Alexandersmap

    Category: Lifestyle

    • An Hour on the Table

      I got a massage from a muscular guy named Jim. I don’t generally get massages mind you – this was the fourth I can remember getting in my life, other than two chair massages to help pass the time. But this lie down on a table kind? Not generally my thing. Except for the nagging shoulder pain that crept into my neck. After 41 consecutive weeks of daily burpees I finally said the hell with it and gave my shoulders a rest. And then a massage. I’m deep into three weeks away from home and don’t need an injury now. Time for preventative maintenance on the old buggy.

      I figure I’ve done roughly 3200 burpees this year. And I’ll do more soon, but I’m switching to longer walks for the next few weeks. Burpees have been very good for me. Too many consecutive days of burpees… not so good. It seems my shoulders are my weak link. Shoulder and neck pain impact other important things, like sleep cycles and train of thought. So a shift to walking for now. Maybe a call to get back on the erg when travel slows a bit. Rowing has never injured me physically. I do still carry some psychological pain from anaerobic threshold moments in my past. But I’m mostly over that, right?

      So my new friend Jim pulverized the knots upon knots in my shoulders. Did it flip a switch and make it all go away? No, not yet. But it certainly helped a great deal. So why don’t I get massages more? I don’t have a good answer for you. But if you’re thinking of getting one, I’d recommend Jim.

    • Leap

      I was contemplating the Erie Canal on a walk early this morning and thinking about whether there were fish in it.  And to answer one jumped out of the water and splashed down in a ring of ripples.  And I thanked the fish for clearing that up for me.  Then it occurred to me; Most fish don’t jump out of the water, only a few do.  If all fish jumped out of the water the surface would look like a pot of boiling water.  Instead it’s an event.  And I wondered, why wouldn’t all fish jump out of the water to see what’s on the other side?  Because most fish are content with the environment they’re in and don’t care to know what’s “out there”.

      People are like fish in that way.  Most just swim along blissfully unconcerned about the state of the world outside their pond.  But the bold few make the leap, breaking the surface tension for the glorious freedom just beyond their comfort zone and make a bigger ripple in their moment.

      I’m watching some people in my life take bold leaps, and I’m thrilled for them.  There’s nothing wrong with the pond, after all that’s what keeps you alive, but seeing the world beyond seems worth a leap now and then. Go make a big ring of ripples. I’ll do the same.

    • Dancing Across Borders

      “Look at [life] like going to a really nice restaurant, you take it as a fact that the meal isn’t going to last forever. Never mind if that’s the way it should be, or whether you feel like you’re owed more meal, or you resent the fact that the meal isn’t eternal. It’s just the case that you have this one meal. So it would make sense, wouldn’t it, to try to suck the marrow out of it? To focus on the flavours? To not let yourself be distracted by irritation at the fact that there’s a woman at the next table wearing too much perfume?” – Lauren Tillinghast, quoted in Oliver Burkeman, The Antidote: Happiness For People Who Can’t Stand Positive Thinking

      I enjoyed this Burkeman book more than I expected I would. I’m not a “happiness” seeker, so I generally avoid books that claim to have all the answers for finding it. This book destroys some of the snake oil salespeople out there while reinforcing some philosophy I happen to embrace, including stoicism and Buddhism. But it’s his chapter on Memento mori and his thoughts on letting death seep back into your life that I found most profound. Readers of this blog know this theme well, but it isn’t a morbid fascination as much as a call to action. So dance today! There are no guarantees of tomorrow.

      I’m traveling a lot at the moment. Yesterday Massachusetts, today New York, next week London, then Scotland, and repeat. But start with now, and hope you’re blessed with tomorrow. And today has been very good indeed.

      Which brings me back to this Tillinghast quote. Life should be viewed as a great event, and we should live it as grandly as circumstances allow. Have the wine, savor the meal, indulge in some dessert, maybe have a cordial to cap the night. What a wonderful analogy to a lifetime. Always too brief, but a wonderful experience while you’re having it. So I’ll savor this lovely glass of Tuscan Blend and anticipate the meal I’ve ordered with a toast. Propino tibi! I drink to your health!

    • The Migration

      The skies are filled with masses of migrating birds this time of year. They pirouette in sky dance, beautiful shape shifters creating momentary sculpture of black on blue. Where they’re heading from here I don’t know, but I’m grateful for our moment together before they bring their art show to another stage.

