Alexandersmap

    Category: Learning

    • Spring Fever and Old Graveyards

      Today the feeling stirred up and washed over me in a wave.  An eagerness to explore old places, brought on by reading about historic events 350 years ago.  I get like this.  Really, that’s where this blog started, and will return again when the world returns to normal and I’m up to the task.  Anyway, I was sparked with inspiration and wanted to jump in my car and drive immediately to old battle sites and places of significance that I’ve largely ignored until this feeling flushed the indifference away.  I’m eager to get to it already.  Damn you COVID-19.

      This is my history geek version of spring fever, this stirring, this desire to get out and see things with my own eyes rather than rely on history books and Wikipedia.  It makes me appreciate the freedom of movement I’ve had for most of my life.  For many people around the world this freedom of movement isn’t available.  I’m grateful for the odd assortment of ancestors and events that plopped me down in this place, in this time, with relative good health and a small dose of usable intelligence to productively exist and to peacefully coexist with others.

      I can’t responsibly travel far, but I can travel locally and maintain appropriate social distancing.  And I know the perfect places to visit – those nearby graveyards and old burial grounds.  Those who came before aren’t carrying COVID-19, and they’re safely maintaining a six foot boundary from me anyway.  There are lessons in graveyards, some of which I’ve explored before on this blog.  Graveyards offer their own version of travel in the form of time travel. There are plenty of stories close to home engraved on those headstones, and the land itself is largely the way it’s been for as long as the graveyard has existed.  I need to be outside more, and those permanent residents need a few more respectful visitors. A win-win it seems to me. And a sure cure for spring fever.

      So with that in mind I took a walk in the light, cold rain half a mile down the road to a graveyard occupied by people buried here during the early 1800’s to about 1885 or so, or put another way, roughly during the lifetime of Ralph Waldo Emerson. Maybe he knew someone buried here, but the 27 miles between that graveyard and Concord, Massachusetts might as well have been a thousand miles back then. These were farmers, blacksmiths and sawmill workers around here, they weren’t making the trek to Concord or Boston for Emerson lectures. They’d marvel at my quick ’round trips to places that they’d walk all day to get to. And mock me my complaints about not being able to roam freely in these times. They knew far worse than this. I can’t argue that point, thinking to myself as I took my iPhone out to snap a picture I’d upload with this post. Technological leaps they never could have imagined in their time on our side of the turf. Maybe I needed that reminder today. It’s always good to get the neighbor’s perspective on things.

    • Lessons in History

      When I read about the Salem witch trials I get angry. Angry at the hysteria of the mob. Angry at the “leaders” of the day, like Cotton Mather who got sucked into the madness. Angry that adults would believe the words of accusers instead of listening to reason. Angry that people died for stupid reasons repeated over and over again. People are a bit too cavalier when they talk about witch hunts today.

      When I read about King Phillip’s War I get angry. Angry at the collective short memory of the sons and daughters of the Pilgrims who were alive if only for the grace of a Native American population that chose to ally with them. Angry at the relentless encroachment on the land and the lives of those who who inhabited it, who happened to be in the way.

      When I read about the Raid on Haverhill I get angry at the senseless violence of it all. Settlers trying to make a living on the only land available to them, suddenly upended by naked warriors killing men, women and children because they had the audacity to try to live on the edge of the wilderness. All taken away in a flash of violence against the living. Repeated over and over again. The tragedy of violence took place on both sides as this country grew.

      When I read about the slave trade, I get angry. The dark history of suffering in the rum I drink, the foundation of liberty in America built on the rights of men, even as the earliest generations of African Americans, Native Americans, Scots-Irish and others worked under the threat of the whip or the noose. Celebrate the grand ideals of the Founding Fathers, but don’t forget the price others paid for the rights and privileges we have today.

      I don’t enjoy being angry when I read these things, but I’m driven by a desire to understand the lives of those who came before us. Those ripples still rock our lives in ways we rarely take the time to understand. History is more than a place name or a question on a quiz. It’s our DNA. Ignore the lessons of history and they tend to repeat themselves. Can you hear the whispers in the land? Learn from our sacrifice.

