Alexandersmap

    Category: Music

    • Here’s Your Miracle

      “No matter how long your journey appears to be, there is never more than this: one step, one breath, one moment – Now.” — Eckhart Tolle

      For all the times I’ve reminded myself that there’s only today (memento mori, so carpe diem), I often get swept up in distractions and comparison. Living is a daily wrestling match with what we know to be true and what we wish it to be. So I’m continuously reminding myself that we ought to celebrate the moment more for what it is: a miracle of presence amongst the living. This is it, friend. Do something with it. And strangely, out of nowhere, the sound of Kenny Loggins and Michael McDonald filled my head with harmony:

      For once in your life, here’s your miracle
      Stand up and fight
      Make no mistake where you are
      (This is it)
      You’re goin’ no further
      (This is it)
      Until it’s over and done
      — Kenny Loggins & Michael McDonald, This Is It

      I had to face facts. After returning from the epic of Iceland, it was hard to celebrate the miraculous in the routine I’d returned to. And when we can’t possibly celebrate, we ought to at least savor the miracle of being. So for the last two nights I walked out to watch Elon Musk’s Starlink satellites parade past in a long line. There’s something inspiring about a satellite streaking through the sky, and that feeling is amplified into something altogether surreal when you see dozens of them following one another in a long line at exactly the moment that they’re supposed to.

      So in a way, that parade of satellites playing to the soundtrack of a cheesy 70’s song were just the ticket to shake me free from the post-vacation funk that a return to routine subjected me to. It was a good reminder that there’s nothing routine about living. The funk is derived from not being present with being here, now. Step outside of yourself and look up. We must make the most of the miracle while it’s here. And tell me, what’s more miraculous than pulling Elon Musk, Eckhart Tolle, Kenny Loggins and Michael McDonald together into one post about Stoic philosophy?

    • On Valentine’s Day, Accept Þetta Reddast

      In Iceland there’s a saying that speaks of resilience and hopefulness. In only a few days there I heard it several times, evidence of the shared belief of her people, . Þetta Reddast means it (Þetta) will all work out (Reddast). In case you’re wondering, as I did, Þetta Reddast is pronounced “thet tah red ahst“. As with countless visitors before me I fell in love with Iceland almost immediately. And I also learned that she won’t always love you back but not to worry because it all works out in the end. Þetta Reddast, friend.

      On Valentine’s Day, we celebrate the love we have for that special someone. But love is a fickle and evasive thing indeed. Live a few years and you’ll experience the good, bad and ugly of love. Some of us are lucky and find a lifetime partner. Some of us never find love at all. Most are somewhere in the middle sorting it out one day at a time. As with Iceland, it all works out in the end, mostly. Enjoy the chocolate either way.

      I say love will come to you
      Hoping just because I spoke the words that they’re true
      As if I offered up a crystal ball to look through
      Where there’s now one there will be two
      — The Indigo Girls, Love Will Come to You

      The thing about finding true love is you can’t expect it, but you have to have faith that love will sort itself out for you eventually. It’s never perfect, for none of us are perfect, and to expect it to be so is a fools game. It’s simply two people finding each other at the right time and place in their lives, when the single track trail becomes wide enough for two to walk the path together. But trails narrow and widen as we keep hiking, don’t they? Þetta Reddast. Remember it will all work out in time.

      My bride and I went to Iceland looking for adventure and a glimpse of the Northern Lights. We found adventure, but we danced with Iceland’s notorious weather and wind each night instead of the Aurora Borealis. Looking at the Aurora app, we could see epic reds, oranges and greens dancing just out of reach. We learned quickly to accept the truth in Þetta Reddast. It just wasn’t our time to be on the dance floor with Norðurljós. Perhaps, as with love, our paths will cross some other time. I’m hoping just because I spoke the words that they’re true.

    • Anticipation and Memories

      And tomorrow we might not be together
      I’m no prophet and I don’t know nature’s ways
      So I’ll try and see into your eyes right now
      And stay right here ’cause these are the good old days
      — Carly Simon, Anticipation

      I’m reluctantly trying to reign in my anticipation of an exciting trip I’ve planned. That word, anticipation, prompted Carly Simon’s song to play on repeat in my head until I finally conceded and used the lyrics here. When the muse speaks, or sometimes sings, we must listen. And these are indeed the good old days, simply because we’re an active participant in now.