      Another migration takes place on the highways below. Masses of SUV’s heading home from soccer and lacrosse tournaments, or leaf peeping long weekends in the northern states. If the birds offer coordinated air shows that inspire, the highways offer myriad close calls and highly questionable driving behavior. I’ve witnessed multiple tragedies that almost happened today, and can only shake my head in wonder at the decisions of others. But to them I’m an obstacle, driving in a long line of cars at frustratingly variable speed. This isn’t driving that lulls you into meditative bliss, it’s hours of ‘pay attention or suffer the consequences‘ power commuting. And today my migration took me across I-90 West from Worcester, Massachusetts to Batavia, New York with the most distracted, irritable parents and empty nesters Columbus Day Weekend could muster.

      Driving is a pleasure when the environment you’re driving in is predictable and the drive is at highway speed. When one or both condition becomes highly variable, well, it becomes less of a pleasure. But most of us got where we were going without incident, which isn’t exactly shape shifting sky dance, but hey, it’s something.

    • More in Less

      Recently I’ve begun limiting myself to one cup of robust coffee when I brew it with the AeroPress, where I’d previously indulge in a second and often a third. It seems one does the trick, and one more would be too much. The net benefit is less money spent on coffee, fewer trips to the bathroom, and ironically, sharper focus.

      There’s merit in avoiding the things that dull the senses, and embracing the things that electrify the senses. You’ll be the better for having done so. Take for example, a glass of single malt scotch.  It offers so much more in less. Savor it, reflect, take another sip. A little sip of Scotland to brighten your day. And an example of more in less. So I’m trying to take a similar approach to coffee.

      Today feels like a good opportunity to practice brevity.  I’m averaging a little over 400 words per post.  Today’s contribution will lower that average a bit.  So be it. I chip away at it nonetheless. Sometimes less is more?

       

    • A Walk in Time

      Too much indulgence at dinner drove a desire to move, and I went out in the dark night to walk the street.  I’ve walked this street many times over the last twenty years, thinking  too much at times.  For fifteen of those years I had a loyal companion, Bodhi, who was patient with me even as I wasn’t always patient with him.  Labradors want to explore the world on their own terms, and when he was younger I wrestled with his instincts and my selfish desire to keep moving.  As we got older together I learned to slow down, and regret not giving him enough time to linger on the neighborhood dog message boards he inevitably sniffed and marked along the way.  Perhaps he was complaining about the short leash I’d give him, but he wasn’t one to complain much.

      The neighborhood has changed in twenty years.  People come and go, usually from the same houses, while the rest of us anchor the cul du sac with memories of block parties, eventful storms, swarms of kids trick-or-treating on Halloween, and the occasional scandal.  Some quirky people, some gossiping and manipulative hens, some hard chargers, and at least one oddball who walked in the dark at 10 PM every night with his dog.  But we all tended to look out for one another in some fashion.

      Of the hundred or so people who have lived on this street these twenty years, we’ve seen our share of drama.  Three couples divorced, two people went to prison, two women had breast cancer and one man chopped his fingers off trying to clear his snowblower.  They stitched them back on, but it dominated conversation for a few weeks.  But there’s plenty of good on the street too.  Kids who grew up, went to college and became contributing members of society.  Successful careers, at least one book published on the street and one aspiring author working to add another, a locally famous weatherman, and a few recent retirees checking the box on a career.  The American dream, and some of the drawbacks to pursuing it, all on one street.

      The biggest, most expensive home on the street is directly behind my own house.  The cul du sac loops around like a “j” with a long driveway leading back to the big house, creating a “u”.  It’s twice the size of my own home, with a five car garage, movie theater, fitness room and a stunning view of rolling fields of a horse farm.  The long driveway is lined with light poles on either side, which we derisively call the runway when lit up.  The house has changed hands three times in twenty years.  The first owner was a crooked chiropractor who went to prison for a large scale insurance scam he orchestrated.  He built a flashy house, drove both a Hummer and a Dodge Viper and trolled for young women on the streets of Lawrence, Massachusetts while his wife was home raising children.  His house of cards came crashing down and his wife and children had to move out of the neighborhood to a condo in another town while his accommodations were more sparse.  That house has turned twice since then but we still refer to it as the original owners house.

