Alexandersmap

    Category: Learning

    • A Serious and Omnivorous Reader

      “I think most serious and omnivorous readers are alike- intense in their dedication to the word, quiet-minded, but relieved and eagerly talkative when they meet other readers and kindred spirits.” ― Paul Theroux, Ghost Train to the Eastern Star: On the Tracks of the Great Railway Bazaar

      I’m determined to read 5-6 more books before the calendar year ends. This necessitates lifestyle choices, of course, but that’s par for the course with a reader. We who read often absorb the judgement of both those who choose to watch, and those who choose to do. As if reading as an alternative to watching a movie or a game or going out on the town is such a poor choice. The only poor choice is lethargy and sloth. There’s nothing lethargic or slothful about an active brain engaged in reading.

      The thing is, there are only so many books we can read in a lifetime. There are only so many movies one can watch, only so many walks we can take or bars we can close out, only so many dogs you can bring into your life, only so many stamps we’ll ever have in our passport, and so on. Whatever the lifestyle choice we make for ourselves, we must recognize that it’s inherently limited, because we are.

      When the year ends, I’ll have read about 25 books. That includes some pretty heavy lifts, but a few page-turners as well. This is down from a year ago, when I cleared 30 books leaning more heavily into fast fiction reads. Reading is also heavily dependent on how we travel, how we engage with the rest of the world, and whether we choose to write a blog every day during prime reading hours. With a full house this summer, I read much less than I might have with an empty nest. The trade-off was naturally worth it, but the unread books mock me nonetheless. And then there’s Goodreads, which only tracks the new books we’ve read, not the total including old favorites that we return to again and again. Shouldn’t it count when you re-read Walden or Awareness or Meditations for the umpteenth time? Of course it matters a great deal, but why are we counting anyway?

      Somewhere over the last year I’ve stopped worrying so much about the count and began focusing on what I absorb in my reading. I linger with a quirky set of authors who bring all manner of perspective to the universe. Why do we rush off to read the next big thing instead of revisiting that thing that’s whispering in the back of our mind? That person who read Slaughterhouse Five in high school is nowhere near the person who re-read it this summer. What have you re-read with an entirely different perspective?

      There’s a popular conversation starter that begins with the question, which albums would you bring to a deserted island with you—which ten albums would you listen to over everything else that’s out there, should you be destined to spend the rest of your life listening to no other music? It’s an impossible ask, really, but reveals a lot about the people around the table, should they be truthful. Music is always a deeply personal choice, influenced by our environment. So it is with books. So taking that question from music to literature, what books would you bring with you? If you were told to leave the planet on a trip to Mars, never to return and not having the Internet to constantly refresh your feed what would you want to read again and again to the end of days? A serious and omnivorous reader could tackle that list readily, with the natural regret of the large stack of books left behind.

      My own list would include the Thoreau, de Mello and Marcus Aurelius books listed above, along with some history, some poetry, and some fiction. None of the books I’ve read thus far this year—even the books I’ve rated as five stars—would make the list. Does that make this year a failure in not elevating my library, or a validation of that which I’ve already danced with? The answer lies within us, doesn’t it?

      Returning to the inherent limitation of how many books we can read in a lifetime, shouldn’t we be very deliberate in what we choose? I believe we should read as much and as widely as we can, that we may gain perspectives otherwise untapped. Particularly in a world that wants more than ever to control the conversation, we owe it to ourselves to go well beyond the populist fare to find voices that otherwise get drowned out in all that shouting and posturing. In the end, it’s the well-read who bring perspective and stability to an otherwise reactionary world.

    • Telltales of Ownership

      “Your problem, Werner,” says Frederick, “is that you still believe you own your life.”
      ― Anthony Doerr, All the Light We Cannot See

      Sometimes we get frustrated by the forces seemingly aligned against us. I thought by now I’d have lived in a Paris studio apartment for a summer writing a novel. That seemed a far off but attainable dream once upon a time. Now? A dream unrealized and fading away into folly. I’ve chosen another path, and accept the trade-off for what I’ve gained. We don’t control everything that happens in our lifetime, we may only pick a course and set the sails as the telltales indicate.

      We are blessed with any measure of control at all. We could easily be thrown in the meat grinder of an autocratic army, or a nurse in a Gaza hospital feeling the pressure from both sides of a maddening existential war, or a slave laborer in a sweat shop hidden in plain sight from the masses complaining about the unfairness of life as they realize Starbucks stopped serving Pumpkin Spiced Latte’s for the season. Perspective is a beautiful, terrifying thing. If we’re lucky, it leads us to gratitude and empathy. There but for the grace of God go I.

