Alexandersmap

    Category: Lifestyle

    • Designing the Sweet Life (La Dolce Vita)

      “A man must find his occasions in himself, it is true. The natural day is very calm, and will hardly reprove his indolence.” ― Henry David Thoreau, Walden

      In a full confession that will surprise no one in my circle of friends and family, I struggle with the act of idleness. I rarely sit still, even on vacation, choosing to explore whatever place I find myself in, and too often stack too many activities into those “idle” days. There’s no lying on the beach for hours for me. The default is activity over idleness. I marvel at the pets for their ability to simply nap away hours of a day. If I nap at all I set the alarm for 15 minutes and get right back to moving about as soon as possible. And the idea of sleeping in? There is no snooze alarm in my world.

      But that doesn’t translate to being productive all of the time. We can putter about without really getting anything done. The world is full of people quietly quitting the work they have in front of them. There are plenty of people opting out of frenetic lifestyles. There are whole cultures built around the sweetness of doing nothing (dolce far niante: I’m looking at you Italy). So how do we restless souls learn to chill out a bit and live the sweet life (la dolce vita) ourselves?

      “Doing less meaningless work, so that you can focus on things of greater personal importance, is NOT laziness. This is hard for most to accept, because our culture tends to reward personal sacrifice instead of personal productivity.” ― Timothy Ferriss, The 4-Hour Workweek

      The thing is, Thoreau and Ferriss, both known for promoting more strategic idleness in our days, have also produced some significant work that resonates beyond the moment they created it. For all their perceived idleness, there’s an underlying productivity hidden in plain sight. That’s what people miss in the idea of la dolce vita—it’s living the sweet life while still keeping the lights on with productive work. It seems we can have it all, if we create a lifestyle that is both pleasurable and productive.

      The trick is being far more strategic in our productivity, thus giving breathing room for idleness. We ought to know what we’re really setting out to do in this lifetime, and break that down into milestones. Milestones in turn are achieved through work strategically designed into our days. If that sounds like the antithesis of dolce far niante, well, I understand. But it really is the essence of living Thoreau’s “natural day”: filled with enough idle time to feel we’re not cogs in a machine while still producing something memorable.

      Productivity (and idleness) requires focus. Doing the work that matters most in the moment and then get on with living that sweet life. We’re all students of maximizing the potential of our lifetime. We ought to know what makes life sweet, and also meaningful. Designing a pace of life that balances the two is the essence of a sweet life.

      Ultimately, designing a lifestyle that maximizes our potential should be our focus. But potential for what? Wealth? Fame? Isn’t it really time spent doing the things that makes a life sweet? Time with people who matter a great deal to us. Time doing the things that make life a pleasure. Time structured in a way that it doesn’t feel like we’re biding our time but living it.

      So the question when designing a lifestyle is, “what will maximize the number of beautiful moments we may stack together in this finite lifespan?” Nothing brings focus to our days like remembering we only have so many of them. Memento mori. Stop wasting time thinking about it and go live it, today and every day we’re blessed with. The Italians are on to something, don’t you think?

    • Being Open to Delightful Encounters

      “Do anything, but let it produce joy. Do anything, but let it yield ecstasy.” ― Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer

      We learn much from puppies and children. For all my self-absorbed analysis of the world and my place in it, there’s nothing like putting your ego on the shelf and playing a game of fetch with the pup, or laughing at the world like a toddler does, at the smallest of delights encountered. There are lessons on how to live in such moments of clarity.

      Life is either an active pursuit of joy, or a series of distractions designed to make us believe that we’ve done enough with our days. Which we choose determines how we feel about the game in the end. So it is that I throw the frisbee in the morning fog while my coffee grows cold inside. What’s a cup of coffee but a joyful jolt of clarity anyway? The frisbee seems more sustained and meets canine approval.

      On a solo walk yesterday through a high roller neighborhood yesterday I encountered a couple walking their own dog. Given the neighborhood, the chances are they were high rollers. Given the neighborhood, one could make the case that I was as well (not quite). The dog was a big black Labrador retriever eager to greet everything encountered, including me. The couple were less enthused, with doggie dad grimacing at the thought of saying a word at all. I know a no trespassing sign when I read it— this was an encounter best completed quickly. I said a quick hello to their dog and nodded and smiled at the grimace greeting me, and we walked in opposite directions. One never knows why someone is holding back their joy, for life is full of reasons for grimacing. That doesn’t mean we can allow them to steal our own joy.

