Alexandersmap

    Category: Discovery

    • Fluidity

      “When you cut water, the water doesn’t get hurt; when you cut something solid, it breaks. You’ve got solid attitudes inside you; you’ve got solid illusions inside you; that’s what bumps against nature, that’s where you get hurt, that’s where the pain comes from.” —Anthony De Mello, Awareness

      Be fluid and the world becomes easier to navigate. Be rigid and you’ll soon find you keep running into things that contradict all that you believed. ’tis easier to flow through life open to whatever the day brings. If we find we don’t like what we encounter, flow in a different direction. We get to reinvent ourselves with every step if we break the mold of identity that holds us in place.

      We know that there are plenty of people who are rigid and unmoving. The “my way of the highway” types. Many of these people rise to power and influence history. But they’re often weak at the core; predictable, playable, easily distracted by a skilled tactician. They may be powerful, but they’re vulnerable at the same time. When we are creative, fluid and aware, we can navigate our way past them. The river always finds its way to the ocean.

      “Be like water making its way through cracks. Do not be assertive, but adjust to the object, and you shall find a way around or through it. If nothing within you stays rigid, outward things will disclose themselves.
      Empty your mind, be formless. Shapeless, like water. If you put water into a cup, it becomes the cup. You put water into a bottle and it becomes the bottle. You put it in a teapot, it becomes the teapot. Now, water can flow or it can crash. Be water, my friend.”
      ― Bruce Lee

      Does fluidity mean that we don’t stand for anything? Is that which we stand for a sign of rigidity? This is an exercise in what is essential for us in our lives. Is our identity locked in family or career or accolades? Is it honor? What is honor but a rigid belief in how we will navigate the world? I’m not suggesting we be dishonorable, merely that we know why we are rigidly holding to a standard. Our why is always what we will flow to, once we get beyond the obstacle that is blocking us from proceeding there.

      “Wherever you go, there you are.” — Thomas à Kempis

      Where are we? What is holding us in this place? Sometimes it’s forces beyond our control, but usually it’s something within us. When we know what the obstacle is, we may then find a way around it. Fluidity is simply openness to change. We are here, facing this. Is this a dam or will we find a way through or around whatever is keeping us here? More change is on the way (it always is), and flow is inevitable. Are we truly open to it?

    • The Rich Lens of Attention

      The dream of my life
      Is to lie down by a slow river
      And stare at the light in the trees—
      To learn something by being nothing
      A little while but the rich
      Lens of attention.
      — Mary Oliver, Entering the Kingdom

      Restless and productive, that’s this life—knowing there’s work to be done. If not us, then who? Blame it on my GenX tendencies. I’ve been fighting it all of my life. An entire generation has fought it all of their lives. We’re all complex contradictions of motivation and awareness. Or maybe that’s just me lumping the lot of them in with me just to save face.

      Even writing this (even writing this!), I turned to my work laptop to dash off an email that’s percolated to priority. How can one linger with poetry or walk quietly amongst the trees when the mind is full of the minutia of a productive life? We must learn to say enough is enough in our lives, before it all floats away to illuminate the dreams of other, more open minds.

      The thing is, every day is our lesson in living. We choose to be aware and attentive, or we swim deeper into the tumultuous red ocean fraught with ravenous sharks and whirlpools that drag us downward into the depths of other people’s priorities. Alternatively, we can swim to calmer waters, away from the chaos that would consume us, and discover a new life.

      Decide what to be and go be it. Our lives will be the richer for it.

    • Possibility

      “Wanting things to be simple can become a kind of prison, it really can, because you end up staying trapped inside how you want things to be rather than embracing how they could be. You end up closed. You end up shutting doors to so many possibilities.”
      — Matt Haig, The Life Impossible

      There is a tendency to move towards simplicity as we get older and more settled in our ways. The young think in possibilities, the old embrace safety (let’s not age before our time, eh?). What is certain feels safe. Yet nothing in life is certain—certainly not our position in it. The only certainty is the end, and we shroud that in mystery and superstition too.

