Alexandersmap

    Category: Lifestyle

    • The Abnormal Climb

      “You can’t be normal and expect abnormal results.” – Naval Ravikant

      There’s nothing wrong with normal; the pursuit of normal usually offers you an average, lovely life. But if you want to be ultra-wealthy or a washboard abs model or win the Olympics or be an astronaut or a Nobel Peace Prize winner, well, be abnormal. They don’t just give space suits to the guy ahead of you at Starbucks. Unless that guy is a Navy pilot with a Masters in Astrophysics anyway, and even then his odds aren’t great. Nope, be different than the billions of people marching through life…. or embrace the beauty of average. We all have that choice.

      I’ve dabbled in the pursuit of excellence in athletics, and frankly I opted out early. Pursue Olympic-level rowing? Thought I’d give it a try. Learned quickly that it was a very steep and long climb. I opted to be a big fish in a smaller pond. Regrets? I’ve had a few. Pursuing elite rowing isn’t one of them. I’ve known several Olympians over the years, one rowed out of the same boathouse as me. She won a silver medal! Olympians seem average on the surface, there’s an abnormal core there – a focus, that I deeply admire. But I knew it wasn’t me.

      We all want to be excellent at something, if we’re lucky we figure out quickly what we shouldn’t attempt to excel in. Sometimes great or pretty good still sets us up for an exceptional life. I was a pretty good rower back in my time, but not willing to do the “abnormal” work needed to be world class. I smile thinking about the lecture I heard from the National Team Coach emphatically telling a friend and me that the work needed was far beyond what we were doing at the time (and we were very fit). I appreciated his time and candor, assessed my willingness to execute on the plan and opted out. In a different pond I might have pushed through, but the pond I was in seemed good enough.

      “Whenever you find yourself on the side of the majority, it is time to pause and reflect.” – Mark Twain

      This quote on the surface is funny (or scary in this political climate), but peel back a layer and there’s truth in the message. In the context of pursuing the abnormal there’s magic in Mark’s clever quip. Find your unique path, work hard and be excellent at it. Don’t be the majority, be something more. I’ve long since hung up the oar, but hey, maybe the writing will take off. At the very least I owe it to myself to become a better writer. There’s honor in the pursuit of excellence, even if we never reach it. Somebody once said that “never” is a belief, it doesn’t have to be shackles. I saw that in rowers who accepted the same challenge I opted out of who eventually wore Olympic hardware.

      “Blah, blah, blah, blah. DO THE WORK.” – Jocko Willink

      At some point you get tired of regurgitating excuses and you find something to be singularly focused on pursuing. We’re all running out of time, get up and do something already. Balance is important but it’s also an excuse. Prioritize, focus and do the work. Want to be a writer? Do the work? Ab model? Do the work. Olympic athlete? Do. The. Work. We arrive at excellence by what we focus on, and by what we say no to along the way. The day offers the same opportunity for all of us living in a free society, so why exhaust that day coming up with excuses for why you didn’t do something? Get fit, work abnormally hard at your chosen craft, whether writing or astronaut or parent, be consistently, abnormally doing the work, and you’ll reach a level of excellence – or at the very least, be well above average. Seems a worthwhile climb after all.

    • The Possible Nows

      The sky is pastel pink and blue, announcing that there will be a lovely sunrise today. I’m down in the valley in the woods of New Hampshire this morning. To properly capture this show would require a drive to the top of a hill two miles away. I sip my coffee and contemplate the mad dash for the perfect Instagram image, and turn back to my morning routine. I look for the moments and embrace them when they appear, but I usually choose not to chase them.

      By all accounts it’s been a great winter for the Aurora Borealis. I check its progress often, but concede I’m not getting to Iceland, Norway, Labrador or even Northern Maine anytime soon. I’m deeply immersed in work and renovating a bathroom, firmly setting myself in the foundation of family priorities. There is a time for everything, and I’ve chosen not to chase the Northern Lights; once demolition started the work was no longer a choice.

      As I’ve matured I’ve gotten a little better at negating the effects of temporal discounting in my actions. Meaning I’m not dropping everything important in my longer term future to visit friends island hopping in the Caribbean or family beachside in Florida. I count seven spots on my hands where I’ve donated blood to my bathroom renovation this week – believe me, I’d rather have deposited that money into flight tickets and a new bathing suit. But the bathroom offers a greater return on investment at the moment.