      We ought to live our lives focused on joyful interaction with the world, but we know the world is full of pain and misery and the occasional threat to our own well-being. To see the world through the eyes of a child seems naive and fraught with potential danger. Walking through life with our guard up surely seems more pragmatic, but we face other threats when we keep the world at arms-length. We rob ourselves of the possibility of delightful encounters along the way.

      The more life I put behind me, the more I find myself in the business of joy production. We can’t get a smile out of everyone, but we can surely try to raise the collective spirit of a world increasingly in a sour mood. Perhaps this is too much to ask as a purpose of a single lifetime, but it can surely be a product of one.

    • The Kindred Sky Spirits

      The puppy is growing up. She’s seven months old as I write this, and her shackles of timidity are finally being thrown off. We walk at night and she doesn’t shrink in fear at every trash barrel or shadow. It offers this star gazer the chance to dance with the constellations once again without alarming the neighbors. The odd neighbor walking the streets in the dark isn’t so very strange when he’s walking his dog. The dog is learning that this is our time together, but my head is often tilted upwards while her nose is down. We assure full coverage I suppose; the two of us walking with noses pointed in different directions.

      The pup has learned that I’m a sky spirit, temporarily grounded in this lifetime of servitude to the nest. Do I want to fly? Don’t you?? To fly is to soar! You bet I want to fly. I steal envious glances at the hawks and osprey gliding overhead. I marvel at the flocks of geese in formation. If they can do it why can’t we?! Alas, it’s not in our genes to flap our wings and soar. And yet we’ve learned how to fly anyway. How audacious of us.

      My favorite videos are flying videos. Give me drone footage over the perspective from the ground any day. There’s wonder in soaring above it all, and I’m immediately drawn into the world from the vantage point of a fellow spirit. That we are grounded doesn’t mean we can’t soar. There are opportunities all around us should we look for them.

      And there are people in my life who are kindred sky spirits. We don’t see each other often enough, but when the sky offers magic, we conspiratorially and usually virtually nod upwards—did you see that? Yes. Yes I did. And noted: so did you friend. Almost a shared secret hiding in plain sight, the sky. The masses are like the puppy: noses down. They’re looking at their phones or god knows what while the kindred glance upward, finding magic all around.

      Some of us instinctively know the phase of the moon, or which planets are visible at any given moment. We keep an eye on the possibility of an aurora and curse the inevitable cloud cover that occurs at seemingly every meteor shower or Northern Lights display. Not for us, not this time. We grow weary of such self-talk and scheme trips to faraway places where the weather seems to follow us mockingly. Some things aren’t meant to be, but we keep looking anyway.

      There’s no doubt the world is full of ugliness and misery if you look for it. Most of that resides in the world of humans, right at ground-level. We are forced to confront the worst in us on a regular basis. And yet there’s also wonder and magic in the world, just waiting for us to look up and find it. Don’t we owe it to ourselves to look beyond the broken surface and learn to soar above it?

    • Reminiscing

      Friday night, it was late, I was walking you home
      We got down to the gate and I was dreaming of the night
      Would it turn out right
      Now as the years roll on
      Each time we hear our favorite song
      The memories come along
      Older times we’re missing
      Spending the hours reminiscing
      Hurry, don’t be late, I can hardly wait
      I said to myself when we’re old
      We’ll go dancing in the dark
      Walking through the park and reminiscing

      — Little River Band, Reminiscing

      I may write about it now and then, but I’m generally too busy living in the present to dwell on the past. That doesn’t mean I don’t fondly reminisce about the best days, while cringing now and then at the worst days. Life lessons, each and every moment along the way.

      The benefit of a journal, let alone a daily blog, is seeing just who you were then. Who had those dreams and aspirations, doubts and fears? How did it turn out in the end? How have we turned out, this work in progress marching through time?

      Reminiscing isn’t simply living in the past, it’s rewinding ourselves to another version of us and seeing what we’ve learned through our experiences since then. It’s not so much dancing in the dark as putting a spotlight on progress made. Though dancing in the dark to the right music sounds lovely too, don’t you think? What tune are we singing lately? Will we reminisce about it as fondly?

