Alexandersmap

    Category: reading

    • Killing Follies

      “The overflow of my brain would probably in a state of freedom have evaporated in a thousand follies. It needs trouble and difficulty and danger to hollow out various mysteries and hidden mines of human intelligence. Pressure is required, you know, to ignite powder.” — Alexander Dumas, The Count of Monte Cristo

      Do you wish for a superpower? Learn to focus. Delete the app, turn off all notifications and put the phone away. This, I know, is an impossible ask in this day and age. We are all so very dependent on our phones (perhaps you’re reading this blog on it right now).

      Honestly, I struggle too, to eliminate a thousand follies. We are super-connected, after all. This should in itself be a superpower, but alas, it’s simply a series of distractions that keep us from diving deep into the well of thought and insight.

      How to focus?

      Go analog. Pick up a classic book like The Count of Monte Cristo, a thousand pages of “I’ll read that someday” deferment, and sequester yourself from all that would draw your attention away to immerse yourself in another world. You’ll be in good company. It’s impossible to know how many people have read this classic, but estimates run in the tens of millions over the almost two centuries since it was first published. Truly a novel that stands the test of time.

      Go for a walk. Leave the device behind and listen to the wind through the trees, or raindrops on leaves, or how wildlife reacts to your presence. Sometimes they go silent, sometimes they chirp a warning to others, sometimes they scurry away with a telltale rustle of leaves. To be present with in the wild is to be connected in the best possible way: no power cord required.

      Write. Journal or write a blog or a full novel if you want. The point is to listen deeply to what we harbor within and turn it out onto the page. All the AI mining in the world won’t duplicate what we find within, if we learn to listen to ourselves and find our own voice. To leave our verse unsaid is the ultimate betrayal to those who wish to hear it.

      Practice presence. Like Thich Nhat Hanh washing dishes relaxingly, we may be fully present with the task at hand. I try to practice this in the garden, walking the dog, commuting in traffic and standing in line at the grocery store. Sometimes I get it right, and sometimes I miss badly. Try again, I tell myself, and sometimes I do better the next time, or maybe the time after that. Presence is a lifetime practice. Be patient.

      The trick, I think, is to question everything that would draw our attention away from that which we desire to focus on the most. In order to do anything, we have to say no far more than yes. What will it be for you and me? We should kill off those follies as they try to steal away our attention. For we have bigger fish to fry.

    • Resonance and Depth

      “It goes without saying that a fine short poem can have the resonance and depth of an entire novel.” — James Wright

      Poems are like friends: find the right one and it will change your life. And like people we encounter throughout our lives, they serve as stepping stones between who we were prior to landing on one and who we become as we launch towards some other insightful plateau.

      So what is reading a great novel, if not more time with something of substance? Like a marriage that carries us on a journey of discovery? We may find a resounding truth in a few words, or one that unfolds over the course of a lifetime. A resolve towards discovery is the thing.

      I started reading The Count of Monte Cristo again. And in reading it, I came across a business card from a decade ago that I’d stuck between the pages as a placeholder marking the last time I’d passed this way. Have I mentioned that I’ve started and stopped reading this novel a few times over the years? Perhaps this time I’ll finish it. Twenty pages a day and it will be wrapped up by Thanksgiving. I can surely outpace that metric, given enough time… and the inclination.

      We are the sum of all that we layer atop the foundation we venture out into the world with. No doubt a solid foundation helps a great deal in reaching a higher potential. Isn’t that why we strive to put our children in the best neighborhoods and schools we can afford? But a solid base means nothing if we don’t grow from it. We may shore up our own foundation, and fill gaps through a regimen of lifetime education. This is our duty to ourselves, to reach for that elusive arete in our time. Or we could simply coast into a lesser version of who we might have been. The choice is ours.

    • Like Any Great Story

      “Good friends, good books, and a sleepy conscience: this is the ideal life.” — Mark Twain

      I’ve delighted in a series of great books this year. I wonder what my top ten will be when the year is over, mostly because I keep working to up the ante with another great book after finishing the special one that resonated most recently. Momentum in reading, as in life, is built incrementally. We know it when we experience it.

      I have several books I’ve been meaning to get to this year. Some are new to me, some are old favorites that will read differently as I’ve changed. I’m one of those people who don’t “count” the books I reread the same way as I count new to me books. It’s like the number of “friends” we might have on social media; the total means everything to some people and nothing much at all to others. How many true friends can one person have? The only score that matters is what we experience when we’re together. May we each measure up in that moment.

      Some books, as with some friends, are better than others. What we immerse ourselves in means everything. Some books we love we can only read once. Some we choose to read again and again, finding nuance and meaning missed or forgotten in previous encounters with the page. So it is with the inner circle with whom we spend our lives.

      Our ideal life unfolds before us, like any great story. What seems ordinary when it’s happening turns into something life-changing as we turn the pages day-to-day. I think about the first time I met a few people in my life who changed me profoundly in later chapters. If we’re lucky, we each have one or two life-long friends in our lives who make life ideal, but we also have those people who meant something in a moment who stay with us in our memories for the rest of our days. Their voices play in our minds like a Favorites playlist.

