Alexandersmap

    Category: Discovery

    • Directional Intent

      “What’s in store for me in the direction I don’t take?” — Jack Kerouac, The Subterraneans

      Last week I had a Zoom call with a couple of guys I had locked in the amber of Amherst, 1994, when I coached them both to a successful conclusion to their rowing careers. They graduated, I moved to another life that I’m still living, and we hadn’t spoken in 32 years. We’ve each gone our ways, and yet forged a bond that reverberated all these years later. That year changed everything about me, and was the foundation of all that has followed.

      It’s easy to look back on crossroads and wonder about the road not taken. Would it have made a difference had we gone in that direction instead of this? No doubt, but have a look around at all that’s surrounded us on this journey. A full, happy life begins with gratitude for the abundance of here and now.

      “The good life is a process, not a state of being. It is a direction not a destination.” — Carl Rogers

      I smile to myself at people who push me to change for change’s sake. Those helpful souls who want me to work harder, or retire immediately while I’m “young”, or some such change of direction. As if their direction is mine because they wish it to be so. The only direction that matters is moving towards the person we wish to become. Bold leaps are lovely things to behold, but most of life is subtle shifts in our course towards better.

      Subtle can feel like drifting if we aren’t paying attention—savoring the best of now, wherever we are. That old expression, this too shall pass isn’t just about surviving the challenging times in life, it’s about reminding ourselves that it’s all passing by so very quickly, so pay attention and celebrate all that is, even as we look towards all that may be.

      Some years stand out as milestone years. Looking back and wondering who we might have been had we simply continued on a different path may make us consider what we missed in that direction, or it may make us realize that the path we’ve taken has offered plenty. Our directional intent brought us here, and will eventually bring us there (wherever that is). Turns out today is our crossroads, always. All milestones start from here. The magic isn’t in believing it to be so, but in witnessing it all unfold from here.

    • Fully Alive

      We slip in and out of rituals and routines. Like most people, I’d become dissatisfied with some of the things that used to wrap around me and call themselves a part of me. And I’ve grown equally dissatisfied for having let some good habits slip away. As with everything, it all depends on where we’re heading.

      The right routine, the right ritual, brings us closer to Arete (personal excellence). The wrong routines and rituals slide us sideways into the abyss. In this way, habits, routines and rituals are a very serious thing indeed.

      We have this one life to live, wherever it’s taking us. We tell ourselves that we don’t have time to waste on laziness and lack of focus. But is it laziness to focus on something other than a relentless drive to a goal? Consider a favorite poem:

      Oh do you have time
      to linger
      for just a little while
      out of your busy

      and very important day
      for the goldfinches
      that have gathered
      in a field of thistles

      for a musical battle,
      to see who can sing
      the highest note,
      or the lowest,

      or the most expressive of mirth,
      or the most tender?
      Their strong, blunt beaks
      drink the air

      as they strive
      melodiously
      not for your sake
      and not for mine

      and not for the sake of winning
      but for sheer delight and gratitude—
      believe us, they say,
      it is a serious thing

      just to be alive
      on this fresh morning
      in the broken world.
      I beg of you,

      do not walk by
      without pausing
      to attend to this
      rather ridiculous performance.

      It could mean something.
      It could mean everything.
      It could be what Rilke meant, when he wrote:
      You must change your life.
      — Mary Oliver, Invitation

      When this day ends, as it inevitably will, what will we have done with it? Pursuit of a clear objective is a worthy goal, but so too is the bold act of simply being alive and aware of the delightful moment we find ourselves in. The trick, I think, is to follow the path but to take off the blinders. Not to succumb to distraction but rather to savor more of the flavor of the day. We are here, this is it, do we see all that is possible in this pregnant moment? Be delighted, be grateful, and above all else, be fully alive.

    • The Resonance of the Ritual

      I have dreamed
      of accomplishment.
      I have fed

      ambition.
      I have traded
      nights of sleep

      for a length of work.
      Lo, and I have discovered
      how soft bloom

      turns to green fruit
      which turns to sweet fruit.
      Lo, and I have discovered

      all winds blow cold
      at last,
      and the leaves,

      so pretty, so many,
      vanish
      in the great, black

      packet of time,
      in the great, black
      packet of ambition,

      and the ripeness
      of the apple
      is its downfall.
      — Mary Oliver, The Orchard

      I spoke with an old friend this week about sailing and song. As sailors in my circle of friends tend to do, he lectured me on working too long into life, and did the quick math on life after work. So many pretty leaves, vanished in our time. And what lesson does it offer for us? We ripen so quickly, don’t we?

      I’m writing less, which means I’m publishing fewer blogs. Yet I’m living a fully aware, active life. We reach a point where the length of work is less important than the resonance of the ritual. In a world that is upside down, we find meaning in the little things stacked together just so. The aim hasn’t always been awareness, but surely it is now.

