Category: Lifestyle

  • Stay Up Late

    I stayed up so late last night that it was almost today. Apparently people still do this. Personally, I’ve grown too fond of early mornings over the years to spend much time up past 10 PM or so. We all choose the toll we want to pay of missing out. We can pick only one: late night fun, early morning productivity or sleep deprivation. Life is full of sacrifices.

    This is serious business of course. Marriages end on smaller things than sleep cycles. Like “why did you put the dishes away in that cabinet?” or “I was cleaning out the attic and threw away that box full of old stuff”, or something like that. Sleep cycles, and lack of sleep, amplify small annoyances into bigger things than they should be. When you’re socially isolating together for an extended time it’s best to minimize such sources of contention all around. We’ve learned long ago to give each other space. Hers is running and late nights. Mine is gardening and early mornings. We make it work.

    I’m not sure the standup comedian we watched on television was worth the hour of sleep I sacrificed, but the toll was paid, the coffee is hot, all will be forgiven. Just don’t do it every night. A life together is made up of these little special moments, repeated, with a soundtrack of The Association’s soothing greatest hits playing softly in the background. “Say, why did you put this dish in this cabinet? You know it’s always gone over here, right? I’m sorry? … okay, I think I’ll have another coffee. Would you like one too?”

    I think tonight I’ll get to bed at a decent hour…

  • On Seizing the Day

    “Let us therefore set out whole-heartedly, leaving aside our many distractions and exert ourselves in this single purpose, before we realize too late the swift and unstoppable flight of time and are left behind. As each day arises, welcome it as the very best day of all, and make it your own possession. We must seize what flees.” Seneca, Moral Letters

    If nothing else comes of this time, I’ve had significantly more time with 2/3 of the family. Sure, I’ve knocked off many of the nagging renovation projects this house I live in needed, but more importantly the family time has been a net positive. Tim Ferriss throws out a statistic that says 90% of the time you spend with your parents is used by the time you finish high school. My experience is that he’s half right in that one. One parent has been an active participant, one has accumulated other priorities and drifted away. Such is life. And now as a parent yourself you fully understand the reality of parenthood. So how much of that math do you apply to your own children? They don’t fly if you hold them tight, but they may flounder if you don’t give them the time they need. Balance is the key, Grasshopper.

    I’ve visited the Seneca quote a few times before in this blog. It’s a recurring theme, if you will. Carpe Diem! Memento Mori! I should read the Seneca quote every day until it’s burned into my brain, for even though I try to live it, sometimes life stirs the pot enough that you forget that this moment is all we’ve got. How cliché… and how absolutely on point. If COVID-19 isn’t a reminder of that, what is? How many healthcare workers, seeing so much death in such a compressed amount of time, have reminded us to tell our loved ones how much they mean to us now, not tomorrow – as if that’s guaranteed to us? How many listen, I wonder?

    This week marked 50 years since the Apollo 13 mission went from routine to a stunning rescue mission. I watched the Tom Hanks film again to honor the moment. What struck me was how routine the miraculous had become. You’re flying to the moon in a ship made of foil? Who cares? We’ve seen that show already. Until it became a struggle for life and death anyway. Then it became must see TV. How quickly the extraordinary becomes routine. Waking up today was extraordinary. What a gift! Billions before us would give anything for another day above ground. And what do we do with it? Binge watch Netflix? The virus is horrific, the collective pause it offers is a gift. Just as this day is. Take it for granted or embrace the possibilities it offers? There’s our choice.

    Seizing the day means more than trying to create a highlight reel of moments, it’s being present in the moment. Moments as mundane as washing dishes, and feeling the tactile experience and wonder of hot water and soap flowing over your hands and disappearing down a drain. Walking outside barefoot and feeling the coolness or warmth of the earth radiating through your feet. Watching larger birds flap about on the bluebird feeder seeing the worms inside and trying to find a way inside. Noting the incremental progress of the sunrise (or sunset if you will) as the earth tilts. Listening to a loved one as they move about in a quiet house and the gratitude of their presence in your life this day. All miraculous parts of this incredible life we’re given. Don’t let the routine lull you to sleep again. Be awake and alive while you’re here! We must seize what flees. Carpe Diem.

