Alexandersmap

    Category: Lifestyle

    • The Hold of Stuff

      I gave a friend a chain saw that another friend had given me. It was a great saw, and a joy to use. All around me are trees that need trimming or encroach into the yard. There’s no logical reason for me to have given it away, but I felt better about having released it immediately. The saw was never mine to begin with, but I’ve had a couple of moments of regret for having given it up. Such is the hold of stuff in our lives.

      Looking at the garden, it’s clear that I’ve over-planted. What appears to be empty space in May is chock full of healthy plants muscling each other out for space. It’s a common gardening mistake and I’ve made it many times. I’ve got to thin out the garden and relocate some plants that I eagerly purchased just a few months ago.

      I spent the first two months of gardening season pulling morning glory seedlings out of the garden. Like Sisyphus pushing the rock up the hill it’s an impossible task. Once they’re in your garden they’re a part of your life. And sure enough I went away on a business trip and came back to a thriving morning glory population laughing and singing in the sun along with those unruly cherry tomatoes. They’re mocking me, I know it.

      As I was writing this I glanced up and saw a rabbit on the lawn. By the second paragraph there was a second one. I refilled my coffee cup and walked out to see a third. The rabbits were offering emphasis literally right before my eyes. Stuff accumulates in our lives and sometimes an aggressive pruning is required. But you can’t stop with one pruning, because things can get out of hand quickly (The rabbits returned when our dog passed. I can’t say I prefer the trade-off but we’ve learned to coexist).

      So I gave up the chain saw that could help thin out trees encroaching on the yard like those morning glories encroach in the garden. Not the best choice for eliminating stuff, yet I feel better for having done so. I can borrow it back if I need to, and don’t have the burden of ownership that comes with accumulation. It’s a small beacon of hope in a house full of twenty years of this and that and the other thing.

      The friends who gave me the chain saw could teach a master class in simplification. They stepped down from a house full of stuff to an apartment full of less stuff to a sailboat with just the essentials. Nothing forces aggressive pruning like downsizing (It’s not like they can tow a shed around with them). We aren’t downsizing at this time, but the siren of simplification is calling, and it’s time to listen.

    • Progress Whispers

      Scales don’t lie, and this week I added a couple of travel pounds. Sales meetings involve unnatural portion sizes repeated often, with snacks in between. And so the pants were a bit more snug than when I arrived. That seemed to be the consensus as all 90% of us immediately agreed to lose 10 pounds by a trade show in September. Peer pressure multiplied by $20 each generally does the trick.

      “Progress…. is quiet. It whispers. Perfectionism screams failures and hides progress.” – Jon Acuff

      Some words jolt you awake and help you see things a bit more clearly. Progress whispers resonated for me this morning. Progress towards our objectives is often painfully slow, and we find ourselves growing frustrated by the level of progress we might be making. Acuff makes another point in highlighting perfectionism as the antagonist to progress, undermining it with its relentless chirping.

      Steve Pressfield describes this as “The Resistance“, Seth Godin calls it our “Lizard Brain“. It’s the inner voice that tells you it’s not good enough and not yet. Godin’s advice is to start pulling the thread anyway, to learn to dance with The Resistance. To ship your work, even if it’s not perfect. The concept of shipping a Minimum Viable Product (MVP) is common in nimble businesses today, but harder to dance with when it comes to writing your first novel or starting a business.

      Sales is a numbers game, and so is losing weight, writing a novel (or blog) or accomplishing any worthwhile objective. Progress whispers, and you need to break it down into the smallest increments to track it just to see any meaningful forward momentum. The 12 burpees I do every morning aren’t all that much, but they add up to 4380 in a year. I’ve noticed the change in my body even from this small amount, done repeatedly and consistently over time. So it is with sales calls, writing daily, and other accretive activity.

