Alexandersmap

    Category: seasons

    • Significance Transcends

      “History is, above all else, the creation and recording of that heritage; progress is its increasing abundance, preservation, transmission, and use. To those of us who study history not merely as a warning reminder of man’s follies and crimes, but also as an encouraging remembrance of generative souls, the past ceases to be a depressing chamber of horrors, it becomes a celestial city, a spacious country of the mind, wherein a thousand saints, statesmen, inventors, scientists, poets, artists, musicians, loves, and philosophers still live and speak, teach and carve and sing. The historian will not mourn because he can see no meaning in human existence except that which man puts into it; let it be our pride that we ourselves may put meaning into our lives, and sometimes a significance that transcends death. If a man is fortunate he will, before he dies, gather up as much as he can of his civilized heritage and transmit it to his children. And to his final breath he will be grateful for this inexhaustible legacy, knowing that it is our nourishing mother and lasting life.” — Will and Ariel Durant, The Lessons of History

      We are the sum of all that has come before us, with a mission to process and pass along this wealth of knowledge and contribution to future generations. When we talk about the Great Conversation, we rightly wonder what our own legacy might be. We must feel the urgency to contribute. We must lean into Walt Whitman’s response to this very question: That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse. Walt wasn’t just writing prose, he was struggling with the same things we struggle with, with fewer notifications and cat videos. We’re simply links in the chain, anchored to the work of those who came before us.

      Lately I’ve seen the momentum that comes from steadily pushing the flywheel for years. The writing is easier, conversations seem more productive and meaningful, and a deeper and richer connection to the world has led to growth and understanding. We simply begin to realize that we’ll never have it all figured out, we cannot live forever and so we’ll run out of time before we grasp everything we hoped we might, and with the startling realization that our significance in the universe isn’t all that big. Yet we may still transcend this lifetime anyway, simply by being actively engaged in our time.

      When we feel the connection to the countless generative souls who made us who we are, we may feel compelled to rise to the occasion of our lifetime as well. There is magic in showing up every day and doing the work. Our verse is ours alone. Just as we thrill at discovering a magical verse from a distant voice, our own verse may one day delight a future treasure hunter. Doesn’t it deserve its moment in the sun?

    • Faster Things

      Last Sunday morning, the sunshine felt like rain
      The week before, they all seemed the same
      With the help of God and true friends, I’ve come to realize
      I still have two strong legs, and even wings to fly
      So I, ain’t a-wastin time no more
      ‘Cause time goes by like hurricanes, and faster things
      — Gregg L. Allman, Ain’t Wastin’ Time No More

      The years fly by, and we begin to notice this at our own pace. Sometimes it takes a tragedy to shake us out of the fog of distraction, as it did for Gregg Allman when his brother Duane died in a motorcycle accident, prompting lyrics like those above. When someone is taken from us in the prime of life it shakes the survivors around that person to the core. At some point, if we’re lucky, we awaken to the reality of memento mori without being turned upside down by tragedy, and simply begin at last to live in earnest.

      The whole point of remembering that we all must die is to live now, while there’s still time. It’s easier said than done, as life piles on the busy. Life will never be perfectly aligned to do everything we possibly could do in our lifetime, but if we focus on essential things we might feel we’ve done enough. A lifetime is always a faster thing than we care to believe, so a bit of structure and purpose go a long way towards feeling we did what we could in the time we have.

      The trick is to structure is to put everything in it’s season. Bill Perkins called this time buckets in his book Die With Zero. Using time buckets, we may prioritize what is most essential now, and what can (and cannot) be deferred to later. For example, I may never hike the Appalachian Trail as I thought I might at 20, but I can still chip away at other things that require the fitness and time I have available now for other worthy life goals. But how do you determine what is essential when if you don’t make the time to make the list and assign it to its proper time? We are what we prioritize. Use this time bucket to map out all the rest.

      Since I began writing this post we’ve seen a few famous people pass away, and we’ve all collectively gained another week of experience in our lifetime. Those sands keep pouring out of the hourglass, whether we’re ready for it or not. Our best chance at a full lifetime is to wrestle with our days one at a time, but with the structure of an overriding purpose and plan for how to use each season. Because time goes by like hurricanes, and faster things.

