Alexandersmap

    Category: seasons

    • The Present Hour

      “I follow you whoever you are from the present hour.” — Walt Whitman, Song of Myself

      As small as we are in the vastness of the universe, we each nonetheless leave our mark on history. Every interaction stays with us, every poem read, every sideways glance, every hint of fragrance in the air are a sum of our whole. We may make a big splash or a minor ripple, but we all have our verse to contribute. The magic in writing is carrying that verse across time.

      We are a collection of hours arranged as a lifetime. We whittle them away as if they were unlimited. We learn as we grow older that each had value, but some shine brighter than others. Applying this realization to the next becomes ever more essential. Whoever we are in this moment, whatever we make of it in the now, will indeed follow us for the rest of our days. Our ripple, through those we encounter, is carried further still. What will we lay upon the shoulders of those who will carry us with them from this moment on?

      Autumn is in the air. Harvest time is well underway already. The seasons signal that time is flying along, with us in tow, ready or not. What will we remember of this time in our lives? What will people we encounter remember of us? May we smile recalling the gift we gave in this present hour.

    • Wild, Valorous, Amazing

      “Don’t we all, a few summers, stand here, and face the sea and, with whatever physical and intellectual deftness we can muster, improve our state—and then, silently, fall back into the grass, death’s green cloud? What is cute or charming as it rises, as it swoons? Life is Niagara, or nothing. I would not be the overlord of a single blade of grass, that I might be its sister. I put my face close to the lily, where it stands just above the grass, and give it a good greeting from the stem of my heart. We live, I am sure of this, in the same country, in the same household, and our burning comes from the same lamp. We are all wild, valorous, amazing. We are, none of us, cute.” — Mary Oliver, A Few Words

      There are no doubt days where we don’t feel inclined to do much of anything at all. To bear witness to the passing of time seems quite enough some days. Yet we do ourselves a disservice in the absence of personal valor. We mustn’t be timid. Life is far too short for timidity. Tempus fugit! We must be bold.

      How many sunrises are we to witness in a lifetime? how many sunsets before we see our last? We cannot abstain from living our best day in this one. Planning for the future is responsible, respectable and admittedly quite necessary, but capturing memories and experiences is our essential mission in the now.

      How many ways have we heard the message from those who have faded away beyond the horizon? We must feel the urgency of this moment, and fill each with our full attention. Life is Niagara, or nothing. Carpe diem!

    • Screens and Stars

      I scrolled through Facebook this morning. Not a proud moment in productivity but there it is. It occurred to me that the platform is now a lot like living in an empty nest. Where once you could easily get caught up with all your friends and family in one place in pictures and comments, now it’s nothing but endless videos and advertisements cultivated for your perceived tastes, mostly because you happened to click on one and now they dump them all on you. Like an empty nest, there’s nothing there to hold on to but memories of what once was. A great reminder to fly away more often and live our lives instead of lingering in the nest.

      The easiest way to fly is to walk right out the door and keep on walking. I walk the dog every night just to get away from the collection of screens that would otherwise call to me, and really, because the dog insists on it. I’ve trained her too well at this point. She serves as my catalyst for action: get up and move! Get outside and let’s see what’s new in the neighborhood! Good pup.

      The days are getting shorter again, and the air feels autumn-like after the thick tropical air we just had finally cleared out. The pup and I have an unsaid agreement where she covers the ground level quite well, and I tilt my head up and assess the evening sky (This works until she bolts for bunnies, but I’ve learned to sense those sudden energy bursts before they erupt). The waxing crescent moon clears out just as it’s getting dark, and the stars emerge to remind me that there’s so much more to life than lingering in front of screens.

      Look at the stars
      Look how they shine for you
      And everything you do
      — Coldplay, Yellow

      We are what we repeatedly do. We can dwell on the empty nest or immerse ourselves in the cultivated media feed that serves as a time-killer (quite literally), or we can step into something more with our minutes. Social media platforms and streaming services are no substitute for interaction with people equally invested in the interaction. The right people in our lives are like stars, shining for us as we shine for them. Together lighting up the eternal void. We may fill that which is empty with something that brings us to life. Fly amongst the stars.

    • Turning Into

      Each summer brings with it something new. Perhaps its travel or a new hobby or a significant event that will forever be associated with this season in our lives. So what will mark the summer of 2024?

