Alexandersmap

    Category: Lifestyle

    • Nice, With Nerve

      “It’s not enough to be nice in life. One must have nerve.” — Georgia O’Keeffe

      “I’ve been absolutely terrified every moment of my life and I’ve never let it keep me from a single thing that I wanted to do.” — Georgia O’Keeffe

      The old expression that nice guys finish last isn’t completely accurate, but it ought to include the disclaimer that for nice guys not to finish last they have to show some courage and go after what they want in life. We all see the assholes who ascend to positions of power. They wouldn’t have it any other way, really. Nice people don’t have to be assholes to do consequential things in their lifetime, but they must have courage to push through the walls the world wants to box us in with. We must learn to fight for what we want in our lives.

      We can be nice but still have nerve. Nice people rise too. They just don’t leave as many bruised egos in their wake. Remember this when encountering walls and ceilings placed by assholes, but also by other nice people who meant the best for us. It’s not enough to persist, we also must insist and, just do what calls to us.

      Consequential things don’t just manifest themselves. Those climbs to summits, manuscripts and realizations of dreams require action and the nerve to start. We mustn’t wait another moment! It’s not a departure from identity to be bold, for being nice with nerve is how great things happen in this world.

    • Venturing for Pizza

      “Adventures don’t come calling like unexpected relatives; you have to go looking for them”
      — Mark Jenkins

      A friend pointed out that I don’t post all that many pictures in my blog posts anymore. His observation was right on point, as there have been way too many work from home days strung together recently. There are surely efficiencies in working from home, but there are no waterfalls, mountain peaks or historical sites hiding in the closet awaiting discovery. Discovery requires venturing.

      This week I ventured to Connecticut and found myself in an old pizza shop from the 1930’s. The kind of place that doesn’t open until 3 PM and has a take-out line that runs to the end of the parking lot. Connecticut is famous for their pizza. Maybe not Napoli famous but regionally famous, and so sharing a pizza with a business associate seemed the thing to do. I offered up the big three in New Haven, he offered up a place in Derby that he loved called Roseland Apizza (pronounced ah-beetz). Always go where the locals go, I tell myself, and so we went. I’ll tell you that the pizza was good, but it was never about the pizza in the first place, it was about the venturing.

      Whether we’re chasing waterfalls or history or pizza doesn’t matter so much as the chase itself. Break through the self-imposed walls we build around ourselves and step out of the damned box. When we get out in the world and see if for ourselves, we reignite that spark that was gasping for air. When we return to our box we find we’re breathing a little better, we’re seeing the world a little differently, and we’re more satiated than we had been previously (especially if you’re seeking out the best pizza places in Connecticut). When life seems a little boring, simply add venture.

    • Rerouting

      The more people I talk to, the more I understand that we’re all living a similar version of the story: Trying to make it all work, dealing with challenges as they come up, celebrating small wins and trying to recover from the setbacks and gut punches life throws at us. Nobody said this would be easy. Then again, nobody said we couldn’t change the rules or play a different game altogether.

      Talking to a work acquaintance who I thought had a pretty defined career lane right in front of him, he revealed that he’s taking a left turn onto a completely different route. My only response was encouragement to follow the route the internal GPS recommends. Our way is our way, not someone else’s. Who am I to tell someone which way to go with their life? All we can do is help them hear the call and support them when they find the courage to make a change.

      I’ve had similar conversations lately with others. Rerouting is never easy. Sometimes it’s forced upon us, sometimes we force it upon ourselves, but the change can be disorienting and a little terrifying when we don’t feel fully in control. But we ought to remember that we’re more resilient than we give ourselves credit for, and when we find ourselves turning onto another route it’s usually better to accelerate and see how far we can go than it is to do a U-turn.

    • Time Enough

      “The butterfly counts not months but moments, and has time enough.” — Rabindranath Tagore

      We often get hung up on time and how quickly it all flies by. Yet we have more than enough for one lifetime when we use it well. We just waste so very much of it on things that aren’t all that essential. The moment is all that matters, we keep telling ourselves, and yet we measure time. The instant we recognize the fragility of the moment and our place in it, the more we begin to fully live. This is everything, all at once, and it’s a wonder to behold.