    • Winds of Time

      I’m growing older but not up
      My metabolic rate is pleasantly stuck
      Let those winds of time blow over my head
      I’d rather die while I’m livin’ than live while I’m dead
      — Jimmy Buffett, I’m Growing Older But Not Up

      Two events happened concurrently over the last few days that rocked the boat for me. Jimmy Buffett passed away, following Gordon Lightfoot, Harry Belafonte and several other performers to Rock & Roll heaven, while signaling once again that the party doesn’t go on indefinitely. And less important to the world at large, a building I once worked at with many motivated change agents was announced to be closing. The subsequent rehashing of memories from people I haven’t seen in years triggered even more nostalgia for me. When things are subtracted from the sum of our lives, we inevitably feel the loss. But those winds of change keep blowing, and we must learn to navigate them as best we can.

      Nothing drives change like time. And we have blessedly little control over the sweeping changes it inflicts upon us all. Realizing this is either the moment that panic sets in and we scurry to grab control over things we will never control or the moment we accept the circumstances of being born into this mad situation. Amor fati: love of fate. The universe isn’t ours to control, only our reaction to the forces blowing over us.

      The thing we sometimes forget about growing older is how lucky we are for the gift of time. Those extra days offer an accumulation of memories and experiences that make life more complete. Alternatively, we might resist change and hold on for dear life to things that were never meant to be forever things. We ourselves aren’t forever things. Memento mori. So don’t postpone living. We can’t live when we’re dead.

    • End of Summer Song

      The cry of the cicada
      Gives us no sign
      That presently it will die.

      — Matsuo Basho

      Summer slipped away quickly this year. It always does, really, but especially when the weather is uncooperative for large swaths of outdoor living time. So it goes.

      The cicadas signal the dog dats of summer but also its end. We know the signs of autumn by now, and it begins with that uniquely mournful song that they make from the trees. Their time is now, the cry, and so too is ours.

    • All the Things

      This is the bright home
      in which I live,
      this is where
      I ask
      my friends
      to come,
      this is where I want
      to love all the things
      it has taken me so long
      to learn to love.
      — David Whyte, The House of Belonging

      The house is full more frequently now. Filled with pets and friends and memories. The nest is empty and yet it’s not, all at once. This is how we do things, you and I. The walls echo with memories of a house full of people who filled our hearts and danced with their moment in our lives. We built this house hoping for all that has transpired in the days that followed, and the days to come.

      Soon the leaves will fall again, blanketing the landscape indifferent to my pleas for relief. They’ve always reminded me in such times that they were here first, and most likely will be here when I’ve moved on again. The trees drew us to this plot of land, and root us to it, even as I grumble at them I know this to be true: they will carry on without me one day.

      The perennials come back every year, rising in the spring to look around at the world. Each year I’ve been here to greet them, as I do the hummingbirds and bees that know a reliable garden when they see it. Seasons come and go, and still we remain, doing our part to make this plot of land sing. Some things remain resilient, other things return to earth sooner than we’d want them to, and we remain to do with it all what we can. At least for now.

      Lately we’ve danced with the idea of beginning again in a smaller place, leaving this place for others to build their own lives. We both like round numbers and feel we might pull off three decades in this home, just as we said we would when we built it for the baby we knew and the one on the way who would only know this house as her home. She reminds us of this still, far from home but still everywhere within it. They’ve both left their mark here, as their parents have. As the circle of family and friends and pets have. We’ve met the years with love and purpose.

      We’ve seen what decline looks like, in loved ones old and young alike. None of us were born without an expiration date. These are days to remember, and to hold on to for as long as there’s another season. Our lives, like this house, are only as full as we make them. All the things that make up our days dance in our memories. Each has made us who we are, together.

    • The Right Kind of Virtues

      “It occurred to me that there were two sets of virtues, the résumé virtues and the eulogy virtues. The résumé virtues are the skills you bring to the marketplace. The eulogy virtues are the ones that are talked about at your funeral — whether you were kind, brave, honest or faithful. Were you capable of deep love?” — David Brooks, “The Moral Bucket List” The New York Times

      Do you ever wonder, what people say about us when we pass? Isn’t it directly related to how much we lean into the right virtue? We might work hard all of our life, focused and disciplined, and successful by most any measure of that word, and still not live a life that is fulfilling and meaningful to others.

