Alexandersmap

    Category: Poetry

    • Calibrating for Greatness

      “If you make the choice of reading classic literature every day for a year, rather than reading the news, by the end of that time period you’ll have a more honed sensitivity for recognizing greatness from the books than from the media.
      This applies to every choice we make. Not just with art, but with the friends we choose, the conversations we have, even the thoughts we reflect on. All of these aspects affect our ability to distinguish good from very good, very good from great. They help us determine what’s worthy of our time and attention…
      The objective is not to learn to mimic greatness, but to calibrate our internal meter for greatness. So we can better make the thousands of choices that might ultimately lead to our own great work.” — Rick Rubin, The Creative Act: A Way of Being

      We have the opportunity to do something with our lives. We may reach closer to personal excellence (arete) and achieve that which we’d only imagined. Arete looks different for each of us, but we know when we see a glimmer of it in those who rise to meet it. And it stands to reason that if we wish to get closer to personal excellence ourselves, we must also rise to meet greatness where it resides. We must climb beyond where we’ve been and work towards it.

      I have some exceptional people in my life who are currently outraged by the things happening in the United States. I grow quiet when they talk about it, not because I’m not also outraged, but because focusing on the worst in others takes our focus away from our own climb to greater things. It recalibrates us for outrage.

      The point isn’t to ignore it all and just let it fester, it’s to grow into one’s own potential. We are what we focus on the most. We mustn’t be dragged down by putrefaction and the strategic dismantling of our higher collective vision. We are builders of greatness—don’t ever lose sight of that. We must take to the heights, now more than ever.

      The heights by great men reached and kept
      Were not attained by sudden flight,
      But they, while their companions slept,
      Were toiling upward in the night.
      — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, The Ladder of St. Augustine

      This is a time in our lives when we may achieve greatly, whatever that means for us. The world is more frustrating than ever, but it’s always been so. In our darkest days of human history, those who would reach for personal excellence found a way to climb. And so too must we in our time.

      Climbing requires energy and a level of focus that comes from inspiration. We are what we repeatedly do, and surely we are also what we repeatedly consume. To actualize excellence, to bring it into existence within ourselves and our work, we must develop a taste for it. Nurture a deep hunger to do more with our brief time before it all goes away. We may find excellence throughout human history, including today. There it all is, hiding in plain sight: we must simply lift our gaze to find it. Having seen it in others and in their contribution, we may then climb to meet it ourselves.

    • Where We Are, Where We Are Going

      Into my heart an air that kills
      From yon far country blows:
      What are those blue remembered hills,
      What spires, what farms are those?

      That is the land of lost content,
      I see it shining plain,
      The happy highways where I went
      And cannot come again
      — A. E. Housman      , A Shropshire Lad, XL

      We all get a little sentimental at times, remembering our days gone by. Youthful vigor and adventures, friends and family long gone but not forgotten, and a sense of place forever locked in the amber of that particular moment. We shall never pass that way again, yet we revisit it often in our memories. And so it must be.

      I believe most of the troubles we have in the world today are related to people wanting to return to some notion of what life used to be like back in the good old days. Instead of making the most of now, instead of working towards a dream of a better tomorrow, people dwell on who they once were. Like a time machine taking us back to see the best in us, and to fix the things that didn’t go our way.

      I remember who I once was—nice enough guy but he didn’t know a damned thing about life yet. He didn’t realize the opportunities he was missing out on. And maybe that’s what people believe they can fix by living in the past. All of it brought us here, to who we are, to where we are. The good, bad and the ugly all contributed to this: our identity. Magnify that by billions of restless souls and we arrive at this particularly baffling time in our collective history.

      Where we went matters a great deal as it brought us here. Wake up and look around, for this is where we are! This is our time, not back then. And time is flying rapidly by, waiting for us to step into living again instead of looking back at who we once were. Be bold today! Where are we going? Work to realize the opportunities we’d miss out on now if we don’t leap. Create the moments that will be fond memories themselves one day. If we aren’t so busy living the dream of tomorrow when we get there.