    • Eyes Open

      “There seemed to be endless obstacles preventing me from living with my eyes open, but as I gradually followed up clue after clue it seemed that the root cause of them all was fear.”
      ― Marion Milner, A Life of One’s Own

      When we think about it, most everything we imagine to be the worst case scenario is never going to come true. For every tragedy in the news, there’s a million ordinary days unfolding at the same time. For every unfortunate accident on the path to adventure there’s a thousand souls transcending their limiting beliefs. To live in fear is to handcuff ourselves to a previous version of ourself that will never experience everything the world could offer. Choose to be more audacious.

      The thing is, we all keep paying our dues, deferring the audacious for one more day of ordinary. The end game is we’ll run out of time if we don’t do it while we’re healthy and bold enough to try. In the end, that’s what we ought to fear: running out of time to finally live that un-lived life. While there’s still time. We must open our eyes and see the truth in those old Stoic guideposts: Tempus fugit. Memento mori… Carpe diem.

      There’s still plenty of ordinary in my days, and in moderation that’s okay too, but we ought to listen to that voice inside us calling for more and step to it more often. Friends and fellow bloggers Fayaway once posted an image that speaks to this wrestling match between the ears. I’ve kept this as a reminder to myself to push aside timidity more often in favor of boldness. To live a full life we must learn to fully live life:

    • Skating vs. Swimming

      I was thinking about Duolingo as I reviewed the years-long streak I’m currently on of using the app every day. It seems I’m on a streak of days going back more than 3 1/2 years. Yet I’m completely lost in a conversation in rapid-fire French or German. All I can do is tell people what my name is and ask where the toilets are. Perhaps that’s enough to find the bathroom, but deep down you know you’re missing all the fun. I felt this most profoundly riding the electric passenger launch on Lake Königssee in Bavaria with the entire boat of passengers laughing at the jokes the guide was telling. I smiled and nodded and recognized that I had a long way to go.

      We skate across the surface on most things, doing just enough: It’s the Cliff Notes version of studying to pass the exam but forgetting the material immediately afterwards. It’s reading the slide deck verbatim instead of reaching out to the audience. It’s buying the expensive hiking boots and only wearing them to shovel snow. It’s using a heart emoji to note someone’s deeply personal post on social media but not immediately calling them to see how they’re really doing. These are examples of checking boxes, not immersion.

      Swimming is immersion. Diving deeply into the subject matter to understand it. Getting pulled by the rip current and finding our way out of it. It’s going to another country where we barely speak the language and figuring things out one phrase at a time. It’s re-reading the book a second and third time to truly understand what we missed the first time. It’s taking a long walk with an old friend to chat about what is going on in their world that has them so withdrawn from ours. This is immersion, not checking boxes.

      We tend to do both if we’re honest about it. We can’t swim through everything. We must skate across some surfaces just to get to the other side. Life is full of things we could immerse ourselves in, but soon we find ourselves drowning in it all. It’s better to skate over the trivial and swim through the essential. The trick is knowing which is which. A long term, healthy marriage involves a great deal of swimming. To skate is to invite trouble. We’ve all encountered plenty of people with troubled marriages. Some things in life simply can’t be skated over. We break the surface willingly or unwillingly and learn to swim lest we drown.

      Skating may feel faster, but we find we reach the other side barely familiar with everything we’ve just crossed. That’s no way to live a lifetime. Swimming isn’t always efficient, but we become more engaged with the world when we get beyond simply treading water. To have a strong marriage, we must navigate deep and sometimes turbulent waters. To engage with an audience we must reach a level of mastery and rapport strong enough to close the gap between the podium and the last row. To reach the summit we’ve got to strap on those boots and start walking uphill. And to learn a language we must immerse ourselves in it enough that eventually we get the jokes.

      An exceptional life requires less skating and more swimming.

