“If you feel like you’ve got a close call between quitting and persevering, it’s likely that quitting is the better choice.” — Annie Duke
When we say that we listen to our gut, or trust our instincts, do we really? What is our gut telling us right now? Chances are our head will intervene and direct us right back to the logical path. Logical is what the brain is supposed to choose.
But what if the gut was right all along?
Such cheap foodstuffs as rice, potatoes, and pasta lend themselves to being consumed in quantity and shared with the entire family, even the community. It’s prosperity that brings the arrogance of small portions. As incomes rise, grease and starch disappear, replaced by fatless protein, a few spoonfuls of green vegetables, a delicately sculpted potato—food prepared with an eye more to appearance than gratification.” — John Baxter, Five Nights in Paris
Americans have no problem with small portions. We fill our plates to overflowing. This is a visual indicator that we’re getting value for our money. Burgers need toothpicks to stay together from the kitchen to the table, french fries and pasta spill over the edge of the plate. The plate inspires a wow and maybe a little envy from those who ordered something else.
Naturally, there are implications to all this food. Those of us trained from an early age to finish everything on the plate have a tax of weight gain and calorie-burning activity to contend with. We train ourselves to order the salad, which itself is often a heaping mass of intrigue. Choosing to eat out less and make our own meals is naturally a healthier way to eat. The trade-off then becomes increased isolation. Breaking bread together creates bonds. So too does pickle ball, I hear.
Baxter’s comment about the arrogance of small portions is directed towards the fancy restaurants serving microscopic portions that look amazing but don’t satiate. It’s a great line that draws one’s attention. I wish I’d written it myself. But I see both sides of the plate (if you will). People pay for experience, not for a full belly. It’s akin to going to the museum to view fine art instead of going to the ballgame. Is it arrogant to go to one or the other? Both have their place in an enriching life, in proper portions. The arrogance comes in judging what someone else is doing because it’s not what we would do ourselves.
The great observation Baxter makes isn’t about arrogance, it’s about using cheaper food, like rice, pasta and potatoes, as the foundation of building community. We don’t have to be wealthy to come together, we just have to be inclined to do so. The wealthy are some of the loneliest people on the planet because they shelter in place in their gated “communities” or McMansions. The real wealth in a full life is in connection. So please pass the pasta.
“Most of us would be seized with fear if our bodies went numb, and would do everything possible to avoid it, yet we take no interest in the numbing of our souls.” — Epictetus
I made the mistake of reading a work email this morning before writing the blog. It was sent at midnight last night by a senior leader in the company, asking a follow-up question about a meeting last week. It lingers in my mind for having not followed up immediately, and so I gently nudge it over to the side, where it will distract me until acted upon.
Mondays should not be soul-crushing events. No day should crush the soul, but especially the beginning of our work week. We choose how we react to the forces coming at us. Monday will come and go just like any other day in our deck of days. Shuffle them up, dump them out and have a look—they’re all roughly the same. Do with them what we will.
That doesn’t mean each of our days aren’t special. They’re all miracles of chance, after all. We ought to see that gift for what it is and seek answers for our series of questions. Who are we? What will become of us next? Where did I put my car keys?
Our deck of available days shrinks in size as our deck of experience grows. That thing that’s nagging at us to get done in one aspect of our life is distracting us from excelling in some other thing. That great memory over the weekend offers a happy glow to warm the first task of the work week. It’s all connected, it’s all the sum of our days and influences the balance available to us. The answer is to keep raising the average by adding better days to our deck to balance the more challenging ones.
For the last few months I’ve been going to physical therapy on my ankle. I’ve seen encouraging improvement on the ankle, but noticed in the treatment that their focus on the ankle has expanded beyond it to the rest of my leg and my back alignment. We know intuitively that it’s all connected, but sometimes we need someone to show us how the tightness in one place is related to the injury in the other. Everything matters.
Knowing that, just how does it change our perspective on today?
A poet is somebody who feels, and who expresses his feelings through words.
This may sound easy. It isn’t.
A lot of people think or believe or know they feel — but that’s thinking or believing or knowing; not feeling. And poetry is feeling — not knowing or believing or thinking.