      The thing is, the anticipation remains, and flavors the time leading up to bigger adventure. That anticipation is very much a part of the big adventure, just as the inevitable stories and photos that fill our moments after are a part of it. We ought to add more flavor as this in our days, for we simply don’t know how many more we might have. None of us wants to go out on a bland note. Punctuate the stillness with a cadenza.

      Looking forward carries us there, often with a tinge of excitement about things to come. Looking backwards fill us with memories, sometimes better than the current moment. Comparison is the devil dancing in our heads. Looking around at where we are in the present is figuratively where it’s at. Yet we’re filled with all of them, toying as they do with our heads and habits. Anticipation and memories are our reference points for what we do in this moment at hand. We must remain the conductor of our days and remember that the moment is what matters. To stay right here ’cause these are the good old days, even as we look ahead to what’s possible.

    • The Rest of Your Life

      This is the beginning of the rest of your life
      You better start movin’ like you’re running out of time
      The realization coming over your mind
      That it should be a canter
      If you could just find the answer
      You know it could be a canter
      If you were just a wee bit less of a wanker
      More than half ae’ the time
      — Gerry Cinnamon, Cantor

      An old friend pointed me towards Gerry Cinnamon recently. Thick Scottish brogue filled with energy and clever lyrics. That friend has navigated the darkest of tragedies in his life, and I listen when he points me towards the music and writers he’s using to process his life going forward. Most of us are lucky to have easier hurdles than he’s had, but we still have hurdles. We all must find a way forward from whatever lingers.

      The first thing that old friend asked me about was how the writing was going. Not the blog writing, mind you, but that other writing. Not as well, I told him. Wrestling with fiction hadn’t felt right. Maybe non-fiction would be best. Just write and let it sort itself out. And so I am.

      What possible advice can you give a friend who has navigated grief you shudder to contemplate? Nothing unsolicited. Instead, we talked of finding beauty in a dark world, which prompted the Cheryl Strayed quote, which seemed like just enough in the moment:

      There’s always a sunrise and always a sunset and it’s up to you to choose to be there for it,’ said my mother. ‘Put yourself in the way of beauty.
      — Cheryl Strayed, Wild: From Lost to Found

      Life is short. We’ve wasted enough time already, and we must be deliberate and emphatic in how we spend our days. Whatever we wrestle with, demons and darkness or a tendency to idle through our time, we must break free of our inertia and get moving. It should be a cantor. But remember to find the beautiful on the journey.

    • Thoughts on David Crosby

      Sunset smells of dinner
      Women are calling at me to end my tales
      But perhaps I’ll see you the next quiet place
      I furl my sails
      — Crosby, Stills & Nash, The Lee Shore

      David Crosby grew on me over time. He was always the troublemaker in the two famous bands he was an integral part of, always pushing beyond the limits of what others felt appropriate. And he destroyed his body and some friendships along the way. Indicators that he was pushing too far. With this as context, his body finally failing him at 81 is no great surprise, but it was nonetheless surprising. We forget sometimes that everything must pass, especially rock stars.

      This isn’t a blog about loss, it’s about discovery. Crosby was the odd character who popped up now and then, for fights with his bandmates, for his decades owning the beautiful 1947 Alden Schooner MAYAN, and for famously donating sperm to Melissa Etheridge and her partner to have children. If he’d passed when I was 25, I’d have noticed his passing, but it wouldn’t have resonated for me as I was then. Now it’s like losing an uncle in a way, someone who’s voice you’ve grown accustomed to, grown to trust. But you don’t mourn shooting stars, you celebrate them.

      The thing about rock stars, is that they never really die. The songs live on well beyond their bodies, and so do the stories. And what of the rest of us? We may not be rock stars, but we may each contribute our own verse, and set it free to harmonize forever after we’re gone. If there’s one thing we can take away from the fragile dance of a man like David Crosby, it’s that we may still contribute to the very end, and leave our work to sing for us.