      And yet we have agency. We may still set the sails and sail off towards adventure. We may be a unifying force or a divisive catalyst. We may get it right in the end or drive ourselves off the cliff. Life offers ample opportunity for the best and worst of us to express itself. We may indeed choose, and choose wisely.

      “Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms—to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.” ― Viktor E. Frankl, Man’s Search for Meaning

      Thankfully, or perhaps so far, most of us live our lifetime free from the darkness Frankl found himself swept up in. Do we celebrate this or feel trapped by the minutia and trivial? Are we even aware of the birth lottery we’ve won? We may not have the freedom to choose our next step, but we may choose how we react to the circumstances we find ourselves in. What are the telltales telling us anyway? In most cases, they indicate a blessed life of agency. We ought to act accordingly—not wishing for what we don’t have but making the most of what surrounds us.

    • Sharpening Awareness

      “In the marshes the buckbean has lifted its feathery mist of flower spikes above the bed of trefoil leaves. The fimbriated flowers are a miracle of workmanship and every blossom exhibits an exquisite disorder of ragged petals finer than lace. But one needs a lens to judge of their beauty: it lies hidden from the power of our eyes, and menyanthes must have bloomed and passed a million times before there came any to perceive and salute her loveliness. The universe is full of magical things patiently waiting for our wits to grow sharper.” ― Eden Phillpotts, A Shadow Passes

      Taking the train back from a business trip, I alternatively read voraciously and feasted on the scenery. Late afternoon light on water, the march of thousands of trees, the meandering salt grass and sea oat, the small towns and big cities announced on the approach and forgotten on the rush to next. The endless parade of hungry cafe car customers marching to and fro in wide-stance uncertainty as the train barreled along in its rock and roll rhythm. So very much to see in so brief a time. How can we not feel the urgency of awareness?

      The trick to sharpening our awareness is to exercise the muscle. Habitualize the senses. Put the phone back in your pocket and look for the most delightful thing in your field of view. Why are you drawn in? This is a deliberate act. This is active engagement with the universe. And it’s the beginning of creativity and magic, should we let ourselves dance with it. And shouldn’t we?

      We are aware of that which surrounds us or we simply pass through, but the magic all around us owes us nothing. It’s up to us to see it and be a part of it. To be actively engaged in living a bold life is a choice. Boldness and awareness go hand-in-hand. We must see what is out there in the world and consciously step to it. What are we waiting for anyway?

      Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it, as the saying goes. We must begin, without delay, to sharpen awareness, for this life is moving right along. To lift ourselves out of the fog and see what we can of this universe in our time.

    • Stillness and the Swirl

      When despair for the world grows in me
      and I wake in the night at the least sound
      in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
      I go and lie down where the wood drake
      rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
      I come into the peace of wild things
      who do not tax their lives with forethought
      of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
      And I feel above me the day-blind stars
      waiting with their light. For a time
      I rest in the grace of the world, and am free

      — Wendell Berry, The Peace of Wild Things

      Manhattan enthralls. Manhattan is a jumble of ideas all shouting to be heard. Like the world jammed into an island could be expected to behave, there is a jostling for the top. Skyscrapers reaching higher, with more and more flair, like the people who occupy them. Manhattan demands the best we can muster of ourselves. Many fall far short of this, to be sure, but the demand is there for those who will listen.

      I’m usually good for two days of this, three tops, before I crave stillness again. The delight of sitting on the deck stairs with the pup curled up for an ear scratch and stubborn oak leaves drifting to earth. The call of simple stillness drowns out the noise of the streets, drowns out the madness in the world, drowns out the voice inside me that wants more of the bustle and hum of a city anticipating parades and Christmas lights in the weeks to come. This magic is borrowed, not mine to keep.

      The line between chaos and order is thin and tricky to find balance on as we make our way through a lifetime. A bit of poetry on one side, a dance with titans and hustlers on the other. We stumble and right ourselves, lean this way and that, breath deeply and step forward again. Hoping angry winds don’t blow us into chaos. Hoping whispers of doubt don’t betray us. Hoping we can carry on in the darkness beyond our control. We only control the next step.

      New York demands attention. Sirens and horns and the rumble of constant change a soundtrack penetrating my soul. The news of the world is dire. Seemingly darker by the day. How do we find peace despite it all? We ought to remind ourselves that the universe is bigger than the schemes of humanity. We ought to reverently walk in the woods. We ought to be grateful for the quiet familiarity of home even as we race through a city that never sleeps. Even the swirling leaves from a stubborn oak ground themselves eventually.