    • With Urgency and Focus

      “Do that thing that honors life.” — John Kenney, I See You’ve Called in Dead

      I’ve written about this before, but it bears repeating. I have people in my life who question me for writing about death. I remind them that Memento mori is not a morbid fixation, it’s a call to action. We must acknowledge our ending in order to begin living fully, with urgency and focus.

      John Kenney’s book is delightfully funny with an underlying sadness that washes over you in alternating waves. It’s a lot like life in this way. We fully savor joie de vivre precisely because we experience darker moments in our lives. How can we know the good if we never experience the bad?

      If I repeat myself, it’s simply a reminder to do more of the things that honor life. We are each blessed to be alive for this brief window of time. Optimizing that which makes us most alive seems prudent given the certainty of our eventual expiration. Dance with life, even as we accept the reality that the music will end.

    • Passing, and Preserving (RIP Annie)

      ‘Evolution loves death more than it loves you or me. This is easy to write, easy to read, and hard to believe. The words are simple, the concept clear—but you don’t believe it, do you? Nor do I. How could I, when we’re both so lovable? Are my values then so diametrically opposed to those that nature preserves?” — Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek

      I woke up to the news that Annie Dillard passed away yesterday. That triggered me to look back on her most famous book, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, for which she won the Pulitzer in 1974. Having read it, I’ll never think of creeks or barnacles the same. In that way, she will live on forever in my mind, and in the minds of countless others who read her books. Creating something is to dance with infinity, or at least for the duration of recorded memory.

      Writing is one form of creative output. Apparently Dillard grew weary of the life of a writer and turned to painting in her retirement. The output isn’t the real point, it’s honing awareness through listening and observation, and interpreting those encounters into something tangible that we might share with others. We will all pass from this earth one day. What will be preserved of us? The creation of something beautiful, in whatever form it takes, is a whisper of who we are, and one day too soon, who we once were.

      I’ve quoted Dillard in this blog several times over the years, but her quote that resonates the most with me serves to shake me from complacency and force me to focus now. We all need someone to remind us that today matters a great deal in the big scheme of things. Because the scheme is the thing. Structure and productivity matter, when we have something we want to do with our time here. It’s the most stoic of reminders:

      “How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. What we do with this hour, and that one, is what we are doing. A schedule defends from chaos and whim. It is a net for catching days. It is a scaffolding on which a worker can stand and labor with both hands at sections of time. A schedule is a mock-up of reason and order—willed, faked, and so brought into being; it is a peace and a haven set into the wreck of time; it is a lifeboat on which you find yourself, decades later, still living.” — Annie Dillard, The Writing Life: The Classic Essay Collection on the Creative Process

      Thanks Annie.

    • A Thousand Lives

      “A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies. The man who never reads lives only one.” — George R.R. Martin, A Dance with Dragons

      Having breakfast with an acquaintance the other day, I was asked for recommendations on great books to read. Knowing my audience, I rattled off five books I thought he’d get something out of and briefed him on why I recommended each. He ordered two of them before we left the table, which I’ll take as validation of my judgement on such things.

      Comparison is the death of joy, as we all know, and I don’t compare my habits to anyone else. I may work out more or less than the next person, or write more or less, or pick the habit. The point is to set a personal standard for yourself and work to measure up to that standard, and stretch to exceed our own expectations. My standard for reading is not a random total number of books read, but a minimum of ten pages per day. Some books are 10x or more of that ten pages, and with some it’s all I can do to meet the minimum, but reach it I do. In this way, I read roughly 25-30 books per year.

      How does that compare to the average reader? Pretty well, if you look at the general population. Compared to an avid reader? Not so great. If I devoted myself to page-turners, ditched social media and worked less, I bet I could hit 100. But I’m happy with 25-30 books that move me, change me, educate me or entertain me. To live a thousand lives in this one seems quite expansive to me. How about you?

    • Do Not Waste Your Time in Driblets

      “Follow, my dear boy, an honorable calling, which shall engross your time and give you position and fame, and besides enable you to benefit your fellow man. Do not waste your time in driblets.” — Charles Sumner

      As you might have noticed, the blog posts are back with more frequency again. I like to be productive with my time, and subscribe to the use it or lose it theory of active living. The it in that expression may be my mind as much as my writing skills. When I write I’m an active seeker. When I don’t write I seek less. The answer seems to be to keep writing. But always with the caveat to seek more that is interesting. Now and then that actually translates to the blog. Fingers crossed.

      Some of that time not writing was used for reading more. We are what we consume, and I’m consuming far more lately than my average. A leftover book (from which I plucked the quote above) from a recent flurry of Paris-related reading is David McCullough’s The Greater Journey: Americans in Paris. The theme of the book is the quest for more beyond the ordinary. Aspiring for more, exceptional people in history sought out Paris in particular to find what they were missing.

      The thing is, I’d just finished McCullough’s excellent book, The Wright Brothers, and wasn’t looking to jump into another of his books so soon. I read a couple of chapters of another book with a promising title but quickly grew dissatisfied with my choice. I’d read three great books in a row, and wasn’t going to settle for something that bored me to tears. When you’ve tasted the possibility of greatness, why waste time on driblets? Dive vigorously into the full menu!