      Is striving to be virtuous about resume building or character building? Are we building a list of career highlights and an office in the C-suite or are we building a moral foundation that others will point to as a model for living? Just what do we want to be remembered for anyway? A life of meaning and purpose is a life of service to others.

      How is someone developed in such a way that they’re a contributor and builder instead of a corrosive sapper of joy and trust? It begins with flipping attention from ego to empathy. Easier said than done in a world where the self is so celebrated, but absolutely essential to growing into a person who is reliable, trustworthy and willing to roll up their sleeves and do the hard work.

      There is a recipe for building a strong character. It begins with the way we’re raised and the social network around us. In the way others perceive the world and how they in turn influence how we perceive it. Stir in a proper informal education: being well-traveled and worldly, and well-read and articulate surely help build empathy and understanding. Developing strong listening skills and the inclination and moral courage to rise to the moment when nobody else will.

      When someday we pass from this world, what do we want people to say about us? Will anyone remember the extra work we put in to finish that project, or will the memory be about being fully present for our children and significant other at the most important events in their lives? Will we be remembered as being a good friend or sibling, a great neighbor who looked out for others, or as that person who was never really there when it really mattered?

      A life of service to others isn’t always easy, but it matters a great deal. These moments add up, and will create a ripple that will be felt by others. The person with the most toys in the end doesn’t win, they’ve simply gathered a bunch of stuff that will end up in an estate plan for someone else. Isn’t the real goal to have our lives resonate for those around us, that we’ll be deeply missed when our time comes to an end?

    • New Places

      “Like silence after noise, or cool, clear water on a hot, stuffy day, Emptiness cleans out the messy mind and charges up the batteries of spiritual energy. Many people are afraid of Emptiness, however, because it reminds them of Loneliness.” ― Benjamin Hoff, The Tao of Pooh

      I picked up a beautiful stone on a rocky beach the other day, as I often do in such places, to add it to a pot of stones I’ve got from around the world. I realized that most of the stones I’ve accumulated while doing this mean nothing more to me than curious novelties, yet I keep acquiring stones from places I’ve been just the same. It’s not logical, but it is my way of saving a piece of each beautiful place I’ve been. Better than a shot glass or a t-shirt, I suppose.

      Lately I’ve been working to reconcile the fact that I’ve been adding more than subtracting. This is a natural activity for many people in the western world: more stuff, more experiences, more accomplishments, more, more, more… We pick up stuff as casually as we load food on at the buffet table. And it’s not just stuff, it’s responsibilities and commitments, work load, home improvement projects, and on and on. We pile on all of these things as we accumulate experience and live our lives.

      When we fill our lives we leave little room for ourselves to emerge. We’re in there somewhere, under the pile of stuff we’ve heaped on our shoulders. A boat needs an anchor to hold it to solid ground, but if you add enough anchors the boat will sink. Do you ever get that sinking feeling? Let something go from your life and feel released.

      Recently I added a puppy to my life. This can be seen as another added responsibility and maybe one anchor too many. Then again, maybe it was the anchor I needed. What’s clear in getting acquainted with her is that other anchors may need to be tossed aside that this ship may stay afloat. And this is how we grow in new directions in different seasons of our lives. We encounter new and different things that carry us to new places.

    • Dog Days & Lily Ponds

      August of another summer, and once again
      I am drinking the sun
      and the lilies again are spread across the water.
      I know now what they want is to touch each other.
      — Mary Oliver, The Pond

      As we head into the dog days of summer, I find myself with a good dog to share walks with. Puppy walks are wonderful too, but the longer walks are mine alone. Walking for distance solves many problems for me: general fitness and quality time with the occasional long-form podcast, but mostly it offers the opportunity to reacquaint myself with the world.

      One of my favorite things about this time of year is the abundance of flowers dotting the lilies in the ponds I walk past. Each is a marvel, and each is just far enough away that I can’t possibly get a good picture with my phone’s camera. But that’s just the way it is. After all, this is a written blog, not a first-rate photography blog.