      This summer I’ve rediscovered the thrill of cycling. It’s not that my road bike wasn’t available to me before this summer, it’s that I walked past it saying “not today” for years. Now that I’ve been accumulating miles on the bike instead of dust, it’s changed my way of looking at this time in my life. I feel like a kid again when I’m riding, and then I profoundly feel my age again when I get up in the morning after a long ride. And that’s okay too, because it’s my body telling me that I did something more than sit on my ass in front of a computer screen all day.

      When we do things we’ve always told ourselves we shouldn’t do because of time or age or maybe what the neighbors will think, we’re putting ourselves in a smaller box. Like a potted planted, we become root-bound when we force ourselves to skate our lane, not trying new things or returning to old things with the enthusiasm of our youth. When we stick to the familiar life becomes quite routine, doesn’t it? We ought to be shattering our self-expectations of what is possible more often. There are no do-overs in this life.

      A couple of rides ago, I reached a point where I could either stay straight and cruise back home after a great ride or turn right and face a steep climb up an unforgiving hill. There would be no shame in sticking to the road I was on (I’d already done a long ride), but I knew the hill would mock me for avoiding it. So I turned right and began a lung-popping climb up the hill. The thing is, it was as hard as I expected it to be but nothing insurmountable. I simply climbed and enjoyed the reward of a more gradual descent down the other side.

      At some point this year the bike will be hanging back on the garage wall, dormant until I rediscover it again. We only have so many rides in our time so it’s essential to know the season we’re in and take full advantage of it. As this summer winds down, what will we celebrate turning into? There’s still time to shatter those expectations we have for ourselves.

    • Savor the Salad

      “I was so busy making music that before I knew it the summer was gone.” — Aesop, The Ants & the Grasshopper

      I went into the garden to pick the first ripe tomato and found the bottom half was gone, a sign that a groundhog has tagged my garden as its buffet. I resented the pilferage (who doesn’t love the first tomato of summer?) and picked the next tomato that wasn’t quite ripe yet, that I may at least have that one. I’ve learned to tolerate and even coexist with the critters, but that doesn’t mean I’m giving up the entire crop to them.

      The thing to do in such moments is head to the local farm stand. I grow three tomato plants, they tell me they grow five thousand. And they’re having a good year for tomatoes this year, with plenty of heat and without the relentless rain we had last year. When the local farmers are happy with the weather, we celebrate with Caprese salad. The basil is my own, the tomatoes from the farm stand, the rest of the ingredients from a global supply chain. It takes a village to make a great salad.

      Early August in New Hampshire and it feels like summer will never end even as the days grow shorter and the Halloween candy is on the store shelves. Why? Because retail is always looking 3-6 months ahead of the rest of us. In summer I avoid box stores at all costs, that I may live in the moment. Our summers, like life itself, are so very short. Why be forever looking ahead when we may enjoy the harvest this day brings?

      We all must prepare for the future, as the ants in Aesop’s fable do, but we must also balance this forever preparing with the awareness and insight of carpe diem. We must seize the day for all it offers for us before it’s gone forever. Life is a balance of living in the present with all the lessons of the past to guide us and a hopeful eye towards a bountiful future.

      I don’t begrudge the groundhog for pilfering the first tomato of summer, but I made a point of getting the second before it too was gone. Summer harvests are fragile, fleeting things indeed. So savor the salad.

    • Slicing Out the Moment

      “All photographs are memento mori. To take a photograph is to participate in another person’s (or thing’s) mortality, vulnerability, mutability. Precisely by slicing out this moment and freezing it, all photographs testify to time’s relentless melt.” ― Susan Sontag

      There’s a cool feature in iPhone photos where you can view the map of where your thousands of photographs were taken, with thumbnails of the photos overlaying the spot it was geolocated. It’s a great reminder of where we’ve been and what we saw at the time we were there. It’s a momentary slice of our lives from the past, and we get to relive it with a virtual flyover as we zoom in on the place. And in doing so, the pictures from that place come back to us like a flood of memories.

      I’ve taken tens of thousands of photographs, mostly with my collection of iPhones since those became the technology that replaced a camera. But my Instagram feed is only at 1700 posts. We all save the best pictures to show others, don’t we? But that particular platform isn’t always friendly when formatting our favorite pictures, and so they fail to make the cut. Not so with our library, where with time and patience we can scroll through everything to find memories.