      Our path through uncertainty, I believe, lies in awareness and receptivity. When we are fully aware of where we are, of who we are and where we’re going, we begin to see everything as perfectly imperfect. We know that this little dance with life has its share of stubbed toes and slips. One answer is to get back up and start dancing again. Another answer is to find a new dance floor, or dance partner, a new soundtrack to dance to, or maybe a new dance altogether. Being receptive to change opens us up to possibility.

      What is possible for our lives is rarely aligned with what is probable. We must become pattern-breakers to reach possibilities. To explore the world we must leave that which we’ve grown comfortable with, if only for a little while. Having left, we won’t come back the same person. If we come back at all. So why complicate life by leaving at all? Keep it simple, the prison warden in our heads tells us. Simplicity is safe. But it makes everything beyond impossible. At least until we break free of that mind trap.

      This is not an inditement of simplicity (I’m rather fond of it myself), but an encouragement to finding more possibility in each day. Our routines save us by keeping us on track towards our goals, which are themselves possibilities. On that road to find out, it’s always worthwhile to ask ourselves if this is the path we want to be on in the first place. Often, the very next question tends to be, what else is possible? We reaffirm our direction or we refute our belief and move on to something else. Possibility is forever an open question leading us towards a more complete answer to our why.

    • One Who Seeks

      “I have no right to call myself one who knows. I was one who seeks, and I still am, but I no longer seek in the stars or in books; I’m beginning to hear the teachings of my blood pulsing within me. My story isn’t pleasant, it’s not sweet and harmonious like the invented stories; it tastes of folly and bewilderment, of madness and dream, like the life of all people who no longer want to lie to themselves.” ― Hermann Hesse, Demian

      There’s a scene in the movie Good Morning, Vietnam where the song What a Wonderful World is playing while scenes of horror unfold. I used to hate that scene, for taking a beautiful song and associating it with the ugliness of war. Now I understand that the world is always filled with ugliness, and yet it’s also beautiful and yes, wonderful. War is horror, and so sometimes is living. The dichotomy is both external and within us. We are drawn towards that which we seek. But it’s all there, isn’t it?

      As this is published, there are humans executing wars on other humans at the same time as other humans are exploring the void of space. It’s not much different than 50 years ago, is it? Vietnam and the Apollo missions and Civil Rights in the 70’s. Have a look at the headlines today and we see the same stories unfolding. Humans are complicated, and we never really change all that much.

      I may fancy myself a philosopher or a writer tapping away at my keyboard, but the rubber meets the road when we get out into the world and see the ugliness. Sometimes we ourselves are the ugliness. Sit in traffic long enough and you begin to resent the world. Sit in a meeting listening to others ramble about nonsense and we become nonsensical ourselves. In such times, the journey must turn inward. Just who do we want to be anyway?

      I may look around one day at 94 and realize that I’ve got everything figured out, but it’s folly to believe it so. To reach 94 would be an epic journey in and of itself. To reach old age with a sound mind, with the clarity of purpose burning within and a body capable of sustaining the drive, well, that would be a miracle. The odds are stacked against us humans. And yet people get there, and thrive well beyond that random number we call our age.

      Let’s see how it goes. I’d like to survive the madness we live in now, let alone try to skip to the end of the book to see how it ends. One page at a time is the proper way to immerse ourselves in a great book or a compelling life. It all goes fast enough already—tempus fugit—so do try to be here, now. All change begins within. The worst in us and the best in us are both awaiting which side we truly want to have emerge.

    • The Doorway

      It doesn’t have to be
      the blue iris, it could be
      weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
      small stones; just
      pay attention, then patch

      a few words together and don’t try
      to make them elaborate, this isn’t
      a contest but a doorway

      into thanks, and a silence in which
      another voice may speak.
      —Mary Oliver, Praying

      I had lunch with a friend earlier this week. She asked me about my writing, wondering when I’d get back to publishing. I mentioned that I’ve been publishing every morning for years now. The blog hides in plain sight. It’s a marketing person’s nightmare I know. Yet here it is, as it always has been, if one should wish to find it. A quiet voice in the storm.