      About that drinking the sun business Mary Oliver speaks of in her dance with words: We haven’t had all that much of it this summer in the northeast. Not at the frequency that we wait for all winter, anyway. So on a stunningly beautiful weekend what are we to do but get out in it? To be with others outside invites conversation and smiles, and like the lilies, we are drawn to each other on warm summer days. We want these days to last forever, but know they’ll be gone too soon. Savoring summer days with all our might is the very best way to pass this time. So forgive me if I step outside once again.

    • Expanding the Fullness

      “Five decades ago, some very kind people in Japan slipped me the secret: you can dramatically extend life—not by multiplying the number of your years, but by expanding the fullness of your moments.” ― Shinzen Young, The Science of Enlightenment: How Meditation Works

      “Pay more attention to every moment, however mundane: to find novelty not by doing radically different things but by plunging more deeply into the life you already have.” — Shinzen Young

      I don’t meditate, not in the traditional sense anyway. Instead I remain present with whatever the world offers me. With a new puppy I’m very much in her moments as she learns her new environment and sorts out the complexity of living with two cats who aren’t yet pleased to share the limelight with a new being. Some things take time.

      The trick is in savoring our presence right here and now. We ought to immerse ourselves in whatever we’re doing, but we get caught up in the minutia of everyday living instead. We react instead of absorb, and in doing so, sometimes miss the nuance of the moment. But seeing how a new puppy navigates the garden changes how you look at it yourself. Zooming out a bit, you also see how the world reacts to the new puppy. Fellow humans gush, while felines feign annoyed indifference. House wrens chirp threateningly when the pup gets too close to their nest, betraying something else happening there that I wasn’t previously aware of. When we pay attention to the world it opens up for us in fascinating new ways.

      The other day I sat in the sun while my brother slept, exhausted from sleepless nights from the pain he finds himself in as he undergoes a third round of radiation. He’s got limited time now, and the quality of the time he does have is greatly diminished by the treatment plan he’s chosen. Despite the underlying tragedy of his situation, my own in that moment was rather pleasant, and I was struck by the contrast as the two of us occupied a small corner of the world in very different phases of our respective health spans. Contrast aside, or perhaps serving as an amplifier, I found myself very much in the moment.

      It isn’t lost on me, the end of life struggles of one person against the beginning of life awakening of a puppy. And me? Somewhere in between, living day-by-day and doing my best to savor the plunge.

    • Our Most Important Things

      So easily forgotten are the most important things
      Like the melody and the moonlight in your eyes
      And a song that lasts forever, keeps on gettin’ better
      All the time
      — Keb’ Mo, Life Is Beautiful

      Walking a lot of miles lately, I’ve come to see the town I live in at ground level, turning corners into places I haven’t been in a long time, or ever before. I see the changing nature of things, and I’m reminded of a time not so long ago when it was my own children at beginner’s summer soccer camp or at baseball practice. These stages of life fly by quickly, but the next generation steps right on to that field to build someone else’s memories. Our own will inevitably fade, perhaps, but the foundation laid in time and presence is strong.

      I walk to cover miles, deliberate and at the fastest pace I can sustain for 5-7 miles. I’m not a speed walker but I have a long stride that helps when the aim is fitness and mileage. Countering this pace, a couple of times a day I take the new puppy for a walk. She’s finding her courage in a strange new world, and the pace is much slower than my normal stride. My favorite Navy pilot once told me that when you’re walking a dog you aren’t walking, the dog is walking. You’re just keeping it company while it experiences the world. So rushing that experience does the dog a disservice, but it does for us too. Like those children growing up way too quickly if we aren’t paying attention, puppies grow up too. Embrace the pace you find yourself in, for one day it will change again.

      For all the changes happening all around us, some things remain the same. It’s easy to forget the people and routines that hold us to solid ground when life does cartwheels. They offer something tangible and meaningful for us in good times and bad, through the dizzying pace of rapid change and the dullest days of stagnation and limited progress. We ought to celebrate our quiet anchors, even as we explore the changes life takes us through. They are our most important things as we sort out the changes and find our stride for what comes next.