.” ― Henri Frédéric Amiel

      I went to a local farm stand to find some fresh produce. The woman at the register asked me how my winter had been. We know each other through produce transactions from mid-summer to early autumn, and little more than that. So winter in this instance meant the time from October to the 4th of July. Every conversation I’ve ever had with this woman has revolved around the variability of the growing season, the way to deal with groundhogs who snack on your tomatoes (with extreme violence, she suggests helpfully), and when they expect to have certain vegetables that aren’t yet available. Transactional, but pleasant conversation—but of course, I’m not a groundhog.

      A farm functions with the seasons. You must do the work to sustain the farm, grinding out the days with productivity. There’s no time to waste on a farm if you have any expectation of making a living from it. A farmer manages urgency and purpose with every waking moment. There is nothing unclear about the days on a farm. Grind it out again and again until the harvest, take a deep breath and start all over again… and again still.

      Would we only have this level of clarity in our own creative work. We know that there is work to be done, for there is still a fire within. Of this there is no question. The question has always been, what will stoke the fire and warm the soul? Do we dabble in uninspiring work, merely to make ends meet? Or do we dive deeply into finding the light within, wrestling demons to bring it to the surface? What are we producing that adds value?

      We are each entrusted with a unique combination of talent and perspective. We must learn to make the most of these gifts in the growing season we have before us. Like the farmer, we must feel the urgency of the day at hand, we must wrestle with our purpose and push through the challenges that each day presents. When we look at the farm stand that is our own work, what have we produced? There lies the truth of our season. There lies the answer for what we must do next.

    • This is Not Enough

      “There are some days when I think I’m going to die from an overdose of satisfaction.” ― Salvador Dalí

      This summer, I’ve changed.
      A lot.
      Some people have noticed the changes,
      most have not…
      Ahh, but I have.

      Whatever leaps forward we make ought to be celebrated, but not lingered on. For we must reach further still. We must seize what flees, as Seneca warned us. To be complacent is to wither in place. To be satisfied is to leave our best on the table, conceding that we weren’t all that after all. Screw that! We must keep moving. We must keep changing and growing and discovering more of that untapped potential lying dormant under years of apathy and bliss, For this—this is not nearly enough.

      Some days this blog is just behind where I’ve landed. Some days it deceives the reader, for I’ve already crossed a chasm to another place. Today’s blog is just where I am—hitting some milestones, hungry for more and not nearly satisfied, poised to leap into the unknown again and again. We all must feel this way to become who we were meant to be. We all must put aside who we once were for something more compelling. That is our mission each day we rise to face the challenges change brings to us.

      “Non est ad astra mollis e terris via (There is no easy way from the earth to the stars)” ― Seneca

      A Seneca-heavy post today, but when the philosopher fits, wear it. The thing is, quotes and poems and our own words are nothing but affirmation until we do the work to close the gaps. It’s easy to say we’ll do something, harder to actually do it. Action, not words, are all that count in the end. Dissatisfaction is a trigger for the work that must follow to be all that we can be in this short go with a vibrant life. Being infers action. It is the creative act of climbing to possibility. For there is no easy way from the earth to the stars. We must go to them.

    • The Incredible Gift

      And under the trees, beyond time’s brittle drift,
      I stood like Adam in his lonely garden
      On that first morning, shaken out of sleep,
      Rubbing his eyes, listening, parting the leaves,
      Like tissue on some vast, incredible gift.
      — Mary Oliver, Morning in a New Land

      I’m nearing the end with my father, I can see that clearly now. In some ways our time ended years ago, back when we lost him to another life. And then we lost him again when his mind began to fail him, and you no longer recall the last time he said your name, because maybe your own memory betrays you in the recollection. Dementia is a bastard in this way, stealing the lives of people well before the heart stops beating. But eventually the heart will stop beating too. It won’t be long now.

      We may live in the present, but we still carry the past. Whatever it is that we carry is part of who we are, wherever it is that we are going. We may choose to release some things to lighten our load, or to hold on to memories that feel like someone else’s story the further we move away from them. Memories drift with the winds of time, offering glimpses of who we once were, like some movie that we watch again and again even though we know how it ends. When memory ends, does the story end with it? I think that those with dementia have had their burden released to those they leave behind—their memories are now only for others to carry.

      Life is this incredible gift, too often wasted on frivolous distractions, or perhaps we believe they are harnessed in relentless pursuit. But tell me, the pursuit of what? The gift is the present itself, whatever it’s wrapped up in. We must savor the days for what they bring. Even this. The long goodbye is its own gift, even if it doesn’t feel like it in the moment.

      Amor fati: love of fate. It’s easy to say these words, harder to live by them. We cannot control what fate brings us, we can only accept it and do the best we can on the test. For the sun will rise again, and we must carry on. The miracle remains that we were ever here at all.