      Consider what we will never do in a lifetime. The list is far longer than the things we will do. There’s a restlessness that stokes a fire in us, pushing us to do more and still more with the time we have. If we’re lucky and aware, we learn what to leave behind as not for us. People, jobs, projects and places all recede from possible to probably not. We are forever reconciling our probably nots.

      Rather than dwell on probably nots, there is joyfulness to be found in the ritual of what we’ve said yes to. Each day is a dance with yes. It becomes less about filling bucket lists and more about more of this, please. The time will still fly by relentlessly, but the hours are measured in what we bring to the world.

    • The Path Becomes Clear

      “In the end, it is important to remember that we cannot become what we need to be, by remaining what we are.” — Max De Pree, Leadership Is an Art

      A couple of weeks ago in Paris, my bride and I were taking the Metro after a night around the city back to our hotel. We’d done this ride enough in our few days in Paris to have a clear idea of direction. But something unexpected happened; we stopped at a station and everyone was told to get off. The line was shut down because of an incident one stop away, which was exactly where we were heading to make a connection.

      Most people simply started walking, either to another line for an end-around, or got out of the Metro altogether to walk, Uber or attempt a taxi (no easy task with hundreds of people trying the same thing). One young man sat stubbornly in his seat, arguing with the Metro officers insisting he get off. What are we to do in such moments? Start with a map, or nowadays, an app, to show the way.

      Take the average of this blog and you may find it’s largely focused on the act of becoming what’s next. Decide what to be and go be it, as The Avett Brothers put it (so often quoted in this blog). Well, what happens when we arrive at what we wanted to be? Or just as often, what happens when the universe denies us the path we were on to reaching that place? We pivot and decide on what to do next.

      We are attracted to moving water over stagnated water because we intuitively know which is better for us. To be like water, fluid and forever transforming as life rolls on, is a path to avoid stagnation and more, to thrive. We are forever pulled in different directions. The needs of others in our lives are one pull. The current and future needs of ourselves is another. Work or other pursuits are right there pulling too. Write the book? Buy the boat? Move across town or to another country? Retire or work to the end of our days? So many choices, so precious little time to do it all. No wonder so many simply stay right where they are.

      We need a good compass in such moments. We need to stop talking so much and listen. The right way is calling, waiting for someone to pick up. That someone is us, buckaroo. Just what are we waiting for? Where to next? Calm down and have a look at what needs to be done next. The path out of confusion is always one step at a time.

      That night in Paris, we saw that the answer was to walk 20 minutes to a station where we could get directly on the Metro line we needed to be on to get back to our hotel. Every taxi had a red light. The Uber pickup area was jammed. Walking was our answer. So we walked with a gradually thinning crowd as each individual’s path became clear to them. We all have our path beyond the confusion of the moment. Sometimes we just have to pause a beat to see it and go be it.

    • Old Men Ought to be Explorers

      Old men ought to be explorers
      Here or there does not matter
      We must be still and still moving
      Into another intensity
      — T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets: East Coker

      Not old. Not yet anyway. But oh my, we’re getting there. And so there is a calling to do more with the time available. To become more in the process of doing. Old men ought to be explorers.

      I’m publishing less often these days. Consider it a sabbatical of sorts, with an abundance of other things to focus on. I enjoy the process enough to suggest that I’ll be back again. With the level of surety of one who knows the fragility of promises.

      To return means to first venture somewhere. To be and see and do that which transforms us in meaningful ways into a greater version of our selves. Returns, like tomorrows, are never promised, but they’re suggested. I would suggest that this blog, founded on the idea of travel and history, poetry and song, will return again with something more to say.

      But first, there’s this matter of moving into another intensity.

    • Just Passing By

      “Hoping to live days of greater happiness, I forget that days of less happiness are passing by.” — Elizabeth Bishop

      The lilacs are almost past. A couple of unusually hot days sent them on their way. They’re on the path to just a memory, like all of us, really. Were it only possible that we all smelled as good in our dance with daylight. Alas, we each bloom in our own way.

      Every word I type delays the inevitable. There’s yard work to be done, and looking around, there aren’t a lot of volunteers lined up for it. It looks like I’m at the front of the line. In fact, I am the line. The fact of the matter is, I like to work even as I grumble about it sometimes.

      It’s not just the work—there’s living to be done while doing it. Dreams of a better tomorrow waste the ripe potential of today. We’re all just passing by the moments one after the other. So have a look around, and don’t forget to smell the lilacs.

    • Full of Firsts

      We shall not cease from exploration
      And the end of all our exploring
      Will be to arrive where we started
      And know the place for the first time.
      — T.S. Eliot, “Little Gidding      “, Four Quartets

      There’s something in the air again (besides pollen). It stirs about and stirs within. The inclination to wander and discover what has not been experienced before grows. Spring is leading us to summer. Summer leads us to look beyond the familiar garden to the world beyond.