      Walking the street alone at 10 PM doesn’t feel quite right anymore.  The street is the same yet everything is different.  Late evening walks are best done with a companion.  Bodhi is gone, the kids are in different corners of the world, and my bride has surrendered to prime time television.  But I walked anyway, if only to digest a bit, to think, and in the futile hope of seeing a few shooting stars.  Streaky overcast skies offered a glimpse of a few stars and a hazy moon, but wasn’t going to pull the covers off for a proper show.  Just me and the acorns falling.  And memories of twenty years on a single street in New Hampshire.

    • Let the Clamor Be

      Wednesday afternoon I found myself in a customer’s Audi driving to lunch. His customer in turn was also in the car (my role being “vendor”). The 15 minutes spent in the car was spent listening to the driver’s pro-Trump diatribe on the impeachment investigation and his firm belief that anything he said would result in strong nods of agreement from the two passengers in his car. He didn’t notice that neither of us said anything. I don’t know the political views of the end user, but I do know mine. More importantly, neither of them know my political views. I happen to have strong views on this topic, but those views had no place in a business meeting. Aside from lack of professionalism, it’s unnecessary noise that distracts from purpose. Me jumping in on this topic would have created more rather than relieved tension.

      “Learn to stop trying to fix things, to stop being so preoccupied with trying to control one’s experience of the world, to give up trying to replace unpleasant thoughts and emotions with more pleasant ones, and to see that, through dropping the ‘pursuit of happiness’ a more profound peace will result.” – Oliver Burkeman, The Antidote: Happiness for People Who Can’t Stand Positive Thinking

      I’m not seeking “happiness” (that’s akin to playing Whac-A-Mole) but I do have a fair amount of restlessness I work through. So it’s interesting if only to me when two books arrive at the top of my stack of real and virtual books at the same time. Burkeman’s and Ryan Holiday’s latest, Stillness is the Key. Both tackle similar ground – with focus on the value of Stoicism in particular, but common themes in Buddhism and (in Holiday’s book), other world religions and philosophies.

      Burkeman throws out a nugget in his book that struck me as profound: “Let the Clamour be.”  In American English we’d spell that ‘clamor’.  But no matter, the point is made.  I’ve worked on that for years, sometimes successfully, sometimes not so.  What I don’t do is actively meditate.  I take my meditation in turning off the noise and doing yardwork, or gardening, washing dishes or simply taking a quiet walk.  Am I missing out on something significant by not meditating?  Probably, but I feel better about myself for getting something done while I’m in my mind.

      Which brings me to the acorns.  I’ve got 10’s of thousands of them sitting on my front lawn right now, just waiting for me to rake them up.  Just me, a rake, shovel and barrel, and endless acorns.  I can feel the stillness already.

    • Time Travel on the Rail Trail

      I took a walk on a local rail trail during a lunch break.  The trail brought solitude occasionally interrupted by fellow walkers, joggers and cyclists. But not really solitude.  There were glimpses of frogs warily looking back at me, chirps of chipmunks announcing “here’s another one.” as I walked by, and a distant hum of traffic in the distance.  But I was alone with my thoughts.  After cutting way back on listening to podcasts and music on most walks and rows, I’ve realized a net benefit in improved creativity.  Everyone has their thing, mine is quiet.

      An acorn stood in the middle of the path, shed of its cap and firmly on its fat end seeking perhaps a bare foot.  But likely hoping for a kick to the grass where it might take root. Asphalt is no place for an acorn with aspirations.  The remains of hundreds of its kin lay massacred on the trail, victims of bicycle tires and shoes alike.  Looking back, I regret not kicking that acorn into the grass.  It might have stood a fighting chance.

      I paused at a wall, built of granite by hand. Dimpled from the stone cutter, lichen and moss-covered from a long watch under a canopy of oak and maple trees.  The wall has stood here for at least 170 years, and aside from a crack or two looks like it could stand for three times that.  If a generation is 30 years, the man that built this wall could well have been my great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather.  I wonder if he thought of that when placing these stones?  Turning back the way I came, I thought the wall could easily stand for another ten generations if left to itself.  Perhaps they’ll stand where I stood today, thinking as I do of those who came before and those who belong to the future.  My moment with the wall was just a glimpse of a time machine passing from then to there, with a brief visit with me along the way.