      This morning I reconciled myself to spending money and time on a problem that I inadvertently created several years ago. To spend money and time on things that I once thought were finished forever is frustrating, but instead of getting spun up in the error I’m finding joy in the resolution of the problem. With every decision we have the opportunity to set the future straight. We may celebrate this and move on to the next.

      As a rower I know the value of the current stroke in setting up the next one. Effort and recovery are forever linked in a quest for that elusive perfection. A life well spent isn’t all about the highlight reel stuff seen on Instagram, it’s the daily grind and the challenges we overcome that we may live to fight another day. Effort, recovery and setting ourselves up for the next—again and again. Stitch together enough such moments and we may build something meaningful that transcends the ordinary.

      We have time enough, even as we wish for more. Aspire to make more of the moment instead of wishing for more moments. Excellence is found here, awaiting our rise to meet it.

    • Changing Seasons

      “There is nothing permanent except change.” — Heraclitus

      Somehow cycling season is drawing to a close. Sure, there are plenty of nice days to ride all year, but the challenge is finding enough daylight to ride safely. I’m more grateful for rail trails as the days get shorter. But there’s something to be said for those favorite routes on narrow country roads on a warm, sunny afternoon. I’ll remember a few rides fondly on those cold and dark winter afternoons.

      The obvious thing is that when we spend more time outside, we become more aware of the weather, but also the seasons themselves. A slow turn towards autumn is detectable well before September, a bite to the air in late November will signal a turn towards winter, and so on. Having experienced the seasons, we feel it when there’s a change in the air. Some of us quite literally feel it in our bones. Old injuries become reliable harbingers of a variation from the norm.

      We learn to celebrate every season for the change it brings. We may have our favorites, but there’s joy to be found in each. Often it’s just a matter of stepping outside to see what greets us. These are days we’ll remember as the good old days one day. Days when maybe everything seemed so upside down, but still present the gift of people and places in our lives that one day won’t be. We realize over time that a bit of gratitude for whatever season this happens to be in our lives is what changes everything.

    • A Star In Our Hand

      “Begin doing what you want to do now. We are not living in eternity. We have only this moment, sparkling like a star in our hand – and melting like a snowflake.” — Francis Bacon

      September, the seventh month, happens in the ninth month of the year. Rather than simply adding two months to the end of the calendar those Romans just dumped January and February on us up front, and we humans have been two months behind ever since. As if we had all the time in the world to work with, we’re also forever playing catchup. No wonder we all feel like life is flashing by before our eyes.

      We all want to feel that we’re ahead of the game, or at least keeping pace. If productivity is the lead indicator of progress towards a goal, we ought to be very clear about what that goal that we’re being productive towards actually is. Otherwise, why are we going there in the first place? Productivity without purpose is nothing more than busywork. Busywork is a crime against nature, for we all know we aren’t dabbling in eternity. Wasted time robs us of more vital pursuits.

      It follows that if our time is melting away at alarming speed, we ought to be doing more of what we want to be doing now. I may have written a version of that a few hundred times in the course of this blog’s existence, but repetition penetrates the dullest of minds, and my own action demonstrates a good sharpening is in order. So I risk repeating myself if only to remind myself that today, like the stack of yesterdays before it, is fragile and in want of attention. Make it sparkle like the star is wants to be.

    • Digging Holes to Yesterday

      “Don’t let yesterday use up too much of today.” — Will Rogers

      The pup is obsessed with yesterday. She saw a chipmunk go into a small hole and proceeded to make it a big hole (just when we thought she was past the digging stage of life). This morning she was right back out there, chasing chipmunks because they were right there for the catching yesterday. Of course, the chipmunk has moved on to safer places, it’s just the memory that remains. Still, our pup remains a prisoner of what once was.

      What of us? What holes are we digging to yesterday, instead of being in today’s moment? I can think of a few of my own holes that ought to be filled in and left behind. It’s hard to climb when we’re deep in a hole.