      Losing weight is tougher as you get older. You may say it’s because our metabolism slows down. I’d certainly say that too. But then I look at the guy I went to college with who rides his bike every day and hikes the rest of the time. His high activity level has bought him washboard abs, without sacrificing career or family. Another friend who embraced CrossFit shortly before turning 50 is now in better shape than when he was 25. No, “metabolism” is “Lizard Brain” in disguise.

      Activity over time equals identity. Athletic, writer, Rainmaker, parent, spouse and trusted friend are all identities I try to embrace. I’m a little better at a few than others but hope to make progress with each. My progress may be a faint whisper but it’s progress nonetheless. Best for me to listen for it more. Throwing $20 dollars and the threat of peer ridicule to the mix amplifies the goal a bit too.

    • The Thing About Chess

      When I was in college I’d play chess for hours with roommates during the winter break.  We’d all come back from our respective part-time jobs and rotate in to play whomever the winner was.  Chess was the only thing I had in common with a couple of those guys and we drifted apart as rowing (for me) and other distractions (for them) took over.  During a college trip to Finland and what was the Glasnost-era USSR I picked up a magnetic chess set and we played the whole flight back.  But chess drifted away when the convenience of time that college offers drifted away.

      Fast forward years later and my grandfather moved up to Massachusetts from Florida when my grandmother passed away.  I’d schedule nights with him every week or two, I’d order some sandwiches and we’d play chess once or twice before calling it a night.  Chess with my grandfather was story time, and he’d tell me stories of working at Eastern Airlines in Miami where he’d play chess with some older black men who also worked there.  In the 1960’s that wasn’t the norm in Florida, but he told me he didn’t much care.  Just two guys playing chess during a work break.

      I tried to steer my kids towards chess, but no luck.  Too many other activities in their lives and it was a game that required some learning.  Checkers for awhile, and then it was on to sports and video games.  So I’d hit a dead end where there wasn’t an opponent to play against, and so the game drifted away again.  Playing the game in the newspaper or on a handheld device never appealed to me.

      Eventually I rediscovered chess on my Mac.  There are settings that allow you to make the virtual opponent devastatingly difficult or ridiculously easy.  Eventually I got a place where I’d win sometimes, the computer would win sometimes and the pace of play was satisfying enough to make it interesting.  Computer chess doesn’t offer the nuance of playing against a real person or the tactile experience of picking up and moving pieces, but it’s better than nothing.  Like other computer activity it becomes a time suck if you let it, so I’ve established rules for myself where I’ll only play in the evening on the home computer for a max of 3 games at a time.  None when I travel or during the work day.

      While there are chess clubs everywhere, when you live in the suburbs it’s not as convenient to find an opponent.  I think if I lived in the city I’d be drawn to the places that offer chess boards for anyone to sit down and play.  Harvard Square has a spot where I could play a chess master in one game and a homeless person in the next game.  I’d surely never leave if I lived or worked in Harvard Square.  Chess welcomes all players, and offers an opportunity to deeply focus on the complexity of the game with someone you might be on the opposite end of the spectrum politically, socioeconomically, in age or in countless other ways.  The world could use more chess players.

    • Rolling Luggage and Dress Shoes

      Read enough business books and you’ll hear the story about the invention of the Rollaboard, the first luggage with wheels and a telescoping handle. It was invented by an airline pilot named Robert Plath in 1987. Prior to that an inventor named Sadler had developed luggage with wheels that you towed through the airport, but it was the Rollaboard that revolutionized the luggage industry.

      The point of the story inevitably comes around to why did it take so long to come up with something so simple? Usually the biggest innovations are right in front of you waiting to be discovered. Luggage was a common problem and adding wheels was inevitable, yet it still took decades for it to happen.

      Savvy travelers would pack lightly for long trips, wear the suit they’d use in the meeting, and take advantage of the curbside luggage for those bulky bags you couldn’t avoid. Now we max out the space available and buy scales to ensure we don’t go over the weight limit. The idea of hauling 50 pound bags around the airport today without wheels is ludicrous. How quickly the norm has changed from “keep it manageable” to “jamb it all in”.