Almost anybody can learn to think or believe or know, but not a single human being can be taught to feel. Why? Because whenever you think or you believe or you know, you’re a lot of other people: but the moment you feel, you’re nobody-but-yourself.
To be nobody-but-yourself — in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else — means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting.
— e.e. cummings, “A Poet’s Advice to Students”
To be ourself in a world that wants us to fall in line isn’t easy. After all, we are part of the tribe, the community, and the history of humanity. All that we see and encounter draws something out of us that we may not have felt otherwise. Just where is that line where the average of everyone else get crossed to simply, “ourself”? Remember in such moments this line in the quote above, “whenever you think or you believe or you know, you’re a lot of other people: but the moment you feel, you’re nobody-but-yourself.”
To feel is the thing. Nobody else feels what we feel. Nobody else brings the whole of their experience together, stirs it about in their soul and exudes the identity that is us. Nobody but us. So it follows that we ought to be aware of what we’re feeling, not just what we’re hearing and seeing and reading. What we feel hints at who we are. Give that room to breathe and grow.
Most of us don’t fancy ourselves poets. Yet we may live a poetic life full of heightened awareness of the self and all that surrounds and influences us. Poetry is feeling. To “squeeze the marrow out of life” as Henry David Thoreau put it, we must be fully aware and alive. Give life a squeeze. See how it feels. Learn and grow and become nobody else but yourself.
“I am always doing that which I cannot do, in order that I may learn how to do it.” — Pablo Picasso
We grow into ourselves by stretches and the occasional leap. Now some people leap all the time, and become known as either bold or reckless, depending on how they land. Most of us test the waters a bit, see if it makes sense to move in this new direction, and work our way there gradually. A few never leave the nest at all, choosing familiarity and comfort over reaching for their own potential.
So what do we do with habits that work for us, when we know that to grow we must break patterns and try new things? Delay? Dabble? Dive right in? We’re each unique in our willingness to try new things by letting familiar old things go.
I think the moment we ask ourselves if we ought to try something new, we ought to take the first step towards that new. And then the next. Venturing more and more into the unknown to discover something about it and ourselves that we felt was possible all along. As that character Yoda put it, “Do or do not. There is no try.” Learn as we go. Do it.
People are worn away with
striving,
they hide in common
habits.
their concerns are herd
concerns.
Few have the ability to stare
at an old shoe for
ten minutes
or to think of odd things
like who invented the
doorknob?
they become unalive
because they are unable to
pause
undo themselves
unkink
unsee
unlearn
roll clear.
listen to their untrue
laughter, then
walk
away.
— Charles Bukowski, the area of pause
I haven’t quoted the entire poem, just the part that jumped out at me today. Today is the tomorrow of yesterday, which was full of business talk and bold declarations of working to the last. I grow silent in such moments. Listening? Respectfully, but already turning away from the conversation in my mind.
We all know that old expression, “If you do what you love you’ll never work a day in your life”. I view work as a transactional relationship. I’m all in when I’m in it, and I keep it at arm’s length when I’m not. Wherever I am, I strive to be aware and alive. I believe that this will apply equally well in retirement one day.
One old industry friend is counting down his final 40 days to retirement. Another was beginning a new job, hungry for the adrenaline hit of being the new guy once again. Both are older than me, looking at their careers in entirely different ways from each other. And maybe from me too. I don’t aspire to longevity in my tenure, I aspire to breadth and depth in a life well-lived. If that betrays me as something other than fully-committed, then so be it. I view that as fog of war stuff, for those who drink too much Kool-Aid.
Every day offers a retirement of sorts. We leave work behind or we don’t. We may walk away, I say! Roll clear of all that has a hold of us and breathe in the fresh air of a new perspective. Life is change, and our next chapter awaits. Rester soi-même—be yourself. Wherever we may be on this journey through time.
“Too much work, and no vacation, Deserves at least a small libation. So hail! my friends, and raise your glasses, Work’s the curse of the drinking classes.” — Oscar Wilde
Have you been waiting for this blog to be published? I’m not so self-absorbed to believe it so. But I know there are a few folks who confirm I’m still among the living by registering when the blog is released. So here it is, better late than never.
