Alexandersmap

    Category: Personal Growth

    • Travel and Writing

      Vacations end. There’s no getting around that. But there’s value in resuming the life you’ve built for yourself at home. This morning I’m dining at a lovely breakfast buffet in London, tonight I’ll assess the empty pantry we left behind. But full instead on recent memories. That’s a fair trade.

      The hard part of writing when you travel is carving out meaningful time to do it well. For me early morning was my salvation. The easy part is having a treasure chest of material to write about. Embarrassment of riches? Most definitely. Doesn’t get much richer than London and Scotland (but I’ll surely test that in the coming years).

      Travel and writing pair well. No revelation there. Not all travel is created equal, and this trip provided a wonderful shock to the apathy of the everyday. I try to stop and smell the roses wherever I am, but sometimes you’ve got to step into a new garden to see how they tend things elsewhere. And as I head back to my own backyard, I’ll tap into these memories again and again.

    • The Birdman of Stirling Castle

      You see Stirling Castle long before you get to it. Perched high on a chunk of volcanic intrusive rock at the strategic point where the River Forth widens, offering the last downstream crossing between the Highlands and the Lowlands of Scotland. You couldn’t pick a more strategic spot for a castle, and the sheer cliffs made it impossible to breach from any side but the heavily-defended front. There were eight significant sieges on the castle, the last (unsuccessfully) by Bonnie Prince Charlie.

      Mary, Queen of Scots was crowned here. That’s a story many know. Lesser known but certainly noteworthy was the life of John Damian, resident alchemist for King James IV, who boldly declared that he would fly to France in a flying rig he created that looked like a chicken suit. Damian brought the court out to the Ladies Lookout, which offered one of the steepest drops. He flapped his wings, stepped off the edge and… promptly plummeted. He would have died right then had it not been for the large pile of chamber pot remnants. Instead the mound of muck cushioned his landing just enough that he got out of it with a broken leg and wounded pride. And on the bright side, a bit of immortality.

      Glancing over the wall where Damian made his flight, its hard for me to imagine him taking that leap into the abyss. But that demonstrates the power of convictions. Sometimes they work in your favor, sometimes they leave you covered in feathers and crap with everyone you know laughing at you. There’s nothing wrong with taking the leap, but maybe limit your downside first.

    • Live Awakened

      The book Awakening begins with a foreword by Francis J Stroud, relaying a story the author of the book used to tell when he was alive:

      “A man found an eagle’s egg and put it in a nest of a barnyard hen. The eaglet hatched with the brood of chicks and grew up with them. All his life the eagle did what the barnyard chicks did, thinking he was a barnyard chicken. He scratched the earth for worms and insects. He clucked and cackled. And he would thrash his wings and fly a few feet into the air. Years passed and the eagle grew very old. One day he saw a magnificent bird above him in the cloudless sky. It glided in graceful majesty among the powerful wind currents, with scarcely a beat of its strong golden wings. The old eagle looked up in awe. “Who’s that?” he asked. “That’s the eagle, the king of the birds,” said his neighbor. “He belongs to the sky. We belong to the earth—we’re chickens.” So the eagle lived and died a chicken, for that’s what he thought he was.” – Anthony De Mello

      Today I’m walking all around Edinburgh, feeling quite awake. Yesterday I came across Memento mori at Greyfriars Cemetery and smiled at the sight of this familiar reminder that life is short. Learn who you really are and live a larger life. The rest will take care of itself.

    • The Vivacious Many

      There’s more to do, surely, before we go. But enough is enough. Lists are checked and then confirmed again. Having set one bird to fly it’s time to fly again myself. And I’m ready.

      “Who can guess the impatience of stone longing to be ground down, to be part again of something livelier?” – Mary Oliver, The Moth, The Mountains, The Rivers

      I understand…  As much as I embrace the daily ritual of routine; the obligations of family and work and making sure the recycling is put neatly into a rolling bin on the edge of the road, I’m ready.  I’m ready for the speed dating bucket list items knocked off in succession, of conceding to wait in line for the obligatory went-there but then rewarding myself by lingering a bit longer in a few remote corners I’d never heard of before stumbling upon them. Shifting a car with my left hand.  Reflecting on alchemy in a distillery or two along the way.  Feeling the pulse of London and the weight of Edinburgh. The remote chance of an Aurora Borealis sighting in Skye or Speyside.  A pilgrimage to Abbey Road and Quiraing and Pennan. These precious few have been unchecked for way too long.

      “And I suggest them to you also, that your spirit grow in curiosity, that your life be richer than it is, that you bow to the earth as you feel how it actually is, that we—so clever, and ambitious, and selfish, and unrestrained—are only one design of the moving, the vivacious many.” – Mary Oliver, The Moth, The Mountains, The Rivers

      The world calls.  Let other voices try to shout it down.  Tonight we fly.