    • Life Change

      “To change one’s life:
      1. Start immediately.
      2. Do it flamboyantly.
      3. No exceptions.”
      ― William James

      Some of us think of radical change but do precious little of it in practice. Instead we opt for incremental change by changing habits or jobs or the way we commute to work. There’s a strong case for incremental change in our lives, for it sets us up for long-term success. Flossing and brushing one’s teeth are good habits that can change your life (and those in close proximity to you) for the better. So is reading and writing every day: The benefits are long-term and tangible and well beyond holding your own at a cocktail party.

      The idea of changing radically and immediately is fascinating when we get stuck in a routine that doesn’t inspire us. When you see people do it, it seems less ridiculous to think you can do it too. I’m more inclined to believe selling everything to sail off to ports unknown is possible because friends have done it. There’s magic in possibility realized, and we all want a bit of magic in our lives.

      William James’ recipe for change is a simple two step approach. Begin now, not someday. And be bold in both your vision and how you communicate it to the world. We shouldn’t go slinking off to some incremental change—we must follow our damned dream to the ends of the earth if that’s what it takes. Changing the bath towels isn’t going to do it.

      Tangible life change is really a combination of bold choices and consistent action. Dreams can be realized in one bold act, but for change to last we have to do the work to make our desired identity stick. Put another way, we can buy a plane ticket to paradise, but if we don’t work a plan for our life when we arrive there it’s nothing but a brief holiday before the world wants us back. Is there anything sadder than returning to something you don’t love after a brief but glorious dance with a dream? Here’s an idea: establish what you love and put yourself in the place where you can best realize it.

      Lately I’ve been talking to people of a certain age about what their exit plan is. What are they going to do when they’re not doing “this”? It turns out most people have a general vision for a future version of themselves, but it isn’t very specific. Playing golf seems to come up a lot. Travel. More time with family. These are all very nice things, but are they bold? Do they stir the fire deep within?

      To be fair, maybe the long-term comfort of a warm hearth was the answer all along. We don’t know what we’ve got ’til it’s gone, as Joni Mitchell reminds us. We ought to ask ourselves why we want change, not just what we want to change. If the why is compelling, the what often seems to take care of itself. Habit formation is easy when the vision is clear. That vision is the person we want to be in this brief dance with light. Being a bit more flamboyant with that vision is the least we can do for ourselves, don’t you think?

    • Another Foray With Writing

      “Mr. Alcott seems to be reading well this winter: Plato, Montaigne, Ben Jonson, Beaumont and Fletcher, Sir Thomas Browne, etc., etc. ‘I believe I have read them all now, or nearly all,’ — those English authors. He is rallying for another foray with his pen, in his latter years, not discouraged by the past, into that crowd of unexpressed ideas of his, that undisciplined Parthian army, which, as soon as a Roman soldier would face, retreats on all hands, occasionally firing backwards; easily routed, not easily subdued, hovering on the skirts of society.” — Henry David Thoreau, Emerson – Thoreau Letters (VI-X) 1848

      Lately I seem to have drifted away from Thoreau. It’s not a deliberate act, mind you, but a full life. Like close friends, sometimes you drift apart, sometimes closer together. Everything has its time. Like those old friends, when you meet up with Henry again you pick up right where you left off.

      It seems my own creative writing is a lot like Alcott’s was in his day. I revisited some old characters yesterday, rallying for another foray with my own pen. Thoreau’s observation is keen, and as with my rowing friend who inspected my hand to see how much rowing I’d really been doing, the results show far more than a few casual statements about production ever will. We are what we repeatedly do, aren’t we?

      With that in mind, I began again. I’ve always been a streak hitter, and do my best when I have a simple goal of doing something every day without stopping. This blog is as good of an example of that as any, approaching five years of posting every day. It’s a lot like flossing before you brush your teeth—once firmly established as part of your identity you don’t easily let it go. Writing a blog is now easy for me, in a way, in that I simply do it straight away or it nags at me all day until I carve out the time to get it done. You have the right to judge the contribution each day, but not the will to get it out there in the world.

      The thing is, that clever observation Henry made to “Waldo” in that letter stings a bit when you don’t follow through. We’ve got to follow through on the things that are most important to us, or forever be judged undisciplined by that voice in the back of our head. Do the work, every day, until the work is done. The rest is just talk.

