Alexandersmap

    Category: Lifestyle

    • Myths and Pretty Stories

      “Like the elite of ancient Egypt, most people in most cultures dedicate their lives to building pyramids. Only the names, shapes and sizes of these pyramids change from one culture to the other. They may take the form, for example, of a suburban cottage with a swimming pool and an evergreen lawn, or a gleaming penthouse with an enviable view. Few question the myths that cause us to desire the pyramid in the first place.” – Yuval Noah Harari, Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind

      We all build pretty stories, latch on to myths that align us with a currency, political party, and what we chase in our short time on earth. Since I reached “responsible” adulthood I’ve been servant to my pyramid in New Hampshire, my second pyramid, thank you. I’ve done my part to keep both the economy and humankind going by getting married and having two children, a boy and a girl, to keep the party going after I someday check out.

      Sapiens challenges long-standing assumptions we have about our place in the world: how we got here, what we believe, what we’ve destroyed in the process of getting here and what is being destroyed now as a result of the myths and pretty stories we collectively tell ourselves. And that’s the part that I’ve been thinking about lately. We’ve all seen what collective belief in a myth can do on September 11, 2001 and on January 6, 2021. There’s a very dark side of humanity that emerges when subscribing to certain myths. And there’s a swell of resistance that rises up when confronted with myths that don’t fit our own view of the world.

      It may come as no surprise to any reader of this blog that I’m a romanticist, chasing experiences in this short life. And yet like many of my fellow romanticists I’ve also built a pyramid. And keep adding smaller pyramids around it to make this life more… comfortable? Luxurious? Sure. But every myth has a price, and to function in this society your story needs to align with the larger story of paying mortgages and car payments and working to fund it all.

      We humans are complicated, aren’t we? Life is about the pretty stories we tell ourselves. About where we are and where we’re going. We all tell ourselves and others these stories. I tell myself that I’m chasing washboard abs, but still managed to have a third taco last night. Now I’m planning a long walk and yard work to make up for the three tacos. Washboard abs are just another pretty story I tell myself if I don’t align my habits with the larger goal.

      As an American I grew up believing certain things about our Rights as citizens. We buy into the belief that all men and women are created equal. Over time you learn this is a myth, we aren’t at all equal. Some are dealt tougher hands than others. Some drink the Kool-Aid of scarcity and fear and react to that with aggression and hate. In sharp contrast, may of us subscribe to something bigger. A belief in each other and a better future.

      “Well, big wheels roll through fields where sunlight streams
      Oh, meet me in a land of hope and dreams”
      – Bruce Springsteen, Land of Hope and Dreams

      Inevitably there’s friction and chafing when one person’s myths run into another’s opposing myths. We live in a dangerous time, and a lot depends on how the pendulum swings during our watch. Like Springsteen I’m an eternal optimist, but recognize that’s just the way we frame our pretty stories. Like washboard abs and too many tacos, sometimes pretty stories and reality don’t align and you’ve got to recognize that and commit to changing the story.

      We all have to work for the pyramids we are building towards the sky. It’s fair to question whether we’re building the right pyramid in the first place. Isn’t it?

    • Dancing in our Seats

      “To dance is to be out of yourself. Larger, more beautiful, more powerful… This is power, it is glory on earth and it is yours for the taking” – Agnes De Mille

      “It’s the heart afraid of breaking that never learns to dance.” – Xiaolu Guo

      Out for dinner with my bride on a Friday night,
      the place packed like it used to be
      before pandemics
      and not a mask in sight
      Obviously everyone is vaccinated…
      right?

      I know, that poem needs a lot of work, but this isn’t a post about the poem, but the moment. A packed tavern, literally hundreds of people jammed into the building for a wedding down the hall, trickling over to celebrate in the tavern. A mile from our home and looking around we don’t know a soul in there. Even the waitstaff is entirely new. So forget social bubbles, the place was bursting.

      And, it seems, if we are to compare COVID to the Spanish Flu from a century ago, we’ve entered the roaring 20’s phase of our collective story about the pandemic. And honestly, there’s a big part of me that’s ready to dance again. We’ve done our part, socially isolating, getting vaccinated, and trusting the science. At what point do you just get out there and start living again?