      I don’t write for views and likes—I write to enter that doorway Mary Oliver describes above. I share it because it’s not a journal, but my idea of creative output. The jury may be out on just how creative the output is, and I’m okay with that, simply because I don’t seek them even as I appreciate them. And appreciation is surely one reason to get up every morning to begin filling our blank page.

      There is also attention and awareness. I believe we are all aware as children but grow out of it through formal education, narrowing viewpoints and the hectic lives we embrace in the quest for success (whatever that is). Some never reach that state of wonder again, while some of us spend the rest of our lives working to grow back into it. May we all reach back into wonder before we reach the end.

      I aspire to write as efficiently, as beautifully, as a poet. To convey with brevity and emotional weight all that is encountered in this brief go at things. As this is published, it will be post number 2,850. Is that enough to say, or should I keep entering new doorways? The answer lies in how far we have left to go.

    • Leaving a Mark

      “Travel isn’t always pretty. It isn’t always comfortable. Sometimes it hurts, it even breaks your heart. But that’s okay. The journey changes you; it should change you. It leaves marks on your memory, on your consciousness, on your heart, and on your body. You take something with you. Hopefully, you leave something good behind.” — Anthony Bourdain

      Some travel requires a day or two just to get from Point A to Point B and back again. It definitely isn’t always pretty. It’s a mistake to view travel as simply what you do at your destination. Travel is the whole bundle, from booking a trip to unpacking when we return. It took me years to fully realize this.

      I saw a t-shirt while navigating a gift shop a couple of days ago (some of our most treacherous travel). It said, “Scars are tattoos with better stories”. All travel leaves a mark, and maybe a few scars too. The trick is to find the great stories as they unfold.

      I write this a little sorer from my current travel (not yet concluded), both in the creaky parts and in the bank account, but that’s all part of travel too. Travel (to me) is part of living a full life. Perhaps one may live a more full life not traveling anywhere—plenty of people never leave the immediate vicinity of where they were born and eventually die—but that’s not fulfilling for the nomad. We must move to live, and acknowledge all that we encounter on the journey. It becomes part of our story, scars and all.

    • Transformation

      Don’t just learn, experience.
      Don’t just read, absorb.
      Don’t just change, transform.
      Don’t just relate, advocate.
      Don’t just promise, prove.
      Don’t just criticize, encourage.
      Don’t just think, ponder.
      Don’t just take, give.
      Don’t just see, feel.
      Don’t just dream, do.
      Don’t just hear, listen.
      Don’t just talk, act.
      Don’t just tell, show.
      Don’t just exist, live.
      — Roy T. Bennett, Don’t Just

      Spring is the season of transformation, and it has surely been on my mind. Go to places like Disney World or Las Vegas or anywhere where people don’t know your name and you’ll witness people being transformed into someone else. Look in a mirror or inward and you might just see it in yourself.

      We all want to be some better version of ourselves in some way or another. Transformation is our ticket to making our vision a reality. It doesn’t have to be limited to some Jedi character we turn into with a plastic lightsaber and a cape. It can be a compass heading we steer our lives towards. Decide what to be and go be it.

      To be transformed is simply to shift our belief in what is and what will be into something entirely different. We owe it to ourselves to make that shift more inspiring, and dare we believe, more thrilling. To spring forward towards some exciting new idea of what’s possible. Can you see it? What are we waiting for?

    • Too Silent to be Real

      Oh, there was a time in this fair land when the railroad did not run
      When the wild majestic mountains stood alone against the sun
      Long before the white man and long before the wheel
      When the green dark forest was too silent to be real
      When the green dark forest was too silent to be real
      And many are the dead men
      Too silent to be real
      — Gordon Lightfoot, Canadian Railroad Trilogy

      Isn’t it funny how a song firmly sticks in your head when it has no business being there at that particular moment in your life? I’m about as far from majestic mountains and silent dark forests as one can be, and yet this is my ear worm. I can think of far worse. Welcome to my head Gordon.

      I subscribe to the theory that wherever we are, we ought to be there, and I’d like to believe I’m fully present where I am now, doing what I’m doing, no matter what the soundtrack is playing in the background. Presence is simply awareness and appreciation for the world as it unfolds. And here we are.