    • Learning Anew

      “Spirituality is… unlearning all the rubbish they taught you.” – Anthony De Mello, Awakening

      I’ve pondered this De Mello quote since I read Awakening last year.  Admittedly I was late the game with De Mello as with many other writers, but then again, I don’t believe there are prizes for learning everything before a certain time in your life.  More to the point, we don’t really know much of anything until we live.  When you’ve lived words resonate differently.  Life lessons are a self-paced game, and I’m slowly climbing like the rest of the world.  I’ve become much more patient with some things people say and do, and much less tolerant with other things.  But I recognize the stoic challenges thrown out at me either way; choose how you react to the world for it’s the only thing we really control.  I can’t control what someone says or does, but I can control how I react to it.  Find the truth in all things, starting with ourselves.

      “Whatever happens to you has been waiting to happen since the beginning of time.  The twining strands of fate wove both of them together: your own existence and the things that happen to you.” – Marcus Aurelius, Meditations  

      Reading Meditations was one of the more impactful things I’ve done over the last decade.  It’s a quick read if you want it to be, or a lifetime read if you let it be.  I chose the latter.  As with every writer I refer to here, the lessons mean more when you’ve taken a few hits in life.  We’ve all been entwined in the strands of fate in 2020.  We were quite literally born to live in this moment.  So how will we react to it?  Rise to the moment or crawl into the fetal position of self-pity or the life atrophy of absorbing the same inane rubbish they taught you over and over?  An open mind and a strong desire for the truth in this moment and in life.  What will you do with your time?  What has fate woven you into, and how will you react to it?  Worthy questions to ponder.  And I do ponder…  and hope to act appropriately in this time.

       

    • Je Suis Vivant

      I thought I was doing pretty well learning French until the four people in the row ahead of me on a flight back when the world was almost normal started speaking rapid-fire French to each other and I realized I have a long way to go. It was like putting a student driver in the Grand Prix. And that’s okay; it’s a journey not a test. Those four people couldn’t speak much English but it didn’t stop them from traveling to a country where relatively few would throw them a bone and know and speak French (welcome to America!). I saw myself in those four, back when I was stumbling through Portuguese while driving across the country and falling in love with the adventure of it all. You don’t need to speak to communicate, you just need to find common ground.

      “Add up the sum of our days and that’s who we are. We get what we repeat.” – Seth Godin

      The world is in a collective, forced re-evaluation of what matters. I was suffering from bottled-up wanderlust before COVID-19, and I was traveling a lot the last six months prior… but it seems still not enough. Now that I’m camped out at home I’m finding myself less concerned about FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out) and just living. Learning a bit of French every day, sticking with the habits that build up a life, whether you’re traveling or sitting at home. Eventually I’ll get to put my limited French vocabulary to the test in Quebec or Paris, but for now I’ll keep on plugging away at it.

      Travel is often the highlighted passages in our life journal and an opportunity to broaden our awareness of the world and our place in it. It’s a vehicle for growth, teaching you humility gently… and sometimes abruptly. It’s living with a purpose many don’t find in their day-to-day existence. Travel heightens observation and slows down time in that particular moment. That makes it a drug of sorts, making us feel more alive. The pauses in between travel, or between growth in general, offer us an opportunity to contribute, to give something back to the universe.

      I’ve got this restlessness bursting inside of me most of the time, but strangely now doesn’t seem to be one of those times. I recognize the need for a collective pause given the circumstances. Instead of sipping a cocktail while watching surfers in the setting sun in Sagres I’m watching the deer, camouflaged and stealthy, walk single file through the woods beyond the old stone wall that pre-dates the deer and the observer alike. I listen to the sound of water heating in the kettle for a second cup of caffeine. I feel the coolness on the tile floor on my bare feet. It seems the senses are still alive and well, observing the world and all that’s in it. Eventually we’ll be let free to wander once again. Being fully alive until then seems the least we could do. Je suis vivant, et toi?