      My bride and I are sitting at a hightop table in the back corner of the tavern, having drinks and dinner. Laughter and conversation all around us. And the music pumping through the sound system is the hits of the disco era. One hit wonders and big boogie groove things pulsing through the crowd. And I see my bride transform into the kid I fell in love with, twinkle in her eye and dancing in her seat song after song. And I dance a bit myself, just a bit, and smile in the moment.

      We’re out, and outside ourselves. If this place had a dance floor we’d have been on it. Without one we dance in our seats, waiting for our meals and another round. And life ever so slowly begins to be a celebration of all its possibilities. Glory on earth, once again.

    • Wiggle Your Way Out

      “Hand in hand, on the edge of the sand, they danced by the light of the moon.”
      – Edward Lear

      The moments I feel euphoric are when I’m outside of myself. Dancing, rowing, celebrating life with others, walking in the clouds or swimming below the surface. I think this is common for all humans, we’re most miserable when we’re bottled up and feeling the pressure. Pop that cork and pour out the worst of it. For there is life to be lived.

      When the world weighs you down, wiggle your way out. Move. Dance your way free of the madness. Walk until you forget what you’re walking away from. Climb so high that you lose sight of the troubles you left far below.

      Simple, right?

      The world is more complicated than that, of course. But state changes happen when we engage the body in the conversation, not just the mind. We get so focused on the challenges that we forget to move. That kind of conversation is a bit too one-sided.

      The world could use a collective wiggle. All of us out there in celebration of our short dance together. Imagine the stories. Imagine the joyful euphoria. Dancing by the light of the moon, hand in hand.

    • Choosing to Be

      “Every individual has a place to fill in the world, and is important, in some respect, whether he chooses to be so or not.” – Nathaniel Hawthorne

      The ground rules are simple, really. You either embrace where you are in this world or you don’t. Some folks are quite happy with where they landed in life. But if you aren’t amongst the blissful few, you can join the chorus of disenfranchised, low agency complainers whoo thrive on misery. Or maybe choose to be something else. To work on that alternate vision for your one wild and precious life.

      Be means a few things. To be is to continue. Fine. But it can also mean to act. To do. Be is a choice.

      Choosing to be engaged, to be a part of things instead of apart from things, to be alive while you’re living, these are the things that fill the world with your individualism. Your uniqueness. That vibrant otherness that is different from the rest.

      Choosing to be out there, doing things, building things, making connections. Seeing things. Learning to understand and feeling the hunger pangs that come with knowing you don’t know enough.

      If you’re reading this you woke up this morning, which straight off makes it a good start. What will we not settle for? What burns inside us, waiting for us to set free to fill the world with? What will we choose to be?

      This might all feel like fluffy prose. I get that and write it seeing the eye rolls from a few of you. But what’s the alternative to choosing to be something more? Something less? More of the same old, same old?

      Screw that. Be so much more. Go fill the world.

    • Caretakers of the Present

      “Even when we get what we wish, it is not ours.” – Publius Syrus

      We’re all in a relationship with time. Some relationships are abusive, some are blissful. Time teases us. We think we have so much of it, but that’s a fabric of our imagination, like the belief that we might just live forever. The days fly by in rapid succession, and we do with them what we can.

      Over the last week I’ve wrestled with a yard relentlessly assaulted by the surrounding trees, raining pollen and catkins and samaras into and on to everything I’d worked to clean up until the rains came and turned the tide in my favor. The chores of home ownership are relentless and a fool’s game. Yet it offers the meditative work required for me to sort out the rest of this crazy world. For all my complaints, I recognize this plot of land I’ve squatted on is borrowed from the universe, and I appreciate what it’s brought to me.

      And some day I’ll return it to that universe to do with it whatever it must. Will this land return to the oaks, pines and maples that regularly reach back for what was stolen from them, or will the house will be torn down and the pool filled in to make way for a McMansion as the region continues to face the pressure of urban sprawl. Who knows? I’m the caretaker of the present, such that it is, and recognize the folly in it all.