    • Something Meaningful

      Every day I die again, and again I’m reborn
      Every day I have to find the courage
      To walk out into the street
      With arms out
      Got a love you can’t defeat
      Neither down nor out
      There’s nothing you have that I need
      I can breathe
      Breathe now
      — U2, Breathe

      When you settle into a conversation about the best U2 songs, well, it’s best to have a comfortable chair and a full beverage to weigh the choices against. For me, the choices alternate based on my mood at the time, but top 3 includes Breathe and The Unforgettable Fire, and we can endlessly debate the order and the third from there. One could make a case that the album that Breathe came from (No Line on the Horizon) is their best album as well, but I write this knowing it’s a sure way to rise the passions of the fanbase. I’ve been known to shift favorite album based on my mood at the moment. The blessing of U2 is having such a rich catalog that it’s even worth discussing.

      Every day we are reborn, with an opportunity to make something of our time before the lights go out once again. The analogy of a lifetime in a day is nothing new, yet the lesson escapes us now and then. We woke up yesterday, we woke up today, and we expect to wake up tomorrow too. The trick is to do something meaningful with this stack of days, and accumulate our own catalog of mastery in our lifetime.

      What’s your soundtrack for doing bigger things? Play it loud. Sing your heart out.

    • One’s Way

      “The important thing is never to let oneself be guided by the opinion of one’s contemporaries; to continue steadfastly on one’s way without letting oneself be either defeated by failure or diverted by applause.” — Gustav Mahler

      Gustav Mahler was an Austrian composer who’s work is familiar to us whether we know it or not. His Symphony No. 1 in D is the basic tune of “Frère Jacques”, the nursery rhyme embedded in our brains as children. He built his legacy as a conductor and composer in Vienna, a place chock full of legendary conductors and composers, and navigated his career through both anti-semitism and general criticism of his work, which pushed boundaries many weren’t ready for. So in this context, his quote becomes illuminating.

      There’s a moment after we’ve tied a shoe or set a sail just so when we look up and begin going where we determined we’d go in our minds just a beat before. It’s that moment of beginning on one’s way, wherever it may bring us, that is transformative. Everything that comes after is a matter of resolve: Do we finish what we started or to let it fall by the wayside and try something else?

      Most likely, the worst criticism we face comes from within. Self-doubt, imposter syndrome and fear of failure have destroyed more art than all the critics and book-burning zealots combined. In such moments, we must keep going, one way or another. Easier said than done, of course, but pushing through has a way of building confidence and resilience. We simply learn to ignore the voice inside.

      “Most of us have two lives. The life we live, and the unlived life within us. Between the two stands Resistance.” — Steven Pressfield

      That moment of beginning, of breaking through that Resistance, is a big step in reaching our unlived life. But every step thereafter has its own subsequent Resistance. Put one foot in front of the other, and soon you’ll be walking across the floor, as the song goes. To reach our potential we must overcome all the external and internal noise that is distracting us from that voice in our head that is telling us quietly, persistently, what we ought to do.

      Today we’re beginning something, and continuing other things. Who we once were passed away in that beat. This blog post, like the 1,663 before this one, is another step for me across that proverbial floor, with the character who wrote each long gone. What remains is the sum of each, on the way to becoming something entirely new. Who we become is in so many ways up to us, determined by the choices one makes on one’s way and our steadfast resolve to arrive at what’s next.

    • Kindred Contributors of Light

      Kindred comes from a combination of kin and the Old English word ræden (“condition”), which itself comes from the verb rædan, meaning “to advise.” — Merriam-Webster Dictionary

      Talking to a friend about poetry, I mentioned a poem by Li-Young Lee, and paused our phone conversation while she read it, waiting for the payoff when one reacts to great poetry. We do this now and then; find some magic in the world and bring it to light for others to see. We each find our fellow torchbearers by the light they bring to the world. We learn, don’t we, that our light alone is not enough in the darkness? But just as the stars bring light and meaning to the infinite void of the universe, kindred spirits bring hope to us back on earth.