  • Stupid Prizes

    I’m not sure where I heard the phrase first, but I know for sure I wrote it down most recently when I heard Naval say it, so I’ll offer him credit for repeating it once more that I might truly hear it: “Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.”  Boy, have I played some stupid games in my life.  To be fair, haven’t we all?  Life is full of stupid games, and what are you really pursuing in the playing of it?

    I once played a stupid game where we threw glass bottles in a stream and threw rocks at them to try to break them as they floated by.  The thought of that horrifies me now, but I was a dumb kid in a time when it didn’t seem like a big deal to introduce litter and broken glass into a stream.  My prize for playing that stupid game was getting hit by a car when I tried to run across the road to throw rocks at a bottle that had gotten away.  I deserved that car windshield, and I’m grateful the prize didn’t include a coffin in my size.  I’m not sure my mother deserved the prize of hearing her son was hit by a car but hey, I was playing a really stupid game and there were ample prizes to go around.

    More typical stupid games are trying to be cool in school and missing out on better prizes while you play stupid.  Taking a job you hate to try to play the corporate ladder game for another rung into a job you’ll hate more but has more prestige and money you’ll waste on stupid prizes.  I’ve had a few dress shoes pressed into my forehead owned by ladder climbers in my time climbing ladders.  Chasing metrics and KPI’s and all manner of Chutes and Ladders in the pursuit of differentiation in a red ocean of sharks feeding on one another most famously profiled in a New York Times profile on the culture five years ago at Amazon.

    Stupid games include competing to get your child into the right school, with the right social activities, playing the right position in the right sport on the right travel team, to win the next “right” prize.  It’s another ladder with people stepping on top of each other on the scramble, made worse as it’s removing childhood from the lives of children in the pursuit of status.  That seems a particularly cruel stupid game.  Rising above stupid games isn’t easy, but it’s our only hope of winning better prizes.  But then again judging people for the games that they play is a stupid game in itself.  What does it get you but resentment or jealousy or condescension?  Now that is stupid.

    It would be easy to write that I’m done playing stupid games and this pandemic has shaken me of the beliefs that made me play them.  But we’re all human and will make decisions that in hindsight will be stupid.  No, life itself is a game and sometimes we find ourselves pursuing stupid.  I can’t guarantee to myself that I won’t pursue stupid games, but I can promise myself that I’ll stop playing the game as soon as I realize it’s stupid.  There are only so many games we get to play.  So I’ll at least try to raise my game and play at a higher level.  A higher level where I’m not worried about prizes and how others play the game.  That seems a worthy pursuit.

     

  • April Snow

    Normally I’d react differently to snow in April. Normal years I’m thinking about spring and hurrying along in life. But normal seems quaint in 2020. So when I looked out the window in the early light of morning and saw a snow globe I shook my head in mock indifference. Whatever. I slipped on some boots and walked out into the snow fall. There’s magic in early morning snow, whether you welcomed it or not. It’s not like I’m commuting somewhere, or worried about clearing the driveway. My commute was over when I walked downstairs.

    So out in it, I soaked up the silence as the world shrunk to snow-coated trees and grass and soon me too as millions of flakes drifted out of the sky like salt from a shaker and clung to every surface. I inspected the bluebells and daffodils and saw they shrugged indifference to the affront. Let it snow. Indeed. The northern hemisphere has tilted back to the sun and this won’t last forever. Nothing lasts forever; not snow or pandemics or daffodils or us. Take what the day brings you and embrace it. For this too shall pass.

  • Dry Towns, Blue Laws and Border Crossings

    There was a time, within my time, when towns were well known for being wet towns or dry towns. I’m not talking about the amount of rainfall, but rather whether a town allowed alcohol sales or not. I went to a dry wedding once and marveled at the resentment in the room as people found out about it. Imagine moving to a dry town and realizing it afterwards? Like that wedding people would simply carry in what they’d like to drink. Rules are meant to be broken, aren’t they?