      Those Wright Brothers were a fine example in not wasting time. Intelligent, highly-focused, industrious and open to calculated risks, they changed the world. We all know of Kitty Hawk, but that first powered flight was but a first step. They had to then go show the world what they’d built, and how to use it. A significant part of their story happened in France. If you’re looking for inspiration to move beyond settling for the driblets in your own life, reading The Wright Brothers offers a glimpse into how to get it done.

      To do more with the opportunity at hand is the thing. We each have the same amount of time today to work with. Just what are we doing with the hours? Might we choose a more savory bite off of the menu? Don’t we owe it to ourselves to sprinkle a little zip on top? Today leads to tomorrow, after all. Be bold today, that we may look back in wonder at all we’ve done. We must never forget that its the doing that leads to the done.

    • A Ritual of Now

      If you’ll forgive the brag, the garden is looking good this year. A bit of good luck was (and is always) involved, with rain happening while traveling to mitigate the impact of irregular watering in my absence, followed by a well-timed return to tend to things when the heat rose. Whether luck or accumulated experience planting things that are happy in the microclimate I place them in, the garden is thriving. The outcome of our lives is a combination of luck and the steady influence of consistent action. We can debate the ratio, or simply accept what is and what will be.

      If you’re reading this, you’re bucking the trend in the United States to read less. I find myself writing a little less to read a little more. We give our time to what we want in the moment. I’d like to finish more books this year, even if it’s at the expense of a few more blog posts. We tend to become what we measure. Life is too short to do everything we want to do in our time. I’d like to devoir a few more books each year than my present pace.

      I’ve always been a contrarian, a maverick, a rebel. If only in my own mind. The truth is I generally follow the rules and chafe at those who don’t. That explains my overall dismay at the state of things in the country and the exuberance of those who celebrate the downward spiral. But I’m not here to preach and complain. Like you, friend, I’m here to make strides forward.

      I walk toward
      the kitchen
      door as if walking
      toward the
      door of a recognized
      heaven

      and see the
      simplicity
      of shelves and
      the blue dishes
      and the
      vaporing
      steam rising
      from the kettle
      that called me in.

      Not just this
      aromatic cup
      from which to drink
      but the flavor
      of a life made whole
      and lovely
      through the
      imagination
      seeking its way.
      — David Whyte, At Home

      The long, hot days of July are upon us. We ought to dance with each day while it remains our partner. Soon it will be but a summer fling with time gone by. We are here, now, living as we do. In the quest to become what’s next, we shouldn’t lose sight of what is. The way from here is worth contemplating, but never lose sight of the ritual of now. To celebrate and savor all of this is our bold act of presence. So be bold, and savor this day.

    • That Better Character

      “In uncertainty I am certain that underneath their topmost layers of frailty men want to be good and want to be loved. Indeed, most of their vices are attempted short cuts to love. When a man comes to die, no matter what his talents and influence and genius, if he dies unloved his life must be a failure to him and his dying a cold horror. It seems to me that if you or I must choose between two courses of thought or action, we should remember our dying and try so to live that our death brings no pleasure to the world.” ― John Steinbeck, East of Eden

      Most people remember the latter half of this quote, but I love the entire paragraph. Perhaps because it’s a reminder that we’re all deeply-layered characters, with good bits and not-so-good. Life is a journey of discovering each layer and being proud or chagrined by what we find. In the end, how we’re remembered is for what we show the world of ourselves.

      Memento mori. So show up. Be that better character in the time that we have left. Not to be remembered differently, but to be more engaged and interested in all that we encounter, top to bottom. This is our life, such that it is. So what of it will we double down on? Set the course accordingly.

    • Collecting Evidence

      “I don’t know what that means. To truly live.’
      Kongo paused again, his eyes wandering to the walls of the cave, to the blackness at the far end.
      ‘To find work that you love, and work harder than other men. To learn the languages of the earth, and love the sounds of the words and the things they describe. To love food and music and drink. Fully love them. To love weather, and storms, and the smell of rain. To love heat. To love cold. To love sleep and dreams. To love the newness of each day.”
      ― Pete Hamill, Forever

      If you’ve never read Forever by Pete Hamill, consider it worthy of your time. I wander back to it now and then, when I think of Cormac and Thunder leaping towards their destiny in the New World. I have no business re-reading it now, with so many books awaiting my attention, and yet it found me again anyway.

      How do we live? The proof will unfold daily, in our choices. It’s in who we reach out to and how we react to our awareness of the world’s general indifference to us. We are here to master the self, not the universe. Personal excellence, that old friend Arete, will always be just over that next rise in the hill. Never fully realized. And yet we may live and grow and become something more profound than who we’ve started our day with.

      Indeed, this day is entirely new. And ours to perhaps fully embrace or maybe waste in our usual offhand way. “The proof will be in your living”, Kongo later says in that enchanting chapter of that magical novel that I keep returning to now and again. And indeed, life unfolds thusly. What will we look back on one day, thinking of today’s climb? May the newness of this day provoke us to collect evidence of a worthy ascent.