      I’m on a three day business trip. I drove down to New Jersey last night with twelve million other people. Since I was driving I gave myself the luxury of an extra pair of shoes. One pair of dress black and one pair of dress brown shoes. Putting those in my small bag required creative packing but I’m a veteran carry-on traveler so no big deal. But then I remembered I needed to bring running shoes for exercise and a team-building event of some sort to be named later. I could have driven in any of these three pairs of shoes but dress shoes with shorts went out of style in 10,000 BC, and everybody knows you don’t wear your running shoes when you drive, so another pair of shoes was absolutely justified. For those keeping score that’s four pairs of shoes for a three day trip. I blame the luggage wheels for bringing me to this point.

      Luggage wheels solved a first world problem, but created another with the average weight of bags going up. There’s a direct link between luggage wheels and the ubiquitous storage units popping up all over the country. Wheels lead to more stuff, more stuff leads to maxing out the capacity of the attic and garage. Pretty soon people are renting storage space in some row of metal garages that used to be a cornfield. Progress? I think not. So this morning I have to choose between brown and black dress shoes. So much for keeping it simple.

    • If I Should Fall Behind

      Wedding songs are funny things. A lot of them are grand and lovely things indeed. Others are glimpses of look what we found! blissful young love. I cherish some of these songs and cringe at others. Such is the optimism of the wedding song. It captures a moment in a relationship that can be challenging to sustain over a lifetime.

      For me, at 25 years into a relationship and almost 24 years into our marriage, our choice of wedding song still resonates as a guide for marriage over the long haul. I first heard it on the radio driving around in the Amherst, Massachusetts area where I was working as a rowing coach. I’d started dating Kris, who lived closer to Boston, earlier in 1994 and we both knew early on that this was the one. I still remember the moment when I latched onto the lyric There ‘neath the oak’s bough soon we will be wed and focused on the rest of the song intently. This was before Shazam so I wrote down what I Bruce Springsteen and some of the lyrics to try to find it later. I wish I still had that scrap of paper. Technically I was still married to someone else and the divorce wasn’t yet finalized. The betrayal, embarrassment and shock of that divorce were still fresh in my mind as they surely were for Bruce Springsteen when he wrote these words:

      We said we’d walk together baby come what may
      That come the twilight should we lose our way
      If as we’re walking a hand should slip free
      I’ll wait for you
      And should I fall behind
      Wait for me

      We swore we’d travel darlin’ side by side
      We’d help each other stay in stride
      But each lover’s steps fall so differently
      But I’ll wait for you
      And if I should fall behind
      Wait for me

      Now everyone dreams of love lasting and true
      Oh, but you and I know what this world can do
      So let’s make our steps clear that the other may see
      I’ll wait for you
      And if I should fall behind
      Wait for me

      Now there’s a beautiful river in the valley ahead
      There ‘neath the oak’s bough soon we will be wed
      Should we lose each other in the shadow of the evening trees
      I’ll wait for you
      Should I fall behind
      Wait for me
      Darlin’ I’ll wait for you
      Should I fall behind
      Wait for me

      Yeah, I’ll wait for you
      Should I fall behind
      Wait for me
      I’ll wait for you
      Should I fall behind
      Wait for me

      These lyrics aren’t young love idealism, it’s hard-earned realism with a commitment to making it work. Springsteen wrote this song for Patti Scialfa after living through his own divorce, and the place he was in at the writing of the song was very similar to where I was when I first heard it. I’m not in that place now, but the funny thing about If I Should Fall Behind is that it grows with you like an old friend and mentor, offering guidance in the down moments and a warm embrace in the good moments.

      I’m not sure what the next 25 years will bring, but I’m optimistic about the future. The ebb and flow of life together offers challenges and opportunities alike. You and I know what this world can do, so let’s make our steps clear that the other may see. I’ll wait for you, and if I should fall behind, please wait for me.