    New Hampshire only has one “dry” town out of a combined 259 total towns, cities and “unincorporated places”.  That town is Ellsworth, a small town just west of I-93 between the Lakes Region and the White Mountains.  There are only 83 residents in Ellsworth, and every one of them of drinking age have to go to another town to purchase alcohol.  I’m guessing there aren’t a lot of restaurants or stores selling alcohol in Ellsworth anyway, but if they have anything going for them it’s that quirky statistic that makes them unique in the state. Live Free or Die indeed.

    Neighboring Massachusetts by comparison has 8 dry towns. It used to be many more in my lifetime, but the trend is downward. Look, even the Puritans drank alcohol, and for generations it was safer than water in those early colonial years when life was hard and cholera was common. The Pilgrims brought beer across the pond and negotiated with Massasoit with aqua vitae. People went straight from the cold church to the warm tavern. Alcohol consumption was common right up to a century ago, when Prohibition crashed the party for the entire country. From 1920 until 1933 the United States was “dry”. But rules are made to be broken, and organized crime and small time bootleggers, rum-runners and illegal moonshine stills came into prominence immediately afterwards.

    Dry towns are bureaucracy in action, or simply inertia. Most dry towns today are in rural, sparsely populated places that don’t have restaurant and store owners campaigning for change. Dry towns are a curiosity now, 100 years after Prohibition, but also a legacy to the cultural and political winds that blew across the country then. Being a wet town kid, I remember going with my grandfather to the bar where he would proceed to drink many beers in tiny glasses. That bar was on the edge of town, and that edge was wet meeting dry. How many people crossed the border over the years to have a couple of drinks and zig-zagged home? Now that former dry town sells much more alcohol than that old wet town. Money talks, and there’s money in alcohol sales.

    Sunday’s were once a sacred day in Massachusetts, with Blue Laws that prohibited the sale of alcohol. So naturally residents drove across the border to states that didn’t have blue laws. New Hampshire’s southern border is dotted with old convenience stores that sold beer to eager Massachusetts residents on Sundays. New Hampshire built liquor stores on the highways for the quick and convenient sale of alcohol to out-of-staters. The Blue Laws are long gone, but “sin taxes” aren’t. People still stop to fill up their trunks.

    So Ellsworth, New Hampshire remains the lone holdout on the dry side of the law. I hope they always will be, as a reminder of where the country was 100 years ago. If we’ve learned anything over the last few years, it’s that the political winds can blow in strange ways, and a few people can impose their views upon the masses given the opportunity. But if Prohibition teaches us anything, it’s that Americans chafe at arbitrary rules and find ways around them. Our forefathers would recognize the debate either way, and marvel at the choices in the liquor stores.

  • Jam and Honey and Joie de Vivre

    When I was in London last fall I got back into tea, and with it back in the habit of adding a spoonful of honey. London also rebooted my brain on the delight of spreading some of that honey or a great jam on a bit of bread or a scone. Small, commonplace joys sprinkled into the day. Europeans are much better at these things than Americans. Here we drive through a coffee shop and eat something out of a bag while commuting to work. Sometimes you don’t even see what you just ate. Cheap fuel with no joy at all. Hopefully you tipped the drive-through person?

    The French long ago figured out the simple pleasure of being fully alive. Joie de vivre, the joy of living, is an expression but also a lifestyle pursued with zeal.  We’re all finding our stride with the joy of living right now, but I’ve seen plenty of evidence that joie de vivre is alive and well in the world. Zoom family calls, group text strings with old friends, Italians singing from balconies and drive-by celebrations of birthdays or just thanks for being in our lives.

    When this collective sacrifice for the greater good of humanity ends, the stories of these moments won’t end, and neither will the memories. I miss connection with the everyday world, but find joie de vivre in smaller bites – or sips – now. Gently fold the very best small pleasures into the daily habits of your life and these little joys punctuate the moment. The joy of living is now, this moment right here, spread out over your life like honey on a bit of bread.