      I’m that person at parties and family gatherings taking all the pictures. I do it because I know the moment will soon be gone like all the rest but some fragment of it may live on. I’ve captured people no longer with us, full of hope and happiness or sometimes with a knowing look that this may be the last photo you’ll get of them. My favorite Navy pilot once observed this as I insisted on taking his picture with his grandchildren. It would be years before he passed, but his belief in my motivation for taking the picture stayed with me and does to this day.

      The thing is, all of our past moments are dead and gone. The people and places live on within us for as long as we are alive, and then we in turn live on in others for as long as they are. Beyond that is beyond all of us to know. Immortality isn’t ours to achieve, but our image may live on beyond the living memory of all who knew us. So too may our words, should we be so bold as to write them down for all to see.

      We all know the score. Tempus fugit (time flies), memento mori (remember we all must die) and so the only reasonable answer is carpe diem (seize the day). Capturing a few images along the way allows us to look back on a life well-lived and trigger memories that may have faded. Memories of places and people and moments that once were our entire life for an instant and now a layer of our identity, gently folded within us for the rest of our days.

    • Too Present to Imagine

      Age saw two quiet children
      Go loving by at twilight,
      He knew not whether homeward,
      Or outward from the village,
      Or (chimes were ringing) churchward,
      He waited, (they were strangers)
      Till they were out of hearing
      To bid them both be happy.
      “Be happy, happy, happy,
      And seize the day of pleasure.”
      The age-long theme is Age’s.
      ‘Twas Age imposed on poems
      Their gather-roses burden
      To warn against the danger
      That overtaken lovers
      From being overflooded
      With happiness should have it.
      And yet not know they have it.
      But bid life seize the present?
      It lives less in the present
      Than in the future always,
      And less in both together
      Than in the past. The present
      Is too much for the senses,
      Too crowding, too confusing-
      Too present to imagine.
      —Robert Frost, Carpe Diem

      Nothing brings you to the present like taking a leap. You’ve left your familiar, solid footing behind, are airborne for an instant and sure to land somewhere new any moment now. We don’t have to imagine the landing in such moments of leaping, we need only prepare ourselves for its inevitability.

      I begin most mornings with a leap into the pool to shake off the cobwebs, and the sensation of leaping never gets old. I recognize the privilege of having a pool in the first place, for it’s a relic of the past that lingers like old soccer balls and scooters. The difference is that it still brings joyful moments even as the life it was built for has changed. Empty nests make for still water most all of the time. Still, I leap.

      We can’t mourn the past that has left us, simply acknowledge that it is a part of who we are now. It’s like the library of books read and placed on the shelf to be referred to now and then. We are the sum of all of our experience, yet forever leaping into the future. In these moments I come back to seizing the present. Carpe diem is that airborne moment we scarcely think of in the midst of leaping, but it’s everything too present to imagine.

      We must remember we’re standing on the bridge to our future, but not obsess over it to the point of being seized by it. Happiness is bliss in the leap with optimism for the landing. The joei de vivre we fold into the present is one more book on tomorrow’s shelf. We are building a meaningful life as our library grows by the day. Each a present to reflect on, even as we leap for the next.

    • Attention is Vitality

      “Do stuff. be clenched, curious. Not waiting for inspiration’s shove or society’s kiss on your forehead. Pay attention. It’s all about paying attention. attention is vitality. It connects you with others. It makes you eager. stay eager.” ― Susan Sontag

      Many things compete for our attention. The pup wants very much for me to pay full attention to playing frisbee with her for the entire morning. There’s a part of me that would rather do that than shift attention to other work. But there are things we must do in our lives that call to us. What we pay attention to determines where we go after all.

      Perhaps I love my return to cycling because of the state change it brought to me, or perhaps it’s because I’m very focused on the act of staying upright and making miles when I’m doing it. There’s no texting or doom scrolling on my part, and hopefully not on the part of the drivers nearby. There’s just full attention to the joyful act of flying inches over the pavement, with the occasional hill to punch up the heart rate.