    • Virgin Snow

      “Every single thing you do today is something that your 90-year-old self will wish they could go back and do.
      The good old days are happening right now.”
      — Sahil Bloom

      Overnight snow is the best kind of snow. It’s like Christmas morning with its big reveal at first light. With it, we may think in terms of chores or play. Either way, it won’t be here forever. We must always remember that neither will we.

      Snow removal completed on the home front, sun offering a brilliant day that felt warmer than it really was, I read the timely Thread above from Sahil Bloom and it reinforced what I knew I had to do. Really, I’d been thinking it all morning. Get out there in it! Find some virgin snow and glide across it with all the vigor one can muster. For we may never cross this way again.

      Snowshoeing on local trails can be thrilling or discouraging, depending on the condition of the trail and the snowshoer. It didn’t start off well, with a dog walker arriving just ahead of me post-holing the trail where the snowshoers before me had been. Adding insult to injury, the dog walker didn’t clean up her dog’s poop, dropped right next to the trail. That’s no way to go through life, I thought to myself. But walkers in deep snow are quickly overtaken; I nodded hello, said hi to the pup and kept my feelings to myself. I was here for something more essential than policing other people’s behavior. I was here to fly.

      The main trail had already seen visitors, and I did my part to compress the trail further—a gift for those who would follow without snowshoes. Eventually I reached an intersection where the snowshoer before me had gone left, while the side trail to the right was virgin snow extending on through the trees for as far as my eyes could see. The choice was clear.

      Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
      I took the one less traveled by,
      And that has made all the difference.
      — Robert Frost, The Road Not Taken

      I know these woods well. I know where the waterfalls lie smothered under ice and snow, where granite outcroppings and hemlocks form a cathedral as beautiful as anything made by man. Snow transforms the landscape and forces one to learn it anew. If the trail had been broken I might have strayed further afield, but I felt an obligation to guide those who would follow my tracks. Stay on trail to show the way, and I may stray another day.

      I tend to think in time buckets now. What might I do now that I won’t be able to do later in life, when I’m old and frail? Do that thing now and celebrate the gift of health and vigor. Maybe one day we will regret not watching others live their best lives while we sat on the sidelines, but I think not. This is our time too. What are we to do but make the most of this day?

      Virgin snow with a worn, familiar trail revealed underneath
      Out and back trail compression

    • I Cannot Miss My Way

      The earth is all before me. With a heart
      Joyous, nor scared at its own liberty,
      I look about; and should the chosen guide
      Be nothing better than a wandering cloud,
      I cannot miss my way. I breathe again!
      ― William Wordsworth, The Prelude

      I aspire to be what Ayn Rand described as “a man with an immense capacity for the enjoyment of existence.” I’m long past apologizing for this aspiration, and I’ve learned not to tolerate those who would suggest that I grow up and be as miserable as the person suggesting it. We cannot have it all, but we must not miss our way in this lifetime, for it is nothing but fleeting.

      We scurry through our days with so much accumulated responsibility. We must ask ourselves, is this my burden to carry? When the day is done, how much of it will be given to the work that whispers to us in the quiet moments? What verse are we writing today that is ours alone to write?

      We must rise above the melancholy of the masses and find our own way through the fog. Too many choose a purposeless existence. Too many settle for a life of subservience to the dreams of others. Look around! We may be poets, should we be so bold. We must not be afraid of our own liberty.

    • A Look and a Listen

      I want to leave to you,
      My grandchildren,
      This wren from Down,
      Its cotton-wool soul,
      Wire skeleton, feathers
      Apparently alive,
      Its tumultuous
      Aria in C or
      Whatever the key
      In which God exists.
      — Michael Longley, Another Wren

      I learned that Michael Longley has passed, and realized that I’ve never quoted a single poem by him in this blog. To do so now, after his death, is one way to keep his voice alive. But then, don’t all poets transcend the fragile timeline of life? We all ought to write more, as a gift to our own grandchildren and their children beyond.