    • The Process

      “Your essence is who you are. Your expression is how you show up in the world. Your essence is your calling, and your expression is how you take that call. My ancestors had another word for essence. They called it Sukha.” — Suneel Gupta, Everyday Dharma

      “The yoga term sukha means ‘happy, good, joyful, delightful, easy, agreeable, gentle, mild, and virtuous.’ The literal meaning is ‘good space,’ from the root words su (good) and kha (space). The term originally described the kind of smooth ride one would experience in a cart or a chariot whose axle holes were well centered in the wheels. This image implies that the production of sukha is a dynamic process.” — Robert Svoboda, “Sthira and Sukha: Steadiness and Ease”, Yoga International

      I’m not well-versed in dharma and would immediately recommend anyone seeking wisdom to find a master elsewhere. I’m simply a student of life who steps off the beaten path whenever possible to go find a waterfall or scenic vista hidden from those who stay the course. Dharma is like a waterfall in this way, but the path is inward.

      When one comes across a sign suggesting a view off the main path, one must choose. Sukha was just such a sign, pointing to a larger understanding of the word itself, but more importantly, the process of becoming well-centered in life. When the world feels a little too frenzied, when we feel overbooked and overwhelmed, it helps to stop focusing on how we’re expressing ourselves in the world and get back to the essence of why we’re here in the first place. Life is a process of becoming who we might be. Deciding what to be and setting out to go be it will be a lot easier on the soul if the what is centered on a compelling why, and the journey is in line with the essence of who we are.

      It’s fair to ask ourselves now and then if we’re in a good space. When the answer isn’t what we’d like it to be, corrective action is needed. When our course is not following the compass heading, we ought to change our course. This isn’t usually a dramatic jibe, but a subtle pull on the tiller. A few degrees of course correction can make all the difference in how we feel about our place in the world and where we’re going in it. The thing is, we forget sometimes in our quest for expression to refer back to our essence.

      Life is a series of interconnected paths on our journey from beginning to end. That journey is far more interesting if we take those side paths to check out the view now and then. The process of becoming demands forward motion, but we determine the pace and how strict we are with our heading. Life isn’t about how it ends, but how beautiful it may be along the way.

    • Earning the Warmth

      Through the window
      we could see how far away it was to the gates of April.
      Let the fire now
      put on its red hat
      and sing to us.
      — Mary Oliver, November

      November comes to an end, and just like that, December is at our doorstep. The ambient light of incandescent and LED bulbs make total darkness an impossibility in most cities and suburbia now. The decorations of Christmas have exploded onto the scene, to grow exponentially over the coming weeks. When we get beyond the constant advertisements for last-chance(!) savings on gifts from every retailer on the planet, we’re left with short, crisp days and long, cold nights.

      Some of us thrive in the cold. We have layers upon layers at the ready, lightly dusted from months of being ignored but feeling just right when we slip them on once again. The stakes are driven into the edges of pavement, awaiting their role as traffic cops or road kill for errant plow drivers. Snow? It’s nothing but a possibility for most of us. If we’re lucky, maybe we’ll see snow soon enough. The thrill of the crunch! The hiding of all the brown landscape in a crystal blanket. Snow would make it feel like December has arrived. If not, well, we must seek it out in higher elevations as the hikers and skiers do.

      If November is a time for thankfulness and gatherings (and beards and hastily-written first drafts), December is a time for giving and hustling to find the perfect gift for someone before we give up and give them a gift card to use in seven months when they stumble upon it in the drawer dedicated to such plastic tokens of love. We want to celebrate our love for someone with the perfect gift, and somehow it ends up feeling like a concession to just give them the money. My feeling on such things is that the person who gave the card should be a part of the experience of using the card. Experiences are always best shared with those who wish it for you.

      I’m seeking more poetry in my long nights. More warming fires with conversation and a pet snuggled up close. More time reading the books that evaded me in sunshine. More cold walks around the block with a dog that’s come to expect something new on every stroll. We learn what we are unaware of from a dog on a night walk. I’d forgotten the thrill of the sky changing from step to step, the pull of the leash as the dog sees a rabbit, and the sounds of coyotes, fox and fisher cats crying in the night. I’d forgotten the welcoming warmth of that first step into the kitchen after a brisk walk telling me; “Welcome back”. Indeed.

      The days are still getting shorter for a few more weeks. We must embrace the long, cold nights for all that is hidden in them. For we are alive, and nothing makes you feel that like getting out into it, even for a little while. It’s easy to be warm in the tropics. Up north we must earn it. And in the work we find we love it all the more.