      Temporal discounting is more challenging in our daily habits. I have a goal to lose some weight by my birthday in April. But I still grab a handful of M & M’s in the bowl by the door on my way out. One habit offers immediate gratification, the other offers longer term benefit but involves sacrificing gratification in this moment. Temporal discounting is a tough bear to wrestle. The answer lies in removing the bowl of candy next to the door until you can stop seeing it as a desirable gratification in the moment.

      The flip side of temporal discounting logic is the recognition that I’m not getting any younger. There are plenty of examples of people in my life facing cancer or other instant state changes in how they’re able to navigate this life. There’s only now. And so perhaps driving to see the sunrise was the better choice, just as buying the flight tickets might be. Do it now, before it’s too late is a version of do it now because it feels good. It’s temporal discounting disguised as logic.

      And there’s the wrestling match between the possible nows. Do what feels good now or defer it indefinitely (or dismiss it forever) for the greater good. An angel on one shoulder, a devil on the other, both whispering their advice. I could be in Iceland staring up at the sky, swimming in warm tropical sea water this evening, or I could finish this bathroom floor and pack for a business trip tomorrow. I know the right choice, and I know the desirable choice. Don’t we all? Another George Bailey moment on this march through life. But in the end his story turned out okay, didn’t it?

    • More Art

      “If beautiful art does not express moral ideas, ideas which unite people, then it is not art, but only entertainment. People need to be entertained in order to distance themselves from disappointment in their lives. ” – Immanuel Kant

      A nod to Tolstoy for this quote…

      Sometimes you see the truth immediately in a piece of art, in a poem, in a paragraph or a scene. Something that transcends. Something that lifts, prods, pulls you. Art speaks, if we listen. I can remove the word “art” and insert “nature” or “spirituality” or maybe even “love” in that sentence and it resonates the same. Art is all of those things, and all those things in turn are art.

      I’ve learned to say no. No to television news. No (but thank you anyway) to Facebook. No to most entertainment, not because I don’t like to be entertained, but because I want to think. You can’t meditate on the world with a laugh track playing. No isn’t a rejection of the world, it’s an acceptance of more essential things.

      Does that make me boring? Perhaps to someone seeking only entertainment. Then again, I have a lot more to say than I once did. I’m moving towards art, towards uniting people, towards the essential truth in life. Perhaps I’ll find it, but I’m already better for seeking it.

    • Writing: Wrestling With The Angel

      “The most regretful people on earth are those who felt the call to creative work, who felt their own creative power restive and uprising, and gave to it neither power nor time.” – Mary Oliver

      You know those moments when you lie there knowing you’re going to be creaky and sore even before you get out of bed? That was me after a day of bathroom renovation work. Being tall, laying tile seems especially tough on the body. But hopefully worth it in the end. But this morning was the sore all over shuffle, and I quietly got myself hydrated and caffeinated as a nod to yesterday before focusing on today’s work. Monday. Lot to do this week. Lot to do today. But first the morning routine, more important than ever when you feel like a panini in a press.

      Writing every day has its rewards, but also it’s price. Time mostly, but also focus. There are mornings when I have a lot to do in the rest of my life and the last thing I want to do is write. But I write anyway to keep the streak alive and find once I’ve settled my mind to it the writing flows easily. So I sit here writing with the cat perched over my shoulder, tail whipping my head prodding me to pay attention, coffee cooling within reach, clock ticking in my head and so much to say. The writing flows despite the cat, despite the clock, despite the soreness. I’m giving power to the muse; I’ve committed to the ride.

      Blogging is a different form of writing than other writing, and I know I’m stalling on the project I have in my mind. I’ve developed the consistent effort of publishing every day, but there’s more to do. The muse laughs at me and says you’re not fully committed, just look at the schedule you’ve built for yourself around work and family and bathroom renovations! Come back to me when you’re serious about that writing project and then we’ll dance. And I nod my head, knowing the truth is out. The blogging continues, the project doesn’t, the other things in life tap on my shoulder saying time for us. And I write faster, knowing this dance is almost over for the day.

      Mary Oliver spotlighted the commitment needed to the craft:

      “He who does not crave that roofless place eternity should stay at home. Such a person is perfectly worthy, and useful, and even beautiful, but is not an artist…

      The working, concentrating artist is an adult who refuses interruption from himself, who remains absorbed and energized in and by the work—who is thus responsible to the work.

      The poem gets written. I have wrestled with the angel and I am stained with light and I have no shame. Neither do I have guilt.” – Mary Oliver, Upstream, Selected Essays

      There it is; guilt. You either wrestle with the angel or you open the door to the rest of life to come in. It might seem like you’re all dancing together, but the muse likes to dance with you alone on the floor or not at all. I nod my regrets, say goodbye for now and welcome the Monday crowd. May we dance a bit longer next time?