    “Whisper, “I love you! I love you!” To the whole mad world.” – Hafiz

    Isn’t that the whole idea of joie de vivre? Loving life and all the nooks and crannies in our days. Embrace the suck and get through it as best you can, celebrate the small joys and dance with life. Our time on the floor is limited. Maybe stop to celebrate the small bite of food you’re unconsciously nibbling on. Add a bit of sweetness and savor the gift of that morsel of food just a wee bit more. And find ways to make the bigger moments bigger.

    Last weekend I visited my parents from six feet away. We had a bit of rum to celebrate the moment; them with their glasses, us with disposable paper cups on our side. Eye contact is important in such moments, and we fed energy across the fence and sipped spirits. We all miss the hugs and handshakes and kisses on the cheek, but we make the best of what’s still available. In this time of so much death and financial devastation, celebrate being alive in the smallest of ways. Whisper “I love you” to the whole mad world. For it really is a wonderful life.

  • Dipping a Toe Back Into Facebook

    I dropped Facebook three months ago today, after one too many unsolicited political opinion, one too many invasively toxic comment, one too many Messenger spam attack or something like that.  Really, I don’t remember anymore, but I do know I haven’t missed it at all.  Until the last week or so, when the news of family dealing with earthquakes in California, COVID-19 in Massachusetts and a friend dealing with the loss of a parent piled up and I recognized that there’s something to be said for the connection Facebook offers.  And so today I’m reluctantly back on it again… in extreme moderation.

    In the meantime, I’ve been blogging away and today will be my 641st post.  This is where I’d rather be, and Facebook will just be a place I’ll stop by to hear about and share in what’s going on with the people I care about.  I’ll respect those people’s firm believe in the rightness of their political, religious or social views, but won’t debate them on any of it.  I’d slowly back away from someone at a party if they were preaching to me about Biden or Trump, and I’d do it virtually when they post it on Facebook.  I may strongly agree with them, or even question their sanity, but why go there in the first place?  It’s their right, and my right to mute the noise.  After three months of cold turkey I’m dipping a toe in the waters again.  I have equally strong opinions about our current political climate, but I won’t muddy up the waters more than they already are.

    No, I won’t subject family and friends to the very stuff I bolted Facebook to avoid.  I know that I missed reasons to offer condolences, congratulations and Happy Birthdays in these last three months.  Hopefully I won’t miss many more.  But the people I’m closest to I just called instead, and that seemed more genuine than some comment on a post anyway. The world has changed a lot in three months, and maybe collectively we’ll be the better for having endured the shared experience.  Facebook still annoys me, tracks me, pushes things on me I don’t want and generally is the worst behaving “tech company” of the lot. And they know they can get away with it. That doesn’t mean that we have to put up with it. I may just look around, realize it’s all still a quagmire and step back permanently. I know they won’t give a damn whether I’m there or not, but maybe a voice of support for those I care about is enough reason to try.

  • A Different Street

    Yesterday I wrote about streets in faraway places that I loved walking. Last night I took a quiet walk on the street I live on to get reacquainted with the night sounds of early spring. I marveled at how alive it was. Not Royal Mile or La Rambla alive (for only a few streets are, really) but small New Hampshire town alive.

    I’ve walked less at night than I once did when Bodhi was with us and eager to leave his evening mark on the world. The habit went with him when he passed. Habits die unceremoniously, one day you’re on track and the next something comes up and, well, there you are with time gone by and no momentum in the old flywheel. But last night the restlessness rattled the lid just enough to get me up and out.

    Walking out into darkness requires adjustment. Your eyes? Naturally, but also the rest of your body adapts to a new environment. I felt right away that perhaps the coat was a little too light, the gloves not quite heavy enough for a slow walk but adequate for a brisk walk. I set about briskly, taking note of aches and pains from moving the house back to order after yet another renovation project. If social isolation has done anything positive, it’s given me the time to finish a long list of somedays. On balance I’d rather have the world right side up but there you go; upstairs is almost like new.

    Glancing up, I’m startled by the brilliance of Venus. She’s been making a fuss for some time now but goodness I felt someone changed her bulbs to LED’s last night. She scolded me for not being outside more, and ignored my long list of excuses. Venus has heard every excuse you know… she turned her attention back to Orion as he slowly brought the hunt relentlessly westward and downward beyond the horizon, where all the dancers go eventually. He’ll be back tonight, we can only hope we will be too.