    • Ten Thousand Things Are One

      “Be in the dojo wherever you are. It is your choice—live like a sage or exist like a fool. — Awa Kenzo, Zen Bow, Zen Arrow

      “Do your best at each and everything. That is the key to success. Learn one thing well and you will learn how to understand ten thousand things. Ten thousand things are one; this is the secret place of understanding you must find. Then everything is mysterious and wonderful.” — Awa Kenzo, Zen Bow, Zen Arrow

      We ought to try to master at least one thing in our lives. Most everything in the world is out of our control, beyond our capability, more than we can grasp. These things may weigh on us heavily, constricting our belief in what is possible. We forget sometimes that what is possible is simply one thing. With focus and effort we may just yet master this one thing, or perhaps we just get good enough at it to learn something about ourselves.

      I dabble in a lot of things, but really try to master very little. I’m a fair gardener, but no farmer. I’m a pretty good manager of people but I’m not exactly giving Ted talks on the role. I can hold my own in chess against most humans but have never beaten a computer set to destroy the ego. I can turn a phrase now and then but read a sentence from Hemingway or Didion and see the journey to better must continue. I can do my best at each of these things and still never be the best at any of them. And that’s okay.

      We all want to be good at whatever it is that we are doing at the time—who wants to fail? But mastery isn’t a game for dabblers and motion going-throughers. Mastery is about paying our penance and focusing on one thing above all other things to reach a level far beyond mere competency. It’s okay to aspire to mastery, but we ought to see that the journal to mastery is a cul du sac on top of a lonely hill. The view may be grand, but we don’t know the neighbors. Knowing our end game is an essential element of the game.

      The thing is, the game isn’t mastery so much as constant improvement and awareness of who we are choosing to become. It’s always been about the journey, not the score. The mile markers on our journey are the level of awareness and understanding we reach at each phase of our life. We know when we’re in the right place, and when we’ve fallen behind. The opportunity in our lifetime is to find the pace that works best for us.

    • Break Up the Habitual

      “We need habit to get through a day, to get to work, to feed our children. But habit is dangerous too. The act of seeing can quickly become unconscious and automatic. The eyes see something—gray-brown bark, say, fissured into broad, vertical plates—and the brain spits out tree trunk and the eye moves on. But did I really take the time to see the tree? I glimpse hazel hair, high cheekbones, a field of freckles and I think Shawna. But did I take the time to see my wife?
      ... The easier an experience, or the more entrenched, or the more familiar, the fainter our sensation of it becomes. This is true of chocolate and marriages and hometowns and narrative structures. Complexities wane, miracles become unremarkable, and if we’re not careful, pretty soon we’re gazing out at our lives as if through a burlap sack.
      … I open my journal and stare out at the trunk of the umbrella pine and do my best to fight off the atrophy that comes from seeing things too frequently. I try to shape a few sentences around this tiny corner of Rome; I try to force my eye to slow down. A good journal entry—like a good song, or sketch, or photograph—ought to break up the habitual and lift away the film that forms over the eye, the finger, the tongue, the heart. A good journal entry ought to be a love letter to the world.
      Leave home, leave the country, leave the familiar. Only then can routine experience—buying bread, eating vegetables, even saying hello—become new all over again.”
      — Anthony Doerr, Four Seasons in Rome

      A long quote, but honestly I could plug the entire chapter of this delightful book in here and call it a day. This is a song I know well. We are creatures of habit, and a good habit will save us as much as a bad habit may be our ruin, but this often puts us on autopilot with our senses. There’s a fine line between being fully aware and being overwhelmed. A bit of focus on the task at hand is just as essential as being aware of everything around us. Situation awareness can quite literally save the day for us, but awareness of every situation can make us completely useless.

      Still, so many of us miss the details for the routine. How much of a drive do we ever remember? What of the miracle of commercial flight? Most people simply resign themselves to the screen in front of them for the duration, never glancing out the window at the world of wonder just outside. What of home? Do we ever immerse ourselves in something we once gazed at lovingly, like that picture we once cherished and now barely see? How many marriages end in just such a way?

      We know the Latin phrase: “tempus fugit carpe diem” (time flies so seize the day). Seizing isn’t just an action statement to go out and do bold things, though surely that’s a big part of it. It also means being fully aware of the world around us while we’re living this day. Well before the Romans began creating such memorable phrases, that old Greek sage Seneca had his own take on this, saying “As each day arises, welcome it as the very best day of all, and make it your own possession. We must seize what flees.” Indeed we must.