    • Giving Yourself Away

      “We think the fire eats the wood. We are wrong. The wood reaches out to the flame. The fire licks at what the wood harbors, and the wood gives itself away to that intimacy, the manner in which we and the world meet each new day. Harm and boon in the meetings…” – Jack Gilbert, Harm And Boon In The Meetings

      I’ve had a book of poetry by Jack Gilbert for a couple of years now, but never really felt the pull of the pages to immerse myself in it until now. He’s grieving in this poem, which is more apparent as it progresses beyond my quote, but I’m drawn to the analogy of wood reaching out to the flame. All relationships are this dance between giving yourself away and in consuming the other half of the relationship as they give themselves away. It’s this concept of what you and your partner bring to the relationship today, tomorrow and the next day. Some days you give well more than your 50%, sometimes you give a lot less, but the sum of the two gets you closer to 100%. Balance. Yin and Yang. Order and Chaos in a perfect unity.

      The damage happens when one partner is always being consumed while the other burns. We’ve all been on both sides of that, whether in a friendship, a job or a marriage. Those relationships either end when one half burns out of the other jumps to another fuel source. I’m no relationship coach, but I’m approaching 25 years of marriage of playing both the fire and the wood. That gives me some level of experience in the subject, if never truly expertise. There seems to be plenty of fuel left to keep our fire burning for whatever time we’re given, and it comes back to the lyrics of the song that started it all for us, pointing to this concept of the dance between fire and the wood:

      “Now everyone dreams of a love lasting and true
      But you and I know what this world can do
      So let’s make our steps clear that the other may see
      And I’ll wait for you
      If I should fall behind
      Wait for me”
      – Bruce Springsteen, If I Should Fall Behind

      Maybe this should have been a Valentine’s Day post, but the reality is that the real work of relationships starts after the honeymoon, after the flowers and chocolates of Valentine’s Day, after the fire’s been burning for awhile. That’s when you know if you’re relationship is more than just tinder. The fire licks at what the wood harbors, and the wood gives itself away to that intimacy. I keep coming back to this line, and recognizing myself and a lifetime of relationships in the words. We all offer ourselves to the world, and sometimes we’re burned badly. A fire does similar damage to a forest, but the forest often comes back stronger. A relationship is resilient when both sides recognize themselves in the fire and the wood – consumption and fuel – and each strives for balance in what they bring to it.

    • Between the Memorable

      “Our lives happen between the memorable.” – Jack Gilbert, Highlights And Interstices

      I don’t recall ever using the word interstices in a sentence before referencing Gilbert’s poem here, but it marries well with the quote I pulled from the poem. Interstices is the intervening space between things. So for every highlight in a life; graduation, marriage, birth of a child, bucket list trip, there’s the million seemingly mundane things that happen in between. The drive to and back from the game, not the game itself. The five minutes you’re sitting on rolled out paper in the doctor’s office, versus the time that you’re engaged with the doctor as you’re trying to diagnose why things aren’t quite right. Interstices is the break in the trees that lets that flicker of light shine in your face. It’s the stuff of life, yet the stuff in between the highlights.

      I’m sitting in a restaurant parking lot waiting for a breakfast appointment to show up. The calendar shows the appointment, and sometimes I’ll block off the drive time to ensure I give myself the time. But this waiting time is blank on my calendar. And yet it’s not blank space in my life. We’re reminded of the tenuous hold we have in life when that doctor informs you or someone in your family that not quite right is something worse. For all our talk of living in the moment, sometimes we forget about life between the memorable. Celebrate the highlights, but remember that the interstices are part of the sum and should be savored too.

    • The Game

      I play this game of productivity each morning that I’m home, taking habits I’ve looped together and creating progress metrics within them. First I set the kettle filled with cold water, then drink a pint of water while reading. I try to get at least five pages of meaningful reading done before the kettle whistles. Sometimes it’s only three pages, depending on the conspiracy between the depth of reading and the volume of water being heated. But the goal remains five pages, conspiracies be damned. I could max out the font on my Kindle app to even the playing field, but really, who am I cheating but myself?

      Once my coffee is made, I write. My goal is to write 150 words before the coffee cools enough to sip, and then finish this morning’s post before I finish the cup. Sometimes the game is easy, sometimes I fail miserably, but I’m always more productive than I otherwise might have been. Such is the nature of habit loops, pulling us moment by moment in the direction we’ve set for ourselves.