      This time of year has long carried the feeling of change in the air. School years are ending. University students are wrapping up finals and fleeing for faraway places schemed up in study halls. We may never pass this way again, but we surely won’t pass those other ways until we go there. Do go there—while we are young… or young enough.

      Looking back on previous adventures, we know we returned transformed. Go to Vienna or Rome or Edinburgh you cannot help but change. I listen to family and friends talk of adventures they’ve had on their own travels and see the place bubble up in their memories, energizing and provoking passion. I feel it within myself when I reflect on places I’ve been. The world is out there, ready to dance with us in our time. If we crawl out of our shell and get moving.

      Just what are we going to do with this opportunity to roam? Just what are we waiting for anyway? The world is full of firsts awaiting our arrival. This season, be bold and go to meet them.

    • Nobody but Yourself

      A poet is somebody who feels, and who expresses his feelings through words.

      This may sound easy. It isn’t.

      A lot of people think or believe or know they feel — but that’s thinking or believing or knowing; not feeling. And poetry is feeling — not knowing or believing or thinking.

      Almost anybody can learn to think or believe or know, but not a single human being can be taught to feel. Why? Because whenever you think or you believe or you know, you’re a lot of other people: but the moment you feel, you’re nobody-but-yourself.

      To be nobody-but-yourself — in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else — means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting.
      — e.e. cummings, “A Poet’s Advice to Students”

      To be ourself in a world that wants us to fall in line isn’t easy. After all, we are part of the tribe, the community, and the history of humanity. All that we see and encounter draws something out of us that we may not have felt otherwise. Just where is that line where the average of everyone else get crossed to simply, “ourself”? Remember in such moments this line in the quote above, “whenever you think or you believe or you know, you’re a lot of other people: but the moment you feel, you’re nobody-but-yourself.”

      To feel is the thing. Nobody else feels what we feel. Nobody else brings the whole of their experience together, stirs it about in their soul and exudes the identity that is us. Nobody but us. So it follows that we ought to be aware of what we’re feeling, not just what we’re hearing and seeing and reading. What we feel hints at who we are. Give that room to breathe and grow.

      Most of us don’t fancy ourselves poets. Yet we may live a poetic life full of heightened awareness of the self and all that surrounds and influences us. Poetry is feeling. To “squeeze the marrow out of life” as Henry David Thoreau put it, we must be fully aware and alive. Give life a squeeze. See how it feels. Learn and grow and become nobody else but yourself.

    • Do It

      “I am always doing that which I cannot do, in order that I may learn how to do it.” — Pablo Picasso

      We grow into ourselves by stretches and the occasional leap. Now some people leap all the time, and become known as either bold or reckless, depending on how they land. Most of us test the waters a bit, see if it makes sense to move in this new direction, and work our way there gradually. A few never leave the nest at all, choosing familiarity and comfort over reaching for their own potential.

      So what do we do with habits that work for us, when we know that to grow we must break patterns and try new things? Delay? Dabble? Dive right in? We’re each unique in our willingness to try new things by letting familiar old things go.

      I think the moment we ask ourselves if we ought to try something new, we ought to take the first step towards that new. And then the next. Venturing more and more into the unknown to discover something about it and ourselves that we felt was possible all along. As that character Yoda put it, “Do or do not. There is no try.” Learn as we go. Do it.

    • The Steady Ascent

      “The main reason to produce something every day is that you must throw away a lot of good work to reach the good stuff. To let it all go easily, you need to be convinced that there is ‘more where that came from’. You get that in steady production.”
      — Kevin Kelly, Excellent Advice for Living

      Amusement parks may have Lightning Pass lanes, and tourist attractions may have a “Skip the Line” scheme (there’s always a line, it’s just a little shorter), but the work that we produce in a lifetime has no such option. Getting to the good stuff isn’t accomplished without putting in the time.

      Sure, I hear the call of Artificial Intelligence (AI) filling the gap between apprenticeship and mastery. Maybe research and first drafts don’t have to be so tedious. But there are lessons in the grind, and the willing student reaches wisdom not found in AI efficiency.

      The Mona Lisa wasn’t painted in a couple of days. Leonardo da Vinci carried that portrait with him for the rest of his life, adding touches, refining the work, ignoring it and coming back to it. It was never really completed before he passed, it simply reached its final state of being. That state happens to be masterful; A pet project that became the most famous painting in the world.

      Writing every day is sometimes a grind, but it teaches and informs the writer. We may publish regularly or be forever polishing our master work. Unlike our friend da Vinci, we ought to ship our work regularly, that we may move on to something else. The good stuff is earned daily. The great stuff is just over the next rise, awaiting our ascent. If we keep climbing.