      Presence (for me anyway) also demands that we are aware of and appreciate all that brought us here. The sacrifices of previous generations that built the world we currently live in, the people in our lives who have surrounded us with love and inordinate patience, the beauty of the natural environment and the courage of those who defend it against those who would exploit it.

      For all the noise in this maddening world, there is still serenity to be found wherever we are. Writing this obscure little blog post that you’ve somehow finished reading (no doubt to figure out the connection between the lyrics and all that followed), I found the silence I’d been looking for. It was here all along, awaiting my attention. Real is what we focus our attention on. So be here, now.

    • Facing Cliffs

      “If we listened to our intellect, we’d never have a love affair. We’d never have a friendship. We’d never go into business, because we’d be cynical. Well, that’s nonsense. You’ve got to jump off cliffs all the time and build your wings on the way down.”
      — Ray Bradbury

      We know when we are facing a cliff. And surely we know when we’ve fallen off the edge of one. Cliffs are big, life-changing moments. We know there’s no going back to the way things used to be. We simply have to navigate the cliff as best we can and try to survive the encounter. We know the alternative outcome is eternal.

      We face cliffs all the time. I’m currently watching a couple of people in my life dealing with the massive cliff of growing frail. They felt it was sudden, we saw it coming for years. We don’t always see the cliff we’re moving towards until there’s no getting around it. We reach a point of no return in life. Deal with the cliff.

      There’s another kind of cliff, isn’t there? It’s the cliff that we choose to leap off on our own. It’s quitting a job to chase a dream. It’s sailing off for unfamiliar waters. It’s doing something so audacious that all of our friends think we’re crazy, even as they quietly envy us for trying.

      Intellect has a way of holding us back. We think too much sometimes. Sure, it may keep us alive in times of trouble, but we ought to ask, are we really living? Or simply going through the motions until we reach some cliff we somehow never saw coming, despite all the signs?

      Developing the courage and strength to leap begins with smaller cliffs successfully navigated. Be bold more often, and see where it leads us. Ratchet up the size of the cliff and leap into a few chasms now and then, just to see how it goes. That’s not being ridiculous—keep the limbs, reputation and healthy marriage intact, but step beyond some of those expectations previously established for ourselves and see where it leads.

      The point is, the cliffs are coming for us one way or the other. Why not choose the cliffs we’d love to leap off, just to see how the view is? Maybe we’ll soar, or maybe we’ll crash to the bottom and have to climb back up again. At least we’ll have learned a thing or two about ourselves in the face of cliffs.

    • A Routine Discovery

      I do not miss most of the things about business travel, but I miss some things. Mostly, I miss discovery. I delighted in new—new historical sites to stumble upon, new restaurants, new people to talk to, new stories to discover. But I’ve learned that it wasn’t about new, it was about discovery. I still travel, just not with a day chock full of meetings to muck up my time to explore wherever I found myself.

      Last night I discovered a new way to make beef stew, a new sourdough boule to dip into it and a delightful new Grenache Syrah to pair with it. It turned an ordinary Monday evening meal into something more lovely. The company was quite lovely too. One doesn’t have to travel far to find something new, one simply has to be open to discovery.

      Last year I opted out of drinking alcohol a few months. That was its own discovery as I learned to move through days and weeks without so much as a sip. Mostly I learned that I didn’t miss it much when I opted out, I just shifted my attention to what was there to be discovered instead of the next bottle of wine or the latest IPA from the local brewer. One thing you discover is how much less you spend on the tab when you aren’t drinking. When I eventually went back to a glass of wine, I savored it without having craved it. A good sign I suppose.

      I’ve come to savor a cold glass of water for all that it offers. The body celebrates that cold glass of water far more than it does that glass of wine. The wine is for the soul, and ought to be consumed in an appropriate ratio. When ordering a drink, consider what experience am I trying to achieve with this order? We can discover a lot about ourselves in that moment.

      The key to any discovery is not just to being aware, but to turning away from our routine and beliefs that we may gain a new perspective. Sometimes that’s done far from home, but sometimes it’s simply in how we make dinner on a Monday night. Wherever we are, we ought to be fully there. So what will make today altogether unique from yesterday? That is today’s new mission, should we dare to be a little different.