    • Dancing With Perhaps

      “I have a lot of edges called Perhaps and almost nothing you can call Certainty.” – Mary Oliver, Angels

      I’m a big believer in Perhaps, though I know Certainty has its place in this world. Certainty dances in the world of STEM. I’m grateful for Certainty and those who pursue it, but I like where Perhaps dances. Those who know me know that I use the word often, and likely too much. So be it, I find Certainty less… fascinating. So it was a delight to read Mary Oliver’s poem and read that line. Why did it take me so long to get around to it, I wonder? Dabbling too much in the world of Certainty I suppose.

      You want Certainty? Certainty is a kettle whistling when the water boils enough that steam trapped inside screams to get out, now! How many mornings have I been quietly lost in thought, reading or writing when that kettle calls for my immediate attention? Countless. And I appreciate Certainty knocking on my forehead now and then, prodding me back to reality. I don’t especially like to linger in Certainty but I find it comforting to visit once in awhile.

      Mary’s famous line from “Angels” is this:

      “I don’t care how many angels can dance on the head of a pin. It’s enough to know that for some people they exist, and that they dance.” – Mary Oliver, Angels

      I don’t think all that much of angels dancing on pins either, but do I think of ghosts whispering history when I arrive at places of significance and listen raptly as the oaks welcome me back to their woods. Places speak, if you’ll listen and observe. There is no better practitioner of observation than the poet. Sure, scientists do pretty well too, but I’d contend that they’re secretly poets with a formal education. But what of religion? Isn’t that Certain? Believers might tell you there’s Certainty in the Bible. I’d contend that there’s far more Perhaps in the Bible than Certainty. Zealots arrive at Certainty about their religious views or their political views or their social views and work to impose Certainty on others. We get in trouble when too many people arrive at a Certainty that conflicts with the other guy’s Certainty. Leave room for Perhaps.

      So we’ve entered a strange new world, stranger than the world we’ve been living in for some time now (and that was pretty strange indeed). It seems a good time to look inward, to turn off the panic news and read the works of those who came before us. The poets and Stoics and Transcendentalists and philosophers. They dealt with far more uncertainty and death than we have (they’re all dead after all). Shouldn’t we learn more from them?

      Whatever you believe, leave a little room for Perhaps. That’s where you’ll find me most of the time. Come visit now and then if you like. I’d certainly like that.

    • Breaking Ropes

      “If you don’t break your ropes while you’re alive
      do you think
      ghosts will do it after?”
      – Kabir

      When the world is upside down and stress boils up inside you, how do you set it free? I release it slowly on long walks, or feel it melt away listening to immersive music like the album Beyond The Missouri Sky (Short Stories) by Charlie Haden and Pat Metheny, or reading some Mary Oliver poetry (Thanks, Mary for the Kabir quote). I don’t often get stressed out, but the world can creep up on you sometimes. Tonight after a day of work and a few home renovation hurdles I was about at my limit. So I made mine a double: poetry and music. I listened to Missouri Sky twice before I forgot what I was stressed about. Turns out it wasn’t anything all that important.

      So back to Kabir; Part of my stress is a desire to get out and see the world, but blocked by ropes of my own making and a few that fate threw at us all. Seeing the world shut down in profound, unprecedented ways is a bit of a curveball, isn’t it? London, Scotland and even Nashville seem a long time ago. But this is no time for casual travel. No, not right now. Now we collectively try to flatten the damned curve. But there are other ropes to break besides travel. And it turns out those ropes are best broken with time and effort and isolation and thought.

      Life is short and unpredictable, and who can’t see that now? Given that, when else are you going to step up and break a few ropes that are holding you back? Seems now is really the only time to do it. Those Northern Lights and the Southern Cross will have to wait for healthier days. And my God I hope they return soon, I won’t waste a moment getting to them given the opportunity. Until then, break those writing ropes. Break those learning ropes. And let yourself free.