    • The Great Conversation

      I’m bouncing again, book-to-book, pulling this book off the shelf, scanning over that sentence on the Kindle app, and stacking the pile higher. It’s funny how one thing sparks another thing, it’s what Robert Maynard Hutchins called The Great Conversation, written work building on written work, theory built on theory, across time, but shrunken down to just the books in my personal library. Each offering a little something to keep the imagination abuzz. This morning’s great conversation started with a little stoicism:

      “What’s the meaning of life? Why was I born? Most of us struggle with these questions—sometimes when we’re young, sometimes not until we’re older. Rarely do we find much in the way of direction. But that’s simply because we miss the point. As Viktor Frankl points out in Man’s Search for Meaning , it is not our question to ask. Instead, it is we who are being asked the question. It’s our lives that are the answer.” – Ryan Holiday, The Daily Stoic

      That led me right to the source, and I pulled Frankl’s classic off the shelf for additional perspective:

      “It did not really matter what we expected from life, but rather what life expected from us. We needed to stop asking about the meaning of life, and instead to think of ourselves as those who were being questioned by life – daily and hourly. Our answer must consist, not in talk and meditation, but in right action and in right conduct. Life ultimately means taking the responsibility to find the right answer to its problems and fulfill the tasks which it constantly sets for each individual.” – Viktor Frankl, Man’s Search For Meaning

      Outside I hear the telltale roar of hot air balloon burners. It breaks my focus and I walk outside barefoot to look for the familiar visitors, but all I hear is them announcing “we’re close”. Bare feet quickly turn cold on the pool deck and I move back inside. Shoes are one of our best inventions as a species, but we miss so much information about our environment that is telegraphed through our bare feet (today’s telegraph: put some shoes on you fool, that’s what they were invented for). I glance outside and spot the yellow top of smiley face balloon over the trees and, seeing its landing elsewhere, give a nod of welcome and get back inside to the great conversation. Life is calling, but I have a few things to mull over first.

      “Well, what are you? What is it about you that you have always known as yourself? What are you conscious of in yourself: your kidneys, your liver, your blood vessels? No. However far back you go in your memory it is always some external manifestation of yourself where you came across your identity: in the work of your hands, in your family, in other people. And now, listen carefully. You in others – this is what you are, this is what your consciousness has breathed, and lived on, and enjoyed throughout your life, your soul, your immortality – your life in others.” – Boris Pasternak, Doctor Zhivago

      I read that passage for the first time in 1989, the year I graduated from college, not in Doctor Zhivago, but as a quote from a book by Warren Bennis called On Becoming a Leader. This book, along with Frankl and more recently Holiday’s books, can be thought of as stepping stones in the stream of life, there for me when I needed a solid footing on my way across. And they’re also voices at the table, part of the great conversation happening still. There are hundreds of voices at that table: authors, poets, songwriters, coaches, family and friends. All voices in that great conversation, ripples across time, influencing me in ways subtle and profound. And you’re at the table too. Welcome.

    • Leap

      I was contemplating the Erie Canal on a walk early this morning and thinking about whether there were fish in it.  And to answer one jumped out of the water and splashed down in a ring of ripples.  And I thanked the fish for clearing that up for me.  Then it occurred to me; Most fish don’t jump out of the water, only a few do.  If all fish jumped out of the water the surface would look like a pot of boiling water.  Instead it’s an event.  And I wondered, why wouldn’t all fish jump out of the water to see what’s on the other side?  Because most fish are content with the environment they’re in and don’t care to know what’s “out there”.

      People are like fish in that way.  Most just swim along blissfully unconcerned about the state of the world outside their pond.  But the bold few make the leap, breaking the surface tension for the glorious freedom just beyond their comfort zone and make a bigger ripple in their moment.

      I’m watching some people in my life take bold leaps, and I’m thrilled for them.  There’s nothing wrong with the pond, after all that’s what keeps you alive, but seeing the world beyond seems worth a leap now and then. Go make a big ring of ripples. I’ll do the same.

    • In the Moment

      “Ask yourself at every moment, ‘Is this necessary?’” – Marcus Aurelius

      There are times when I read a page in a book and realize as I reach the end that my mind didn’t make the journey with my eyes. My mind will race along with thoughts of urgency of my own design, distractions of this, that and the other thing. Am I not in a place to be reading these words at this time? Sometimes closing the book and addressing the pressing thoughts is the answer, but other times the answer is to take a deep breath, push aside the noise and refocus the mind. In an inner dialogue version of I’ll turn this car around right now! I tell myself I’m here for this page, and you might as well stick with this, mind of mine.

      I understand why my mind is racing. I have upcoming trips to New York, London and Scotland the next three weeks. Logistics, meeting preparation, and ensuring what I’ll leave behind doesn’t fall apart in my absence consumes me as I read about, of all things, stillness. They say when the student is ready the teacher will appear… in this case the teacher is patiently standing over my desk while the other students giggle and I jolt awake from a daydream.

      We live in a noisy, demanding world, and it feels like your brain is like the close-up shot of the crowd in a tennis match, following the ball this way, then that way, then “Ooohh!” followed by “Woah!” and so on. The next three weeks are pulsing in my thoughts, but I know I’m getting ahead of myself. There was a moment yesterday when I contemplated packing my bag for anticipated Isle of Skye November weather when I caught myself, thinking I’m going to need that bag for a business trip to Rochester, New York beginning tomorrow. Plan for the future, but please, focus on now!