      What we receive is not really ours. What we have is on loan in the present, be it stuff or relationships or a plot of land with a modest garden. It’s ours to work with as best we can today. If we think of ourselves as caretakers instead of consumers, we might just leave something for those who come after us. That’s not exactly a new way of thinking, but maybe forgotten in the assault of consumerism and consumption and pursuit of “ownership”.

      We might wish for more time, but like stuff we accumulate, it’s not really ours. Once you accept that time is on loan to us, it liberates you. Simply dance with these days and forget the math. We have what we have, and the rest is not our concern. Take care of the present. While there’s still time.

    • Chasing the End

      There’s a phenomenon in reading a great, page-turner of a book where you can’t finish a page fast enough. The pace of your reading accelerates and you blow through pages quickly, and suddenly you finish the book in a daze. You look up and hours have gone by in the blink of an eye and you realize that you’ve just stepped out of the pages of a time machine.

      Life itself is full of moments like this. You can readily rattle off those highlight moments, maybe at a party or traveling or deep in conversation with someone of interest where we are completely transfixed with in that moment. Where does the time go? When we’re so deeply engaged in this moment and entranced by the possibility in the next, what happens?

      We aren’t really chasing the end of the story or the life moment, we’re dancing with it. There’s a state of euphoria in reading that great book, watching that great film or participating in that magical moment that transcends time. A life, well-lived, ought to feel very much like this.

      We’ve all experienced the opposite. The dull reads, the awkwardly boring work event, the polite small talk with someone who doesn’t share their life force with you. Those times when we sketch imaginative drawings on note pads or silently glance at our phone to be anywhere else but there.

      Look, I know every movie can’t be a blockbuster. Every scene can’t transfix you in wonder. How would you even know what bliss was if you didn’t suffer through boring now and then? But life is too short to go through the motions.

      We’re all chasing the end of our story. How do we make this time machine vibrate and buzz a little louder on the journey? Our time machines should be bursting at the seams with experiences when we reach the last stop, don’t you think? For when we finish, when we reach that last page of our brilliant life story, we ought to look up in those final seconds and say…

      Wow.

    • Decide

      “In a world where death is the hunter, my friend, there is not time for regrets or doubts. There is only time for decisions.” – Carlos Castaneda, Journey To Ixtlan

      If you happen to glance at a calendar today you’ll note that the month is quickly disappearing into history. Soon it will join all the other months in our past, dead time to us but for the memories. So what do we make of our time? As Castaneda points out, it tends to be what we decide to make of it.

      I witnessed two remarkable people graduate yesterday, one a year after his graduation ceremony was cancelled, the other virtually because they aren’t allowing large gatherings yet. If I were to give advice, I’d suggest figuring out your it and then getting to it straight away. There’s urgency in every decision now. Moments are fleeting, and are to be embraced, but decide on a path and put everything into it. There’s vibrancy in boldly going after your grandest dreams.

      The advice isn’t just for graduates, it’s for all of us. A college graduate knows all too well the decisions that placed them in that cap and gown, and so do the rest of us. Simply decide what you want to spend the short time you have left in this world doing. What brings meaning and purpose to you? What makes you excited to begin another day? For otherwise we’re just drifting aimlessly, wasting our one chance.

      If that seems overly urgent, well, it’s meant to be. We must live with the urgency Castaneda demands from us. If you want to be or do something in this world you can’t waste this present. Decide what to be and go be it. There’s no vibrancy in indecision.

    • The Cushy Life

      My job used to require mobility – go out and meet people in unique places, drive a lot but also walk a lot. Like many of you, for the last year I’ve sat in a chair working in my home office. After several months of Zoom and Teams meetings my tailbone started to hurt from sitting too much, so I made a point of standing more (with a sit/stand desk). But then I found that the ankle I’d injured hiking last summer would start to ache more. Alas, it seems I’d reached the gimpy stage of life.

      Fortunately there’s a cottage industry for such things. Ergonomic products designed to allow humans to do things their bodies were not designed to do, such as sit in front of a computer screen all bloody day. And so I became one of the millions of consumers of ergonomic cushions.