    • Let Setbacks Deepen Your Resolve

      “When aiming for the top, your path requires an engaged, searching mind. You have to make obstacles spur you to creative new angles in the learning process. Let setbacks deepen your resolve. You should always come off an injury or a loss better than when you went down. Another angle on this is the unfortunate correlation for some between consistency and monotony. It is all too easy to get caught up in the routines of our lives and to lose creativity in the learning process.” – Josh Waitzkin, The Art Of Learning

      I have two college kids who are looking at the next few weeks of online learning, cancelled events at school and the real possibility that the semester will be spent remotely. That’s a tough hand to be dealt to a college Junior, and even tougher for a college Senior. But that’s the world we live in at the moment. There’s nothing routine about a pandemic. Perhaps that jolt to our collective routine will spur unparalleled creativity and advancement. Perhaps we’ll collectively all watch Netflix. I hope for the former.

      When Waitzkin points out the unfortunate correlation for some between consistency and monotony, he includes the important qualifier for some. He rose to be one of the best in the world in a couple of very different pursuits (chess and martial arts) because he embraced monotonous routine instead of becoming bored and moving on to some other pursuit. Don’t we owe it to ourselves to find the magic in our own routine? How else do you achieve mastery?

      Today is the first day of working from home for a lot of people. I’ve worked from home for years, but always sprinkled with travel and meetings. I love activity, and now I need to focus on a different kind of activity. But so does everyone else. Included in that are a couple of twenty-somethings who get to experience a completely different college experience. We’re all on a new learning routine, every one of us, with new obstacles highlighting the frailties of our old routines. Time to step up – ready?

    • More Art

      “If beautiful art does not express moral ideas, ideas which unite people, then it is not art, but only entertainment. People need to be entertained in order to distance themselves from disappointment in their lives. ” – Immanuel Kant

      A nod to Tolstoy for this quote…

      Sometimes you see the truth immediately in a piece of art, in a poem, in a paragraph or a scene. Something that transcends. Something that lifts, prods, pulls you. Art speaks, if we listen. I can remove the word “art” and insert “nature” or “spirituality” or maybe even “love” in that sentence and it resonates the same. Art is all of those things, and all those things in turn are art.

      I’ve learned to say no. No to television news. No (but thank you anyway) to Facebook. No to most entertainment, not because I don’t like to be entertained, but because I want to think. You can’t meditate on the world with a laugh track playing. No isn’t a rejection of the world, it’s an acceptance of more essential things.

      Does that make me boring? Perhaps to someone seeking only entertainment. Then again, I have a lot more to say than I once did. I’m moving towards art, towards uniting people, towards the essential truth in life. Perhaps I’ll find it, but I’m already better for seeking it.

    • Scattered Thoughts

      Today I’ve driven all over the state of Connecticut, and I’ll be honest, I look at the woods and see the ghosts of the Pequot who conceded this land to English settlers.  I also think of Benedict Arnold, a native son of Connecticut, betraying his own neighbors in battle after he defected.  These woods could talk, if given the chance.  Instead I rely on the whispers of those who came before, and it’s really hard to hear them over the hum of highway traffic and bulldozers clearing more land for commercial development.  There’s a lot I love about Connecticut, but the ever-expanding development isn’t one of those things.  Knowing the history of a place makes you angry when you see that place abused, and too much development feels abusive to me.  Does that make me a preservationist?  Probably.  Venus and the moon are dancing this evening, and the wind is howling in Connecticut, as if voicing it’s displeasure at being left out of the tango in the sky.  I stared at the two for a few minutes and left them to finish their dance as I checked into my hotel for the night.  It’s not lost on me that I complain about development while staying in hotels and driving on highways and visiting customers in office buildings. I don’t have a problem with development when it’s done well, it just seems to be mostly down and dirty profit-maximization development in most cases, and where’s the magic in that?  I love the quiet corners of Connecticut, and wish that there were more of them preserved for the future.

      “We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect.” – Anais Nin

      The beauty of writing every day is in the magic you relive in the moments you’ve lived, and in pulling magic out of the air that you weren’t even aware of until you start typing.  I’m not sure why I waited so long to begin writing, but I know I can’t go back to not doing it.  Writing is transformative for the writer, as reading is for the reader.  I’m currently being transformed by reading Josh Waitzkin, Leo Tolstoy, Ryan Holiday, Jack Gilbert, Mary Oliver and Nathaniel Philbrick.  I’m in a routine where I’ll read a few pages of Waitzin, Tolstoy and Holiday in succession and a poem or two from Gilbert and Oliver early in the morning.  I read Philbrick in the evening in a traditional book because I appreciate the tactile experience of reading a book more in the evenings and don’t want to start my day wearing reading glasses, thank you.