      We get so angry at the world and the failings of mankind that we ignore the music playing in the background while we rant. It turns out to be quite beautiful when we return to stillness and hear it as if for the first time. We owe it to ourselves to discover the miracles hiding in plain sight. We become like the Marshall McLuhan analogy of fish in water, not realizing what they’re swimming in. Friends, we’re swimming in miracles. Have a look and a listen.

    • The View of Here

      Gratitude—is not the mention
      Of a Tenderness,
      But its still appreciation
      Out of Plumb of Speech.

      When the Sea return no Answer
      By the Line and Lead
      Proves it there’s no Sea, or rather
      A remoter Bed?
      — Emily Dickinson

      As I write this, my daughter has moved twice to put some distance between herself and the wildfires raging in Los Angeles. She is now thankfully in a safer place, but it was a stark reminder of just how fragile our days are. I read about people losing everything but what they carry with them and I look around and wonder what I’d grab on my way out the door should it happen here. The answer is both everything and nothing at all but the souls who orbit my world.

      It’s no surprise that this blogger leans into productivity and improvement. The question we must always ask ourselves is, towards what? Where is all the hustle and effort bringing us? When we read a book, is it for the simple pleasure of reading that book or are we trying to glean something out of it to help move the chains down the field? We ought to remember the simply pleasures in our march, and learn to savor the view of here.

      The things we are grateful for generally outweigh the things we find lacking in our lives, but humans have a way of focusing on the latter anyway. Constant, never-ending improvement is a blessing and a curse, for this march to personal excellence means we’re rarely satisfied with where we are. Simply taking stock of all that we have already clarifies exactly how deep our blessings run. We don’t need a crisis to clarify, we simply need to stop forever chasing the promise of potential to swim in the abundant depth of here and now.

    • Like Wind Blowing

      “Things don’t have purposes, as if the universe were a machine, where every part has a useful function. What’s the function of a galaxy? I don’t know if our life has a purpose and I don’t see that it matters. What does matter is that we’re a part. Like a thread in a cloth or a grass-blade in a field. It is and we are. What we do is like wind blowing on the grass.” — Ursula K. Le Guin

      It is and we are. What matters is we’re a part. We need not make sense of it all, for who can possibly know? What matters is that we are playing our part in the universe in our time.

      This echoes of Walt Whitman’s famous answer in O Me! O Life! which will always be read with the voice of Robin Williams in my head:

      “That you are here—that life exists and identity,
      That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.”

      Some of us forever dwell on the why. Some descend into nihilism, as if a why matters a lick, for existence itself is folly. And some simply get straight to work, believing action creates a why. The only thing we control is our reaction to the world we find ourselves dropped into. What do we find when we break down the word reaction? Google AI to the podium:

      “The Latin word reāctiō is the origin of both the Old French and Middle English words, which comes from the verb reagō. Reagō is made up of the prefix re- meaning ‘again’ and the word agō meaning ‘to act’.”

      To act again. Like wind blowing through the grass, we stir meaning out of the inanimate and create a life for ourselves. This is what it means to be alive. To play a part infers action, for which we must boldly embrace our agency. Life has purpose or it’s meaningless—we play a part in determining which it will be. Who says we can’t make our part a thrilling page-turner?

    • Forever Our Measure

      Forever – is composed of Nows –
      ‘Tis not a different time –
      Except for Infiniteness –
      And Latitude of Home –

      From this – experienced Here –
      Remove the Dates – to These –
      Let Months dissolve in further Months –
      And Years – exhale in Years –

      Without Debate – or Pause –
      Or Celebrated Days –
      No different Our Years would be
      From Anno Dominies –
      — Emily Dickinson, Forever

      The last few days of the year are upon us. Honestly I’ve felt the days a blur for months. Even now the rush to fit it all in before the year is over weighs on me. Another year almost in the books—doesn’t it all fly right by? We know that the calendar was created to organize our lives around our place in the heavens, with a trip around the sun marking the year, the turn of the planet marking the day, and so on. But I’m convinced it was really created to remind us that we can’t possibly fit everything we want to do in to the time allotted to us.