      First up was the ankle, with a visit to an orthopedic doctor who promptly diagnosed me with flat feet and a sprained ankle. I’d known about one of those (the easy stuff even I can figure out), but well into adulthood the other was a revelation. New orthotics were prescribed, and not the kind you buy in the display racks at your favorite pharmacy. No, these were custom fit, wait two weeks to get ’em orthotics. And months later the ankle is like new again, the arches never ache and I’m ready to walk the Appalachian Trail.

      The business of that tailbone was an easy fix too. A gel pad with a notch on the back end eliminated the pressure point that my fancy chair created. Combined with being able to stand for long periods without the ankle screaming at me and suddenly the whole thing is in the rearview mirror (no pun intended).

      It occurred to me that the relative softness of life today that created these cushions for our feet and bottom is to blame for the entire thing. We aren’t moving as much, we eat more than we should and the parts of our bodies that aren’t designed for it are breaking down more. Sure, I had flat feet before, but I was fit enough that it was never an issue. But stick me in a chair and look what happens.

      Don’t get me wrong, I love the orthotics and the seat pad. But I miss the days when I never would have thought to use them. My life became cushy. And that softness just doesn’t feel right. Softness isn’t sustainable. Hard bodies last longer.

      Fortunately, there’s an fix for that too.

    • The Battle of Timidity and Boldness

      “Focus your attention on the link between you and your death, without remorse or sadness or worrying. Focus your attention on the fact you don’t have time and let your acts flow accordingly. Let each of your acts be your last battle on earth. Only under those conditions will your acts have their rightful power. Otherwise they will be, for as long as you live, the acts of a timid man…. Being timid prevents us from examining and exploiting our lot as men.” – Carlos Castaneda, Journey to Ixtlan

      I did the math, mentally adding 25 years to my current age and toyed with the idea of being that later age. There are no guarantees that I’ll ever reach that point in my life, of course. No guarantees for any of us marching through time on our annual trip around the sun. But I toyed with the idea of being an old man and wondered at the state of my mind and body. I wondered at the experiences I’d had in the interim, these years between now and then.

      This long sleep we have in store for ourselves is our future, whether a quarter century away or this afternoon, and we ought to live boldly instead of merely timidly existing. I won’t say I’ve mastered this, but I live a better life knowing that the whole dance could end on the next drum beat. But we can do so much more. Simply by living with urgency.

      This theme, the constant reminder of our imminent death, runs through Stoic philosophy. And it runs through this blog. I try, not always successfully, to use it as a cattle prod to my backside. A jolt of awareness that this could all end at any moment, so break free of that routine, break away from the timid existence and live a life of adventure and boldness. It’s the underlying theme of this blog, beginning on the home page with Thoreau’s call to action:

      “Rise free from care before the dawn and seek adventures.” – Henry David Thoreau

      If we accept that we must die, and as improbable as it might seem, at any moment, what might we do to live now? If this is our final act, what will it be? And, if blessed with another, what of the act to follow?

      The answer clearly must be to live the moment with urgency. Say what must be said. Do what must be done. Get out there and live boldly! Pursue the magic in the moment with vigor and a profound lust for life.

    • Links in a Chain

      The latest outdoor workout was renting a chainsaw and cutting up oak and maple tree logs into smaller bits that I will eventually split on some cold winter day. Or perhaps it will be someone else doing the splitting and enjoying the fruits of this labor. Yesterday I was just a link in the chain between tree and fire.

      The thing is, I don’t particularly care if I’m the one burning the wood. I’ll savor it should it be me, but the whole point was to embrace the task of taking a pile of logs and transforming them into a neat pile of firewood. To complete the task at hand was all that mattered. Chopping up firewood on a warm day is a workout, has an element of danger, and requires focused concentration on the elements of the work that can badly injure you. Done well, it’s a joyful expression of being alive.

      “Before enlightenment; chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment; chop wood, carry water.” – Zen Kōan

      I finished the task and see the next one in line, awaiting my applied labor. And all of this is both satisfying and futile. The projects are endless, the output of money is constant, and the rewards are never guaranteed. But we do what we must to keep things going.

      The noise of the chainsaw doesn’t fully drown out the call of the road, the call of the mountains, or the call of the ocean. I’m fully aware of what I trade off in experience for this one. But I’m at peace with my choices. The work must be done. And what are we but links in a chain?