      What’s missing in this morning routine is movement. And I’m well aware of the omission. Burpees created shoulder problems, rowing for me is best done in the afternoon, and long walks aren’t possible in the frenzy of a workday morning. But not all habits need to be lumped into the same loop, and I’ve shifted movement to the late afternoon or early evening, when I need it most. It’s become a defined break between work and personal time. Often I’ll add a game or two of chess here, and read a few more pages. If I haven’t done it already, I’ll also chip away at Duolingo tackling French. This used to be a morning activity but I’d get too restless after reading and writing to lump a session with French in, so I’ve taken to doing it in the evenings, instead of watching television. I’ll combine some reading here after Duolingo. Sometimes television wins the hour but I’ve kept the Duolingo streak alive all year.

      And that brings me to the last game of the day; reading before sleep takes over. Unlike the morning reading session I’m usually tapped out by late evening. Reading in bed instead of checking Twitter or the news is a way to end on a positive note, but I know I’m good for maybe five pages at most before I’m tapped out. The game is to try, and usually I get two or three pages in before I nod off. Game over, but another day ahead of where I was yesterday. That’s a win, isn’t it?

    • The Dangerously Distracted Among Us

      It’s happened a few times now.  I’ll be driving along and notice the erratic driving of a certain driver ahead of me.  Speed varying from well below the speed limit to well above.  Drifting from side to side in their lane, or well out into the oncoming traffic lane.  It’s clear that this driver is staring at their phone intently, completing some text or email, or maybe watching Netflix for all I know.  All I know is they’re a hazard to all around them. What’s scary is that I’ve been behind this car a few times, or worse,  I’ve been coming the opposite direction and see him straddling both lanes on the street and swerving back to his lane abruptly.  The sad part?  I know this guy.  He’s my next door neighbor.

      This guy is a divorced home siding salesman for a large box store.  He lives in a pretty large home with two cars permanently parked in the driveway.  He has no children, no pets, and is rarely home.  The house sits empty for weeks at a time, and then he’ll just show up again for some period of time.  He’s the kind of neighbor who blows the snow from his driveway onto the street, expecting the town to clear it away.  He does the same thing with lawn clippings in the summertime, which he mows infrequently enough that it’s a green mess in the street.  He’s not the sharpest tack in the drawer, so nobody believes he’s being antagonistic to his neighbors, he’s simply ignorant.  I don’t believe he’s a serial killer, but he is definitely a serially distracted driver.  And I wonder when he’s going to run over a jogger or drive head-on into an oncoming car.  He’s a ticking time bomb in this way.

      We live in a world full of highly distracted people.  Thankfully most aren’t as dangerous as this guy is.  I was at a basketball game last night and looked around during a timeout at 75% of the people staring at their phones.  There are legitimate reasons to check your phones – checking on the kids, looking at the standings and scores of rival teams playing a game or the statistics for the game your watching.  I get that, and I do the same thing.  But I’m doing my best to limit the screen time.  And I’ve made it a rule to not be like my neighbor, driving like an idiot, staring at nothing important on his phone while driving a killing machine at terminal velocity just looking for some kid on the side of the road.

      I once walked into a fire hydrant while reading the back cover of a book.  I’m not proud of it, but I laugh at myself sometimes thinking back on it.  It’s charmingly, stupidly analog to think about now, but I managed to do it.  Walking down the sidewalk and bang!  Shin, meet cast iron.  That hurt like hell for a few minutes but taught me a lesson.  Focus on where you’re going, not what you’re reading.  That certainly applies in the world of today.  I don’t find my neighbor’s texting and driving very funny at all, and I’ve thought about how to handle the situation.  He’s not a person I talk to often, even though he lives right next door to me.  Those interviews with the neighbors of the person who went postal?  Yeah, I can totally see myself being that guy talking about that other guy.  And my other neighbors would agree.

      I’d love to wrap this up with a bow, saying I spoke with this dude and he saw the error of his ways, apologized and changed on the spot.  But he’s not a guy you have a heart-to-heart conversation with.  He’s a bit of a moving target, pun not intended.  For now, I shake my head in disbelief and frustration whenever I see him driving.  And of course, give him a lot of space.  I’ve taught my kids that it’s not just that you’re distracted when you’re looking at your phone, it’s that when you aren’t paying attention you can’t avoid the other idiots on the road who are looking at theirs.  There’s no better example for them than the guy next door.