    • Two Views

      This morning I had the opportunity to sail on Fayaway from the Merrimack River to (almost) Isle of Shoals. Lucky to have Chris and Kelly local a bit longer than expected. These days are truly bonus days. This stretch of coastline looks complete different than it did 300 years ago, but looks exactly the same in two ways.

      The ridge line is largely as it was in 1719, save for a few water towers breaking through. But just below is a continuous line of beach houses, hotels and condos. And below that, on this beautiful July day, was a similar continuous string of people occupying their own square of beach sand. No, the similarities end at the tree line.

      But turn 180 degrees and the view is as it’s been for millennia. The Atlantic Ocean guards what has always been from humanity’s constant change. two views offer different perspectives on the last three centuries. Thankfully the Atlantic is resilient in the face of human impact. I do love the view east. May it always be this way.

    • Part of the Eternal

      “Putting things off is the biggest waste of life: it snatches away each day as it comes, and denies us the present by promising the future. The greatest obstacle to living is expectancy, which hangs upon tomorrow and loses today. You are arranging what lies in Fortune’s control, and abandoning what lies in yours. What are you looking at? To what goal are you straining? The whole future lies in uncertainty: live immediately.” – Seneca. On The Shortness of Life

      I was listening to a podcast interview with Elizabeth Gilbert where she discussed the death of a woman she had a relationship with, and the words she heard from another writer friend, Ann Patchett, who told her:

      “[Your loved one] belongs to the eternal now, and someday soon you will too.  And that’s true for all of us.  You have an infinite amount of time to belong to the eternal with her.  But you only have this tiny bit of time to have this experience as a human being on Earth.  Don’t lose it by trying to merge with her now.  Merge with this, what’s here, the people who are here, what’s in front of you.  The weird, strange, heartbreaking thing of being mortal.  Do that….  This moment of being human is not to be wasted.” – Elizabeth Gilbert/Ann Patchett

      I write about death.  Not because I’m in a hurry to get there, mind you, but because it’s a reality for all of us, and embracing stoicism means embracing the concept of Memento Mori; remembering that we all must die.  By acknowledging that you set yourself up to make the most of the time you have here.  The alternative is to deny that it will ever happen and not make the most of your time.  Seems a waste, really, to not get every bit of marrow out of the bone.  Take the highlighter out and brighten up the daily pages.

      “We ought to hear at least one little song everyday, read a poem, see a first-rate painting, and if possible speak a few sensible words.” – Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

      Being part of the eternal, the infinite other that we’re all heading towards, makes me focus more on living.  I think I’d like to make a run to 100 and put that eternity thing off as long as possible.  I have a lot of people to reconnect with whenever I get there. Then too, if this side offers a brief window of time to experience living, isn’t it essential to play your cards with some enthusiasm?  It’s Friday once again.  Another string of days has passed.  Surely we owe it to our eternal selves to make the most of this day ahead.  The infinite might just nod its approval.

    • 37 Miles

      I’m currently 37 miles from my first appointment in Boston. At the moment Waze tells me it will take me 69 minutes to reach my destination. In reality it’ll be closer to 90 minutes because it makes little sense to arrive at an appointment 90 minutes early, but it’s unacceptable to arrive 5 minutes late. Such is the mental math of a commuter to Boston. If there’s a benefit to my career it’s not having to do this every day. No such mental math occurs in a trip to Maine or Vermont. But Boston, well, that’s a different story. I choose to avoid peak traffic times whenever possible. Today it’s not possible.

      “… the few that make it to the top of their ambition through a thousand indignities realize at the end it’s only for an inscription on their tombstone” – Seneca

      As I write the predicted commute has inched up another ten minutes. Best to get on my way soon… but then I hear a couple of hot air balloons flying nearby and walked out to see where they’re heading. They often land on our street because the power lines are underground here. But it looks like they’re heading to another neighborhood this time. The brief interruption was welcome as it broke my focus on incremental time units for a 37 mile drive. It’s funny what we focus on, and how unimportant most of it turns out to be in the end. But we also have means to an end to consider, and so it’s time to get moving once again.