    • Choices

      A friend asked me which five songs I would choose if I could listen to no other song but those five for the rest of my life. An impossible task, really. Beyond your wedding song, if you truly loved it, what do you choose? Hard rock? Dance music? Introspective music? Singalong songs? Jazz? Classical? Death metal? Do you go with the first five you think of? The five most played on your phone? Or do you mine a little deeper, knowing that this is for keeps and there’s no time for casual affairs?

      When I put the initial list together in my mind and reviewed it, I noticed that my two favorite bands weren’t represented. Yet I could do the same five song exercise with either band and have a hard time deciding what to leave off. Another friend of mine once asked me to rank the best albums of a band we both love from best to worst. The worst is easy, but what do you choose as the best? It depends on your mood at the time. It’s the same with ranking songs, isn’t it?

      Imagine putting a list together like this, not as an ice-breaker, but as truly the only five songs you’ll ever hear again. Imagine the pressure, the last minute switches. The forgotten gem that you’ll regret excluding forever. Having to choose when the stakes are real sucks. The hard part is always what you must leave behind when you choose that other thing.

      The exercise should lead us to gratitude. We ought to be grateful that we don’t have to choose. We ought to be grateful that our days are filled with an abundance of choice on what we eat, what we read or watch, where we live, and yes, what we listen to. It’s truly an embarrassment of riches for most of us.

      It should also lead us to evaluate what our choices have been thus far in the game. We aren’t here for all that long, yet we remain frivolous with what we do with our time. I’m well aware that I’m choosing to write this blog at this moment instead of taking a long walk in the woods. Which is better for me in the moment? We must choose wisely, but then accept the choice that we’ve made if it’s working for us. Happiness is not found in constantly changing our mind about what we want.

      Life can never be about having everything. Just enough of some things. Things like beauty and love, engagement with the universe and the active pursuit of better. That’s the soundtrack to a great life. Something we can dance to.

    • Rooted in Happiness

      “People have often been happy here and the walls have absorbed some of that delight.” — Adam Nicholson, Sea Room

      It’s happened once again. The house transformed over a day from one holiday theme to the next. “Halloween” quickly flipped to “Thanksgiving”, “Thanksgiving” to “Christmas”. These are the days of rapid-fire theme decorating, supported by basement shelves full of every season of the year. In this house you don’t need a calendar to know what time of year it is, just look at the wreath du jour. You could build another house with the number of screws and nails holding up wreaths in the basement, just waiting for their season. I’m grateful there are only 12 months in a year, or we’d have to build a storage shed for the overflow.

      This home has known delight. The walls echo with memories built on joyful moments. The backyard is a place where dogs and now-grown children sprint to for the happy memories they’re drawn to just out the door. I’ve returned aching from the grind of business travel and soothed myself in the comfort of place as well. To be present in a place where so much positive energy reverberates off the hardscape is delightful—and I would argue, essential to our well-being. We must know places like this to stand up and face the world again tomorrow.

      My adult daughter informs me that we are never allowed to sell the home she grew up in, for the memories of place are so overwhelmingly part of her identity that to change it would crush her. I have known many such places in my lifetime, and have yet to be crushed by moving on. A sense of place is one thing, but permanence is entirely another. Nothing is permanent, even home. But we aren’t going anywhere just yet.

      That familiar feeling of a place you’ve spent some of your happiest days is comforting in a world that is so desperate to be unhappy. Why choose to be unhappy when you may be happy? Is it a choice at all or a steady diet of misery and fear doled out on the doom loop? Fear of missing out, pressure to keep up with the Jones, crisis news 24/7, and politicians telling us how horrible the world is without them leading us out of it all create a soundtrack of unhappy. Yet here we are; happy anyway.

      They say home is where the heart is. I say home is what you put your heart into. Happiness isn’t a place, but it is built into our lives with deliberate purpose. We invest in a home, but also in the people we surround ourselves with and the time we spend with them. Home is either a labor of love built for a lifetime or a nest people fly away from to free themselves emotionally. Roots must grow in fertile soil, and in their growth, they stabilize that ground. Seasons and houses and people are always changing, but they may be rooted in happiness when we invest our time well.