    • The Sorting of Stuff

      “Every book is a quotation; and every house is a quotation out of all forests, and mines, and stone quarries; and every man is a quotation from all his ancestors.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson

      We’re all built on the stuff of those who came before us. We inherit the good and the bad stuff, and become who we are based on how we sort it out. Some sort it out quickly, some never quite get there. We’re all a work in progress.

      Whenever I feel a little tapped out on the writing, I fill the bucket back up by reading more, or getting outside. It’s no secret, really, every creative person says this. They say it because it’s true. I don’t believe in writers block, I believe in closed-mindedness, distraction, laziness and apathy. Those are the Four Horsemen I struggle with, and the best way to shake free of their grip is to move the body and move the mind. I have curiosity, patience, persistence, and empathy in my favor, if I just feed them.

      Reading and then quoting Emerson sparks the imagination, which in turn primes the writing pump. The writing in turn is a sorter of stuff, stuff like the quotations that I picked up from my ancestors, stuff like an antagonist when I was 13 who had some twisted quotations in his own life manifested in targeting fellow students, stuff like the picked up pieces from reading and encounters with people over decade after decade on this planet.

      There are other stuff sorters. I’ve sorted a whole lot of stuff walking. Steps stacked on top of each other sort stuff as well as anything I know of. Maybe you meditate, or go to therapy, or talk to a close friend about your own darkest stuff, and that’s good. Everyone should sort their stuff in their own way. Mine is walking and writing. That’s my quotation from my ancestors I suppose, all gift wrapped in a baby blanket. God knows it could’ve been a lot worse.

      Here’s the scary part: I’m passing my own quotations on to the next generation, mixing sorted and unsorted stuff alike into my marriage, parenthood, and the relationships I have with friends and coworkers and siblings and random strangers and blog readers. I feel compelled to sort as best I can in the time I have. We’re all wading through the muck in our own way. Sort it out or get stuck in it. Pass on the best quotations and try to leave the worst behind.

      The world is full of loud people sorting their stuff out in public. The people who have sorted things out a bit better in their lives tend to avoid that kind of look at me spotlight. Which makes the world seem quite mad if you look around at all the screamers, zealots and provokers prodding for your attention. I’m inclined to tune out the noise, seek out the well-sorted souls and build my house of quotations from better material. A foundation built in muck will only sink. Climb to the higher, more solid ground, look around at the better view, and set your foundation there. If nothing else it makes for more stable ground for those who follow you to build on.

    • Room for Wonder

      “What is this life if, full of care,
      We have no time to stand and stare? —
      No time to stand beneath the boughs,
      And stare as long as sheep and cows:
      No time to see, when woods we pass,
      Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass:
      No time to see, in broad daylight,
      Streams full of stars, like skies at night:
      No time to turn at Beauty’s glance,
      And watch her feet, how they can dance:
      No time to wait till her mouth can
      Enrich that smile her eyes began?
      A poor life this if, full of care,
      We have no time to stand and stare.”
      – William Henry Davies

      Life is surely for living and getting things done.  And yet it would be meaningless without a healthy dose of looking at the world in wonder. If this daily exercise in blogging has done anything beyond strengthening a habit, it’s prodded me to look at the world in new ways. It’s not like I was closed-minded before, but writing seems to widen the path just as Instagram and an iPhone got me looking at flowers and sunrises differently.

      But what do you drop for this new perspective? Does the mind expand? Sure, I’ll go with that. But does it expand from the writing or from the experiences you’re adding to fuel the writing? Does it matter?

      This morning my cat and I are looking out the window at the steady stream of birds going to the feeders and poking about on the dormant shrubs and vines, looking for leftover berries and seeds or a bit of shelter from predators like the one sitting with me. The cat’s interest is betrayed by her tail swatting me in the head as each bird or squirrel comes onstage. My interest is more subtle, but it’s there just the same. Winter is not the barren landscape people think it is; life goes on all around us. Putting a feeder out surely pulls in more of that life than there would otherwise be. Writing is like that feeder, and it gets filled with observations, poems and quotations and strung-together thoughts. And just like the bird feeder the writing pulls life out of an otherwise barren landscape of a more closed mind.

      Up again for another slow dance with caffeine, I look out the window and notice a doe a hundred meters out in the woods, seemingly staring back at me. Scanning the woods I see a few others scraping at the snow looking for acorns or other edibles. But this doe seems to be looking right in the window at me. Standing and staring, just like me. Beauty’s glance, right there in the woods, and I’m grateful for the opportunity to see it. And that’s life, one moment of beauty at a time amongst the stark and barren. You just have to look for it.