      Is it any wonder we turn our attention to time and our place in it as we approach the New Year? How did those resolutions turn out? I’m a couple of posts away from blogging every day of the year, but ten books short of a reading goal I’d set for myself. Is such scorekeeping necessary to live a life of purpose and excellence? Of course not. Like the calendar itself it’s merely a tool for keeping us on track. We all want to see progress for ourselves in whatever pursuit matters most for us.

      Knowing our place in history and our short shelf life available with which to work creates a burden to perform. As the year ends, we either like how we measure up or we don’t. The time has slipped away in any case. But we have this new calendar year just ahead, calling our attention. A new hope, if you will, to make things right. But we lucky humans don’t live a lifetime in a year—we bridge years. The way we keep score ought to be measured in progress across our entire lifespan. Personal excellence is always and forever our measure. Now is our time.

    • The Side of Good

      When we fight with our failings, we ignore
      the entrance to the shrine itself and wrestle
      with the guardian, fierce figure on the side of good.
      — David Whyte, The Faces of Braga

      I have work to do. I’ve promised myself I’d row every day this month to counter the accumulating calories of the holidays. It’s the 23rd day of December and that promise mocks me like all the broken promises I’ve made before. When you break a promise to yourself the dark mind piles on, bringing up other promises unkept. We are our own worst critic, as the saying goes. We tell others that nobody is perfect while beating ourselves up every time we fall short.

      Still, we are good despite our failings, and better at some things than we were yesterday. We are each on our climb to personal excellence. Nobody said this would be easy, friend. Like the trail to a mountain summit, we must remind ourselves that the path is never straight, often descends and turns away from the goal, but will always carry us to our destination if we just put one foot in front of the other and stick with the path that brings us there.

      Our aim isn’t that evasive perfection but a good life, full of meaning and contribution and direction. Washboard abs might bring some of us happiness, but chances are if our habits aren’t supporting those abs it isn’t a summit we really want to climb. The secret of life is enjoying the passage of time, as James Taylor put it. Being fit is certainly going to make our passage easier to navigate, but we mustn’t forget that the secret is the enjoying part. Sure, the rowing hasn’t been there, but the walking has, and presence with people who matter a great deal. We all have our collection of daily wins and shortcomings. Which way the scale tips is often a matter of perspective.

    • Stepping Into Change

      So let this winter
      of listening
      be enough
      for the new life
      I must call my own.
      — David Whyte, The Winter of Listening

      I met a friend for a pint yesterday. It turned into a small pub crawl between two breweries as the crisp air filled with swirling snow. We talked of the familiar and the forever changing as the snow accumulated and the town roads clogged with drivers uncertain about what to do when the world turns white again. With a nod to the familiar we needed to return to, we cut our reunion short and joined the other drivers while our heads were still clear enough to join the fray.

      Snowflakes melt on the back of my neck as I moved the brush around the truck, feeling my footing on snowy concrete with the anticipation of slippery roads. Like any skill that’s been dormant for some time, walking and driving on icy roads is muscle memory. It all comes back quickly, we just need to take it slowly while the rust clears. We’ve been together before, the winter whispers reassuringly, and sure enough one tentative step brings us to the next and soon we’re safely home again.

      December often hints at changes to come in our lives. Mine is no exception; change has whispered in my ear for months. When the world starts swirling with the forever changing, we may carry the reassurance of having been here before. The landscape may change in disorienting ways, but we’ve developed the skills to navigate this new world safely on our journey of becoming. Keep a clear head and listen for what whispers. Stepping into change is nothing new for us.