    My attention turned to the other night sounds. The Great Horned Owls were having a long conversation about dining options or what to name their first hatched or maybe “look who decided to get his ass back outside“, I don’t speak enough owl to know for sure. All I know is they were animated – passionate even. Owl talk faded as I walked on and other sounds took over. First were the peepers and their nightclub mating chorus. Then the train whistle from miles away, sounding much closer in the cold stillness of the night. And when the whistling stopped the metallic sound of wheels on tracks continued for the duration of my walk. Why hadn’t I heard the wheels before? What made the night so still? Pandemic of course. There simply aren’t other sounds filling in; no cars humming by, no motorcycles in the distance, no dogs barking in neighborhoods in between. Even the owls and peepers seemed to be quietly listening. Nothing but the train wheels, the cold night stillness and me.

    The coat didn’t feel too thin by then. Briskness warms, and my legs kept their pace as my mind lingered on the stillness of the night. My mind was clear again, and turned from night sounds to plot twists and character development. My mind chewed on making magic for many steps more and I finally turned up the driveway and turned out the lights, leaving the street a little more still. One last march to close out March. This street, like so many streets now, more still than usual as we turn the calendar to a new month. Like the train and the peepers and the owls, I’m looking forward and thinking of what’s next. Venus smiles down and recognizes the folly in it all.

  • How Rarely We Mount

    “Our winged thoughts are turned to poultry.” – Henry David Thoreau, Walking

    When you dig deep into Thoreau’s work you mine these little gems. It’s his reward for sticking with him as he crams his every thought onto the page. Every great book gets richer and more meaningful when re-read a second or third time. Lately I’ve been revisiting some old classics even as the stack of new calls to me, offended at my slight. Everything has its time, I say of the stack and of myself too. Be patient, work hard, reach higher… keep flapping those wings. The pace of my progress rarely reaches the level of the grandness of my plans. We aim to soar, but sometimes we find ourselves stuck on the ground with all the other turkeys and chickens, pecking away at the ground. Do they have aspirations too?

    “We hug the earth—how rarely we mount! Methinks we might elevate ourselves a little more.” – Henry David Thoreau, Walking

    Writing every day, chipping away at it, means something to me. It’s the climb, the aspiration for higher ground, that both challenges and drives me. We all hug the earth – our daily routines and comfortable life and the assurance that this is enough. Nothing shakes up the normal like a global event, but shouldn’t we shake up our own snow globe once in a while just to see the magic that was just sitting there all along? How rarely we mount: Shouldn’t we use this tragic circumstance as a catalyst for more? Or shall we return, should this ever end, once again to poultry? Methinks we might elevate ourselves a little more.

  • TGI… F?

    Friday’s feel a bit different when your entire week is spent working from home… And the weekend before that… And this coming weekend too. Indeed, Saturday and Sunday feel different, and so does Monday. There’s a cadence to a normal week that’s been disrupted for most everyone, but it’s all kind of lumped together now like jambalaya. Here we are in the new world.

    You could say TGI… Not On A Ventilator or TGI… Still Employed or TGI… Still Like My Family or TGI.. Still Have Toilet Paper right about now and mean it more than TGIF. So sure, the world is still upside down on this next Friday in March, but it could be worse. And someday we’ll all have a collective memory of this time that we’ll shake our head in wonder at. The world against the virus; our collective enemy.

    The work week, like perceived scarcity, can bring out the worst in some people. It’s not always easy living in a dog-eat-dog world, so it’s understandable when people celebrate the end of that crazy week and the chance to let loose a bit. But the bars are closed, the restaurants are doing take-out, every sport is shuttered and theaters sit dark and empty. So where do you let loose anyway, if you’re so inclined?

    Such is the state of the pandemic world. Society pauses to flatten the curve, the economy needs its own ventilator and Friday seems like Tuesday. But what of it? TGIF is a state of mind anyway, just like the Monday Blues is. Celebrate waking up to another day and don’t worry about the calendar. TGI… Alive And Healthy. Memento Mori and Carpe Diem.