      During this morning’s frisbee session I listened to the world around me. The sound of a horse whinnying at the farm beyond the woods, a crow having a conversation with another crow that preferred silence (thank you very much!), the hum of distant morning drivers on country roads, the sun shining brightly upon grateful oak leaves, the still wet footprints from an early morning plunge in the pool, a bit of coolness in the air. Paying attention offers a wealth of information from which to become engaged with the universe. Alternatively, we may focus our rapt attention on one thing until it’s done. I’m particularly good at the former, and force myself towards the latter. Some tasks are easier than others.

      There’s just so much to pay attention to in this world, screaming as it is for ours. The trick is to filter it all out and listen to the call of the wild within us. What excites us? Why aren’t we doing more of that to see where it leads us? Life is a meandering path of engagement and diversion with an undefined destination set against a clock ticking relentlessly in the background, reminding us that we’re running out of time. Do stuff! While we still have the currency of attention, health and vitality to stuff those minutes full of experience.

    • Savor the Circle

      “Do silly things. Foolishness is a great deal more vital and healthy than our straining and striving after a meaningful life.” ― Anton Chekhov, The Portable Chekhov

      I hit the 20 mile mark yesterday in combined mileage between cycling and walking. This may not seem all that impressive, but it was a busy and hot day and that milestone was very much in doubt for much of the day. I finished just after 10 PM, when I’m usually in bed reading. To celebrate I took a late night solo swim—just me and the stars and satellites in a dark pool of water on the edge of the woods. And I felt completely alive and present floating there.

      The older I get the less I seek meaning in everything I do. I’m simply enjoying it all. Washing dishes never felt so fulfilling. Dead-heading the flowers is meditative. Cleaning up after the pets? Not so delightful, but not something I avoid or resent as I’m doing it. It’s just part of the deal. Life is a series of chores and commitments we make to each other before we carve out a bit of time for ourselves to savor the circle we’ve surrounded ourselves with.

      The scale is telling me that I’m roughly the same character I was a month ago, but what does a scale know? I’m more fit, more active, seeing more and feeling the momentum of consistency. We know when we’re fully alive and when we’re fooling ourselves. Activity pays dividends beyond numbers on a scale.

      These are days we’ll remember. At least they will be if we place ourselves squarely in the moment and fill each with things that make us feel vital and healthy. As we move into the height of summer, what will we take from this time? The satisfying snip of a spent bloom? The smell of tomato vines and twine? Light shining in north-facing windows that rarely catch such beams but for the longest days of the year? Or bubbles running up your back as you rise to meet the July sky? The answer is to delight in it all.

    • Life’s Good Runs

      “Life is like skiing. Just like skiing, the goal is not to get to the bottom of the hill. It’s to have a bunch of good runs before the sun sets.” — Seth Godin

      We each go through distinct seasons in our lives, not just age-based but in what we are focused on. We look back on them fondly or maybe not so fondly, but we can see exactly who we were at the time and know it brought us to who we are today. School days, sports played, people encountered and cherished for awhile, books read and discussed, career rungs climbed, places visited that seep into our souls—these are all good runs that we remember for the rest of our days. A lifetime may itself be a good run, made up of a series of other runs played by the distinct characters we were at the time.

      I still identify as a rower even though my rowing days on water are far in my past. Millions of meters on a machine in my basement aren’t quite the same, but the feeling of the catch made perfectly resonates across time and place. How many great catches did I have? Who’s to say but we know one when we feel it. Either way, that stroke ends and we recover for the next. Like skiing and life phases the goal is to put together as many good ones as you can in the time allotted.

      At the moment, I’m on quite a run of blog posts, but just last week I was wondering if this particular run was over for me. Not quite yet, but we’ll see how life unfolds. We each have good days and bad days, and with each morning a chance to begin anew. There’s a certain thrill in publishing something just when I thought I’d had enough to say and found some new plot twist to unpack.

      We recognize when we’re in the midst of a good run, just as we feel when a good run is ending. We’ll look with trepidation at the next run wondering whether we’ll enjoy that part of the ride, knowing that there are some things we most definitely won’t enjoy at all. We can’t rush through the bad parts to get to the good parts to come any more than we can hold on to the good parts forever. Life unfolds and we adapt to it and grow. What comes next is important too, but let’s not forget the thrill of the run we’re currently on.