    • The Beauty in Fragility

      I’m stubborn in some ways, no surprise to anyone who knows me, but sometimes I admit it to myself in quiet moments such as the one just before this one. I was thinking specifically about the beautiful Douglas fir beams that I turned into a pergola back in 2007, rotted now and about to be replaced by new fir beams that I just cut yesterday. My bride suggested PVC or some other engineered product that would ensure it would be resilient. A friend told me to just use pressure treated lumber so I never have to do it again. But I have enough plastic in my life. I have enough chemicals swirling around in my microclimate already. I chose like for like.

      When I built it the first time, I looked into cedar or redwood, but the price tag was prohibitive. Honestly, having replaced the wood a couple of times now, I should have just invested in redwood then, but 17 years isn’t bad for painted fir standing against the elements in New Hampshire. How has the last 17 years treated us? When I think about the wooden pergola that I built with my own hands back then, I feel something differently than I do about some more permanent building materials. There’s beauty in fragility. We know it won’t last forever and look at it differently than we look at something that we know will outlive our grandchildren.

      Working with the fir yesterday, I honored the wood and the tree it came from, with careful measurements, deliberate cuts with a jigsaw and slow turns as I moved the beams around to cut the other end. I’m 17 years older than the guy who did this the first time, after all, and slow and deliberate meant I could get out of bed without feeling like I was run over by a truck. I’m not so stubborn that I don’t see I’m fragile too. But more than that, I know this is the last time I’ll ever rebuild this particular pergola. I’m not just honoring the wood and the tree, but my own moment of youthful vigor. For time conquers all, friend, even this amateur craftsman whose seeing the truth in every project.

      Raw cuts awaiting further attention

    • Cradled in Custom

      They have cradled you in custom,
      they have primed you with their preaching,
      They have soaked you in convention through and through;
      They have put you in a showcase; you’re a credit to their teaching —
      But can’t you hear the Wild? — it’s calling you.
      Let us probe the silent places, let us seek what luck betide us;
      Let us journey to a lonely land I know.
      There’s a whisper on the night-wind,
      there’s a star agleam to guide us,
      And the Wild is calling, calling. . .let us go.
      — Robert Service, The Call of the Wild

      We all know the stories we’ve been told all our lives: Do well in school, go to a great college, get a great job and work hard to climb the corporate ladder, meet a mate who aligns with the story, have children and teach them to believe the same story and retire to do all the things we’ve skipped following our assigned script. Most people who struggle in this world are following someone else’s script instead of their own, or feeling the crush of expectations from those who want the best for us, believing the best for us is the story. But all along, and often unheard in the chorus of good intentions, is that the best stories are the ones we write ourselves.

      We each have our call of the wild, but do we heed it? There’s a time and a place for everything, we often remind ourselves, deferring to tomorrow what calls to us today. Perhaps today is a day to step off the chosen path and chase what calls to us. Perhaps this is the time to see what luck betide us. The only certainty is that the call will fade away with our vitality if deferred too long. Heed the call while there is still time to rewrite the story.

    • Thou Hast Thy Music Too

      “Give me books, fruit, French wine, fine weather and a little music.” — John Keats

      Where are the songs of spring? Ay, Where are they?
      Think not of them, thou hast thy music too
      — John Keats, To Autumn

      Keats only lived to 25, but his life was memorable because he had productive energy and talent and used it to churn out enough poetry to capture the world’s attention. Had he lived another few decades, I wonder where his voice might have taken him. Perhaps less flowery and more pointed? Our voices change with time, having lived beyond the illusions of our youth to a place more… earthbound.

      I’ve long ago abandoned any idea that writing a blog post every day would net a million followers. That’s Seth Godin territory. Blogging is a daily practice in writing, and thinking more deeply about consequential things. The idea of advertisements and diligently churning other platforms for clicks is not my game. Frankly, it’s not a game at all anymore, it’s simply the practice of writing every day. A steady climb to a better place.

      If life is short, but hopefully not as short as Keats’ life was, then to live it with joie de vivre seems vital. Ah, the poet has joie de vivre—but does the blogger? I think so, friend, but taking oneself less seriously and learning to enjoy the discoveries one makes about the universe along the way would surely carry us to a more joyful place than overanalyzing one’s key performance indicators (KPI’s) ever would. We don’t always have to know where we’re going or even why, but we ought to feel something stir deep within us when we move through our days. For ’tis true, thou hast thy music too.