      That acorn is a time machine as well, waiting to find the right landing place to take root and grow.  It too could outlive all of us.  And a part of me hopes that it does.

    • The Land Informs

      In New England in the spring of 2006 it started raining and never stopped. The rivers soon overflowed their banks, creating lakes where there was once roads, parking lots and lawns. The Spicket River closed large sections of Salem, New Hampshire and downstream in Methuen and Lawrence, Massachusetts. Ponds too were overflowing, and dams were reaching a breaking point.

      It was at this point that officials in my town decided it was best to release the floodgates on the dam on a pond not far from me. Releasing the water would immediately relieve the pressure on the earthwork holding back the flood waters, which may have been catastrophic had it burst. I live downstream of this dam. When the flood waters were released the stream quickly became a churning serpent racing downhill, picking up momentum in a race to the Spicket River. It reached its first choke point at a culvert up the hill on my street, filled rapidly at this new dam and flowed sideways across a neighbor’s lawn onto the street, which became a riverbed. The crest on the road soon channeled this river onto the lawns of each neighbor in succession until it reached mine.

      When we built this house in 1999 I planted a rugosa rose at the end of the driveway. In seven years it had filled into a fragrant shrub occupying a challenging spot where not much else would grow. It served as the perfect dam for the raging white water racing to meet it. The water swirled around the shrub creating an eddy, which quickly started working on the driveway before continuing on to the end of the street into Hog Hill Brook, which in turn flowed to the Spicket River, then the Merrimack River and finally to the Atlantic Ocean.

      When the rains stopped and the waters receded, a chunk of the driveway was gone. The street fared worse, with long sections of asphalt peeled away. And the bridges downstream still worse than that. But the houses were spared and nobody died, so all told it could have been much worse. As events go it was memorable for those who witnessed it, a triviality to those who hear the stories of that day.

      Memories fade, people move away. but the land often informs if you pay attention. Today that resilient rugosa rose still stands watch at the end of the driveway. The street was repaired and you can still see those patchwork repairs as you walk up the hill, tracking the path of the water that day. The town put in a larger culvert and dumped a pile of dirt leading to it to channel future floods better. My neighbor plants tomatoes on top of it. He’s moving soon, another memory of that day moving away from the site. There are now three bridges dated 2006 or 2007 spanning the Hogs Hill Brook and the Spicket River that betray what happened that spring. The driveway is patched but has never been quite the same. When I walk on the beach near the mouth of the Merrimack River I wonder sometimes if I’m walking on bits of that driveway mixed in with the sand, reunited once again with my feet.

    • Viewing Hedonism Through a Stoic Lens

      I was making coffee with the AeroPress this morning. I’ve quickly grown to love this coffee press for its ease of use, quick cleanup and the great cup of coffee it produces. It got me thinking about this concept of hedonic adaptation I’d been reading about, where we quickly become accustomed to new things that once excited us. Every iPhone owner has experienced this the day a new iPhone was introduced. The trick is to not to allow stuff to dictate your mood. Easier said than done, but there’s value in trying. Will I eventually take the AeroPress for granted? Probably, but Stoicism offers a path.

      “Regularly reminding yourself that you might lose any of the things you currently enjoy–indeed, that you will definitely lose them all, in the end, when death catches up with you–would reverse the adaptation effect.” – Oliver Burkeman, The Antidote: Happiness for People Who Can’t Stand Positive Thinking

      There you go: Memento mori. Stoicism taps me on the shoulder once again telling me not to worry about all that stuff, you’ll lose it all in the end anyway. Your happiness can’t be dependent on the newest shiny toy you buy. None of that stuff matters. Does that mean I can’t enjoy that AeroPress? Not at all, just don’t depend on an object for happiness. That’s a fools game, and expensive to boot.

      According to Wikipedia, “The hedonic treadmill, also known as hedonic adaptation, is the observed tendency of humans to quickly return to a relatively stable level of happiness despite major positive or negative events or life changes. According to this theory, as a person makes more money, expectations and desires rise in tandem, which results in no permanent gain in happiness.”

      I’m watching Sunday football as I finish writing this, tolerating the endless stream of commercials promising me happiness if I buy this car or that, order pizza from that delivery place, or buy that latest iPhone with the cool-ass camera(s). All designed to trigger desire for what you don’t currently have. And all nonsense when you view it through a stoic lens.