    • It’s in the Blood

      I’ve been told by the American Red Cross that I’ve donated more than 3 gallons of blood in my lifetime.  That’s both a lot and nowhere near what some people donate.  Considering the average man has 12 pints of blood, that equates to roughly two guy’s worth of A negative blood that’s come out of me and into other folks.  Lately I usually donate “Power Red”, which seem to be particularly helpful because I’m donating 2x the needed red blood cells.  In the process of donating they separate what they need and return the rest along with some saline solution.  It takes a bit longer but nothing too crazy.  Apparently not everyone can donate them, so since I can I do.

      At one point in my life I tried donating platelets, and did it maybe 4 or 5 times.  But the amount of time needed to donate was prohibitive for me, particularly when they closed the place right down the street from me and centralized platelet donations in select locations (Manchester, New Hampshire or Boston, Danvers and Dedham, Massachusetts that surely are convenient for a lot of people but not me.  If there’s a national emergency declared and platelets are urgently needed then call me up – otherwise take my Power Reds and I’ll see you in a few months.

      There’s really nothing to donating blood or Power Reds.  I know there are many people who can’t donate for health reasons or because of lifestyle choices like living in a certain foreign country for more than five years.  Donated blood has a shelf life of 42 days.  Apparently only 37% of the population can donate, and only 10% do it annually.  I’m somewhere in the 3 to 4 times per year range.  So I may not be perfect, but I do bleed and clot well, and have been told I have “good veins”, so I donate when I can.  Perhaps I’ve saved a life or two as the campaigns say, or maybe not and just made it a little easier to save a life.  Either way I’m all in.  How about you?

    • Crows Never Forget a Face

      Sunday morning, while writing yesterday’s blog post, I observed a murder of crows, or four of them anyway, fly into the trees in my yard and start communicating with each other in that caw caw way.  Like a biker gang walking into a Friendly’s, the other birds in the vicinity grew very quiet when the crows announced they were crashing the party.

      The crows split up, with one flying behind me to a tall tree in the front of the house.  Two of them remained on a branch on an oak tree deeper into the woods.  And the fourth ran point and flew onto a branch of an oak tree that reached out over the lawn in the backyard.  I saw right away what he was doing.  There was a birds nest on the branch and he bounced over to it, cawing all the time, head bending side to side as he inspected the nest.  The pair of crows in the woods observed and cawed their feedback.  When point crow reached the nest he started pulling it apart and dropping bits of straw down to the ground, digging into the nest looking for chicks or eggs to eat.  After a couple of minutes he determined there was nothing there worth eating and he flew off, with his mates joining him.

      Crows are both fascinating and annoying creatures.  Like [most] humans, they’re highly intelligent and social, and they’re omnivores.  Crows are symbolic of death in mythology, like vultures, but they’re really just opportunistic hunters and gatherers.  You see them all the time bouncing over to roadkill, but they’re smart enough to gauge the speed of the car coming at them and avoid becoming roadkill themselves.  I read that if a crow is killed, other crows will gather around it to determine what killed it, and then like a lynch mob go after the killer.  Crows apparently never forget a face, so if you go out and chase away a murder of crows or throw rocks at them they’ll mark you as a dangerous character.  Given what they do to crow killers I’d say be on your best behavior with them!  With an average lifespan of 7 – 8 years, they have plenty of time to develop a plan to deal with you.

      There are apparently 30 different species of crows out there, ranging from magpies to ravens.  I know that the crows flying about in the woods of New Hampshire are smaller than the crows flying around on Buzzards Bay, but share similar hunting and communication traits.  I can admire crows but still wish that they’d shut up when I’m trying to sleep in when I’m on the Cape.  They aren’t just bigger down there, they’re also louder and early risers.  Maybe they’re trying to tell me something:  Caw! Get up!  Caw!  Life is short!  Caw!  There’s so much you can do with this day.  Thanks for the reminder.  Best get on with it.