      Doerr seized his day moving to Rome for a year, grabbing the opportunity of a lifetime just as he and his wife were navigating the challenge of raising newborn twins. That’s quite a one-two punch to anyone’s routine. His call to leave the familiar comes from his own experience in doing just so. But even under such extreme change in his and his wife’s lifestyle, he found routine he had to break through to find full awareness. What of us?

      “Rise free from care before the dawn, and seek adventures.” – Henry David Thoreau

      At a party of the weekend I was introduced to someone as “a blogger” and was asked what I write about. I write about everything, I explained, but didn’t go much deeper out of… habit. We rise to meet our moments or we simply go through them. Writing is a form of heightened awareness of the moment. So is photography, for that matter. I tend to be the unofficial photographer at family events and during travel because I see opportunities either to capture or create the moment. In the end, moments are all we have.

      This blog is a call to arms for myself as much as it is a collection of observations and thoughts. Tempus fugit, sir, so carpe diem. Pay attention to the moment, friend, but do note the days gone by on this journey too. We waste so much of it, don’t we? We must be aware, and be productive with our days while we have them. Make each day new all over again.

    • As Luck Would Have It

      On a visit to the Jefferson Memorial in Washington, DC this week, I found myself in a dark corner of the National Mall with no viable ride sharing pickup location nearby. I’d walked to the monument on dark pathways from the Lincoln Memorial and could always go back in that general direction to pick up a cab or Uber there. Alternatively, I could just start walking towards my hotel in Crystal City and pick up a ride from some business or bright parking lot along the way. I opted for the latter, and descended into yet another adventure.

      You can see the walking path I took with a quick Google map with Jefferson Memorial as the starting point and the Westin hotel in Crystal City as the end point. It looks pretty simple on the computer screen—a basic three mile walk on across the George Mason Bridge to the Mount Vernon Trail, past the airport and you’re basically there. In the daylight I bet it’s a lovely stretch of trail to take, and I’d recommend it in the opposite direction for a morning walk to the National Mall. At 10:30 PM (22:30) it feels entirely different. Once you cross the bridge there’s no illumination on the path until you reach the airport. Cars zipping along the George Washington Memorial Parkway provide ambient light, but also ruin night vision. Planes taking off from Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport launch dramatically overhead, making it hard to hear anything else. In short, situational awareness is greatly inhibited. Throw in a place you’ve never been before and only a map on your phone to guide you and you might begin to understand the potential sketchiness of the walk.

      Perhaps I should have turned back towards the National Mall, perhaps I should have walked with others. Perhaps a strong flashlight or headlamp might have helped, had I the foresight to bring them. Then again, perhaps just staying in my safe hotel room when it got dark out may have been the answer. But we ought to embrace whatever adventure we create for ourselves and make the most of it. Not in a reckless fashion, but rather as open-minded seekers of a larger life.

      The thing is, luck would have it that I made it from point A to point B with nothing but a good story to tell. Luck might also have thrown a mugger at me, or a sprained ankle on the darkest stretch of trail far from help. Luck might have had my phone die at an inopportune time. Luck is not something to rely upon. We must rely upon ourselves.

      Whatever we do, whether it’s walking alone in some dark and isolated place or stepping into a crowded, target-rich hostile environment in a city we aren’t familiar with, we must keep our wits about us. Just as we can’t have good situational awareness if we’re distracted with our phone, we can’t make good decisions about what to do next when we stumble into potential danger if we panic. So take a deep breath, assess the situation and choose the best option available at the moment. That’s generally where our luck begins to improve.

    • Somethings

      “Recall a simple and ancient truth: the subject of knowledge cannot exist independently from the object of knowledge. To see is to see something. To hear is to hear something. To be angry is to be angry over something. Hope is hope for something. Thinking is thinking about something. When the object of knowledge (the something) is not present, there can be no subject of knowledge.” — Thich Nhat Hanh, The Miracle of Mindfulness

      We are each connected to the world in big ways and small. The things we focus on, our somethings, are the essence of that connection. When we become aware of these connections we immediately see our place in the world differently. We are not independent observers to the world, we are very much a part of it.

      So when we inevitably ignore our mother’s well-meaning advice and talk to strangers, is it a voyage of discovery or do we put up walls? Walls come in many forms, from being reserved to working to be overly clever. To be genuine and open is to welcome connection. It’s our gateway to discovery.

      My primary purpose in life is to bridge the gap between the known and the unknown. That bridge is built on human connections—trusted relationships built one genuine and open connection at a time. That connection is substantial, and indeed means something. After all, it’s the stuff of life.