      Which brings me back to… now. I’ve set aside reading Stillness Is The Key to write this blog post. The list of things to do between now and the end of November is expanding rapidly, if only in my mind. I follow the Getting Things Done approach and write it down to get it out of my head, and something else pops up and I write that down in turn. Such is the power of anticipation, but that teacher is standing over my desk again, and I look up slowly from my scattered mindscape to hear her remind me “There’s only now“. Be in the moment. Now: This Sunday in New Hampshire, surrounded by golden leaves lit by morning sun; leaves that will be piled on the ground when you return in three weeks. Make the most of this moment, won’t you? Tomorrow will be there waiting if you should get there.

    • Writing Illuminates

      October 7th and there’s no escaping it now. The morning concedes more and more of herself to the greedy darkness. Darkness, not satiated, comes back for more sooner and sooner each afternoon. The days are more beautiful than ever this time of year in New Hampshire, there’s just less time in the day to enjoy it all.

      The available light changes routine. No going outside to read in the still morning light now. Instead I find myself huddled inside during the magic hour. This won’t do at all. Perhaps a brisk morning walk outside would serve me better, with reading later? But thoughts of work encroach the later in the morning it gets, and by 7 AM there’s no escaping the feeling that the jig is up. Daylight brings responsibility, there’s no more buffer when the earth turns a cold shoulder to the sun.

      Still, there’s beauty in darkness. That old huntsman Orion greeted me in all his glory over the weekend. He’s tired of playing hide and seek with the Northern Hemisphere. And I delighted in greeting him once again. True, the Autumnal Equinox makes stargazing more accessible. There’s that. Take what the day brings you, that’s the answer isn’t it?

      Darkness grudgingly concedes the day, and I must be moving on. Writing calls, but so does the day job. The endless wrestling match between creative output and economic responsibilities. One voice tends to dominate the conversation. So what’s a writer to do? The answer, it seems, is to get up even earlier tomorrow. More time alone in the darkness, though not in the dark. Writing… illuminates.

    • Let the Clamor Be

      Wednesday afternoon I found myself in a customer’s Audi driving to lunch. His customer in turn was also in the car (my role being “vendor”). The 15 minutes spent in the car was spent listening to the driver’s pro-Trump diatribe on the impeachment investigation and his firm belief that anything he said would result in strong nods of agreement from the two passengers in his car. He didn’t notice that neither of us said anything. I don’t know the political views of the end user, but I do know mine. More importantly, neither of them know my political views. I happen to have strong views on this topic, but those views had no place in a business meeting. Aside from lack of professionalism, it’s unnecessary noise that distracts from purpose. Me jumping in on this topic would have created more rather than relieved tension.

      “Learn to stop trying to fix things, to stop being so preoccupied with trying to control one’s experience of the world, to give up trying to replace unpleasant thoughts and emotions with more pleasant ones, and to see that, through dropping the ‘pursuit of happiness’ a more profound peace will result.” – Oliver Burkeman, The Antidote: Happiness for People Who Can’t Stand Positive Thinking

      I’m not seeking “happiness” (that’s akin to playing Whac-A-Mole) but I do have a fair amount of restlessness I work through. So it’s interesting if only to me when two books arrive at the top of my stack of real and virtual books at the same time. Burkeman’s and Ryan Holiday’s latest, Stillness is the Key. Both tackle similar ground – with focus on the value of Stoicism in particular, but common themes in Buddhism and (in Holiday’s book), other world religions and philosophies.

      Burkeman throws out a nugget in his book that struck me as profound: “Let the Clamour be.”  In American English we’d spell that ‘clamor’.  But no matter, the point is made.  I’ve worked on that for years, sometimes successfully, sometimes not so.  What I don’t do is actively meditate.  I take my meditation in turning off the noise and doing yardwork, or gardening, washing dishes or simply taking a quiet walk.  Am I missing out on something significant by not meditating?  Probably, but I feel better about myself for getting something done while I’m in my mind.

      Which brings me to the acorns.  I’ve got 10’s of thousands of them sitting on my front lawn right now, just waiting for me to rake them up.  Just me, a rake, shovel and barrel, and endless acorns.  I can feel the stillness already.

    • Sustained Attention

      I was listening to a Tim Ferriss podcast interview of Ken Burns during a long drive to New York This morning, and pulled out some gems. I strongly recommend this interview if you’re a creative type, history buff or, well, human. Two quotes in particular jumped out at me:

      “All real meaning accrue[s] in duration… that the work we’re proudest of… that the relationships you care the most about have benefited from sustained attention.” – Ken Burns

      Great work takes sustained effort. Being in it for the long haul matters. Creating meaningful long form content in a sound bite world matters. So do the work that matters the most and grow your audience both organically and incrementally. Nothing meaningful is created easily.

      “Wake the dead.” – Ken Burns (quoting words his father-in-law said to him)

      This phrase jolted me, as I think I’m doing that on s much (much) smaller scale than Burns. Stories bring the dead back to life, and gives the writer a bit of immortality too (paraphrasing Burns again there). In highlighting the lives of others we’re also highlighting something of ourselves.