      Another poem, discovered in the infinite darkness of social media, drew me to Lee, and I in turn put his work out there that others may see:

      So we’re dust. In the meantime, my wife and I
      make the bed. Holding opposite edges of the sheet,
      we raise it, billowing, then pull it tight,
      measuring by eye as it falls into allignment
      between us. We tug, fold, tuck. And if I’m lucky,
      she’ll remember a recent dream and tell me.

      One day we’ll lie down and not get up.
      One day, all we guard will be surrendered.

      Until then, we’ll go on learning to recognize
      what we love, and what it takes
      to tend what isn’t for our having.
      So often, fear has led me
      to abandon what I know I must relinquish
      in time. But for the moment,
      I’ll listen to her dream,
      and she to mine, our mutual hearing calling
      more and more detail into the light
      of a joint and fragile keeping.
      — Li-Young Lee, To Hold

      We are co-conspirators, you and I, each kindred contributors of light to the universe. We wrestle with the why, make the most of the how, and reconcile our when. It’s a fragile grip we have on our moment, but our hold feels more secure when the load is shared. Eventually we all must release our hold, but think of the light we might pass along before our torch burns out.

      But let’s not talk about fare-thee-wells now
      The night is a starry dome
      — Joni Mitchell, Carey

      Thanks Joni. Yes of course, there’s more: Hope. Meaning. Dreams realized. To be a contributor of light in the face of infinite darkness is to illuminate possibility. To live a full and wonderful life requires the friction of active engagement with all that this world offers us. We must wrestle with thoughts and ideas and opinion and find a greater truth than the myths we were taught to calm us in our moments of doubt. Friction creates a spark that, nurtured, brings light. Here we may warm ourselves in the glow of our potential, realized in this, our moment of fragile keeping.

    • Plant the Good Days

      “Don’t plant your bad days. They grow into weeks. The weeks grow into months. Before you know it you got yourself a bad year. Take it from me. Choke those little bad days. Choke ’em down to nothin’. They’re your days. Choke ’em.” — Tom Waits

      We look up sometimes and wonder where the time goes. Times flies for all of us, good days and bad. It’s guaranteed until the very end. The trick is to work on our days—to string together as many days as we can full of joyful nuggets and fanciful moments. This requires active participation and an inclination to change things up when we see a trend in the wrong direction. We can’t control everything, but we can do something today to make it better than it might have been.

      When we have a few bad days, do we plant them and let them grow? We ought to let them wither, never gone but not sustained. And what of the good days? Shouldn’t these be nurtured and brought to light? Plant the good stuff and watch it grow.

    • Go For What You Wanted

      Look around me
      I can see my life before me
      Running rings around the way it used to be
      I am older now
      I have more than what I wanted
      But I wish that I had started long before I did
      And there’s so much time to make up everywhere you turn
      Time we have wasted on the way
      So much water moving underneath the bridge
      Let the water come and carry us away
      Oh, when you were young
      Did you question all the answers?
      Did you envy all the dancers who had all the nerve?
      Look around you now
      You must go for what you wanted
      Look at all my friends who did and got what they deserved
      — Crosby, Stills & Nash, Wasted on the Way

      I once heard a DJ dismiss Graham Nash as the least talented of the trio of Crosby, Stills & Nash. I think he missed the point, looking at individual songs added to the catalog instead of the overall contribution to the whole. Thinking of this group absent any of them leaves a void, for the magic was in the harmonies. Oddly enough, that DJ’s comment reminded me of a man who once greatly influenced me who wore a shirt that said “If you aren’t the lead dog the view never changes”. It may be funny, it may even be technically true, but that sled ain’t moving without the contribution of every dog. For me, those harmonies and a song like Wasted on the Way is contribution enough for Nash.

      The twin analogies of growth (rings on a tree in good years and bad) and that water under the bridge, are familiar themes of looking back. But this is not a song about where we’ve been or that water under the bridge, it’s a song about now: the way, and the life before us. Life will always be about now, with a nod to what brought us here, but we must bring our attention to the way.

      For each of us, what comes next is far more important than what happened before. We can’t linger on what’s wasted, for this business of living will continue until the end. We must embrace our chosen way and have the nerve to dance with it. Decide what to be and go be it. For we have another season of growth ahead of us. What kind of ring will it be?