      All this highway driving around Connecticut reminded me of an unpleasant moment five years ago as I was driving up I-95 through Connecticut.  A man had committed suicide by jumping in front of an 18-wheeler that had no chance of swerving out of his way.  I was close enough to the situation that they hadn’t covered up the body yet, and I still see the face of the man staring blankly in my direction as his broken body lay unnaturally twisted like a bag of laundry broke on the pavement.  I’ve never been to war, but I imagine my experience with this man shortly after his demise was close to what a soldier might experience.  One moment you’re talking to a person, the next they’re a corpse.  We’re all just bags of flesh and blood and bones.  What makes us alive is our spirit and an energy force of electrical and intangible energy.  That man on the highway chose to give back his energy to the universe, and his body became nothing more than broken matter on the pavement.  Aren’t we so much more than that?

      That intangible energy carries on long after we’re gone through the people we’ve touched in our lives, but what of future generations who never knew us?  Well, I never met Mark Twain or Henry David Thoreau or Mary Oliver, but I feel their intangible energy in the words that they write.  I never met Katherine Hepburn but I feel her energy when I drive through Old Saybrook, Connecticut.  And I never met Coleman Hawkins but I’m stopped in my tracks whenever I hear him preach through his saxophone playing Mood Indigo.  We’re more than a bag of bones and blood.  Our humanity comes from that intangible energy.  When we interact with others face-to-face or through their words on the page it creates sparks, changing us.  Don’t we owe it to the world to pay this energy forward?  To weave our own version of magic?

      So that’s the mission, isn’t it?  Make it your life goal to take that intangible energy, that life force, and transcend the flesh and blood we live in.  Offering more to the world requires learning more, seeking to understand more, observing more, and becoming more.  And in return we reverberate beyond the now.  That seems a better path to me.  Focus on the contribution, and don’t worry about stupid things like WordPress changing you to Block Editor all the time.  There’s so much more to do with the time you have.  Get to it already.

       

    • Reaching New Harbors

      “He is the best sailor who can steer within the fewest points of the wind, and extract a motive power out of the greatest obstacles.  Most begin to veer and tack as soon as the wind changes from aft, and as within the tropics it does not blow from all points of the compass, there are some harbors which they can never reach…
      The poet is no tender slip of fairy stock, who requires peculiar institutions and edicts for his defence, but the toughest son of earth and Heaven, and by his greater strength and endurance his fainting companions will recognize God in him.  It is the worshippers of beauty, after all, who have done the real pioneer work of the world…
      To say that God has given a man many and great talents, frequently means that he has brought his heavens down within reach of his hands.”
      – Henry David Thoreau, A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers

      I wonder at the sheer volume of words that Thoreau crams into works like A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers.  This is not poetry, works like this, but Thoreau’s work is a journey of a different kind, full of observations that make your head spin in wonder if you take the time to digest his prose.  Thoreau is best read in stillness, like great poetry, when you have the time to dance with his words in your mind.  Take this analogy of poetry as sailing with the fewest points of the wind.  A great poet can work with the smallest little puff of prose and go to harbors the rest of us can’t reach:

      “I
      held my breath
      as we do
      sometimes
      to stop time
      when something wonderful
      has touched us”
      – Mary Oliver, Snow Geese

      As with watching a great sailor and learning from the way they set the sails as the read the tell tales and scan the horizon, reading great poetry instructs and inspires.  It’s pulling the heavens down within reach of our hands.  Thoreau finds his way to brilliance often in his work, he just takes a long time to get there.  Reading Thoreau requires sifting.  Reading Oliver you see that she’s already done the sifting for the reader; Whittled down to the essence, what’s left is something wonderful.

      When I write I tend towards Thoreau-level volume.  I’m working on setting the sail a bit closer to the wind.  To dance a little closer to the essential truth.  There are harbors I’d like to visit still.