The day will end, that’s for sure
I wonder, how do we keep score?
through projects completed and bonuses racked
or magic acquired in this time stacked?
This blog leans more towards poetry the later in the day I begin writing it. Perhaps a sign to keep writing in the earliest hours of the day. Whatever the consensus, I’ve posted one more, such that it is. Perhaps tomorrow will be more hit than miss?
Cheers.
“The main reason to produce something every day is that you must throw away a lot of good work to reach the good stuff. To let it all go easily, you need to be convinced that there is ‘more where that came from’. You get that in steady production.”
— Kevin Kelly, Excellent Advice for Living
Amusement parks may have Lightning Pass lanes, and tourist attractions may have a “Skip the Line” scheme (there’s always a line, it’s just a little shorter), but the work that we produce in a lifetime has no such option. Getting to the good stuff isn’t accomplished without putting in the time.
Sure, I hear the call of Artificial Intelligence (AI) filling the gap between apprenticeship and mastery. Maybe research and first drafts don’t have to be so tedious. But there are lessons in the grind, and the willing student reaches wisdom not found in AI efficiency.
The Mona Lisa wasn’t painted in a couple of days. Leonardo da Vinci carried that portrait with him for the rest of his life, adding touches, refining the work, ignoring it and coming back to it. It was never really completed before he passed, it simply reached its final state of being. That state happens to be masterful; A pet project that became the most famous painting in the world.
Writing every day is sometimes a grind, but it teaches and informs the writer. We may publish regularly or be forever polishing our master work. Unlike our friend da Vinci, we ought to ship our work regularly, that we may move on to something else. The good stuff is earned daily. The great stuff is just over the next rise, awaiting our ascent. If we keep climbing.
In the morning, always hydrate before caffeinating, always do both before eating anything.
Later in the day, always hydrate and eat something before drinking alcohol.
Eat protein before carbs. Make those carbs as complex as palatable.
Write before the day becomes insane. Even when you feel you’ll have time later, life doesn’t play by the same rules.
Same goes for exercise.
Breath through your nose far more than your mouth.
Learn CPR.
Focus on one task at a time. Multi-tasking is nothing but partial focus on too many things.
Listen. When two people are talking at the same time, nothing is heard. If two people are attempting to talk to you at the same time, make eye contact with the one who initiated the conversation until they’ve stated what they wanted to say, then make eye contact with the other. They’ll both feel heard, and maybe learn to respect boundaries.
Chaos knows no boundaries. Back away from chaos.
Know where the exits are. Not just the door you walked in through, but the other exits. If you don’t see another viable exit, you are in the wrong place.
There is energy in a crowd, but never be caught in the middle should things go terribly wrong. Don’t live in fear, simply be aware.
Always read a book before turning on the television or doom-scrolling. Ten pages a day will change your life. More as time allows.
Read classic books. They’re classics for a reason.
Stretch more frequently than you believe you need to.
Schedule physicals, dental appointments and physical therapy first thing in the morning, before life beats you and them down.
Pack light. Layers. Socks stuffed in the shoes. Leave half of what you want to take behind so you have room in your bag to bring something home with you.
Don’t buy souvenirs that won’t make you miss the place you bought it at. This automatically eliminates airport gift shops and Soft as a Grape stores.
Call your mother. She’ll appreciate it more than she’ll let on.
Call your father too. Don’t just ask Mom to pass the phone. He’d call you more often himself, but he wants you to stop clinging to the nest and fly (He loves to watch you soar).
Visit a cemetery and remember those who are no longer with us. Memento mori.
Live as if you were dying. You don’t have to listen to the song to embrace the philosophy.
Instead of sleeping in, go to bed earlier.
Take all advice given freely for what it’s worth.
May the 4th be with you. I won’t attempt to top Seth Godin’s blog post today, but I will endorse his call to equanimity and a bias towards action. True leadership begins with control of the self. The best examples of this are hiding in plain sight in quiet leaders, no matter their title, doing what needs to be done.
“Luminous beings are we, not this crude matter.” — Yoda
Today, of all days, feed the spark within. Give it oxygen and space to grow. We may be measured and earnest in our bias towards action. Countless possibilities await our next move. Be luminous.
