Alexandersmap

    Category: Travel

    • Work in Progress

      I’ve decided to clean up Alexandersmap a bit. Improve navigation, add meaningful content, optimize for SEO, and make it generally more user-friendly. After writing more than 300,000 words over the last few years, I’m feeling the need to change things up a bit. Step one was to watch a few videos of how others have built their sites. Then I signed up for a WordPress “Happiness Engineer” to Zoom with me for 30 minutes to show me a few tips. All that’s fine and well, but ultimately I’ve just got to mess about with the site and learn it from trial and error. And so what you see now is different from what you saw yesterday, and will likely be very different from what you see a week from now. I could just save this all as templates behind the scenes, but I think it’s more interesting to have it change with me as I modify the site. For those who are interested it might be fascinating or frustrating as a relative novice takes on web site creation. For those who are less interested, thanks for your patience: I’ll continue to write and post every day. Hopefully the writing will hold your interest even as the structure around it changes.
      One thing I’ve learned about my learning process is that watching others do something generally works better for me than reading about it. When I want to know how to install a new bathtub there’s a video for it. When I want to figure out the best way to fix my pool deck, there’s a video for it. And so it is with web site design. YouTube videos of subject matter experts navigating around in Elementor or Gutenberg or Yoast SEO are more instructive for me than other such learning paths. I’m not proficient enough to just figure it all out myself, and don’t want to spend hours of my short lifetime reinventing the wheel. So trial and error with video guidance from SME’s seems to be the right mix for me.
      It seems simplicity is key in whatever it is that makes a great web site. Look at the blogs of Seth Godin, Pico Iyer, Tim Ferriss or Rolf Potts – all of them simple, intuitive and elegant. The best form of flattery is imitation, so these four will be quite flattered should they stumble upon alexandersmap.com sometime in the near future. For now the future remains cloudy, but I know it’ll clear up eventually. You’ve gotta have faith in such things. So as we enter a long weekend in America, I’m dipping into the deep end of web site editing, and we’ll see what comes out the other side.

      Originally posted 2 July 2020

    • The Lure of Falling Water

      “As long as I live, I’ll hear waterfalls and birds and winds sing. I’ll interpret the rocks, learn the language of flood, storm, and the avalanche. I’ll acquaint myself with the glaciers and wild gardens, and get as near the heart of the world as I can.” – John Muir

      What is it about waterfalls?  Is it the sound of falling water hitting hard surfaces and drowning out the rest of the world?  The stunning visual dance of water and light that often creates rainbows in the mist?  Or is it the lure of something bigger than ourselves?  Something timeless and enchanting all at once?  I’m not really sure I can answer my own question.  But I’m drawn to waterfalls just the same.

      We made a point of visiting two waterfalls during a brief visit to Ithaca, New York.  We’ve been to both before, and wanted to see how they looked in a different season.  It turns out that the first attempt was thwarted by the closure of the Cascadilla Gorge Trail because of some damage sustained to the trail that prompted officials to deem it dangerous for the public.  I suspect we would have done just fine on it, but we honored the signs and temporary fencing the City of Ithaca had barring access to the trail.

      Thankfully, the second option was open and available, and we were able to spend a bit of time contemplating Ithaca Falls.  Strangely, there were very few people about.  I always wonder about that when visiting places like Ithaca Falls.  Why aren’t there more people there?  But we were grateful for the relative solitude afforded to us, and the opportunity to see a place like this one more time.  I’m not sure how many times I’ll get back to the many waterfalls of Ithaca; I hope many more.   Why would you visit a place and knowing what lingers nearby, not take a moment for awe and reflection?  It really doesn’t matter why we love it, only that we’re able to spend moments of wonder with falling waters.

    • Dining Out in a Pandemic

      Going out for dinner in the midst of a pandemic, at least in places where people are responsible and informed, requires a shift into the “new normal”.  I’ve dined at restaurants in Massachusetts, New York and New Hampshire since restaurants began opening up again in this new normal, and I’ve taken time to observe a few things.  Before I dive in, count me among the true believers in responsible social behavior at all times, but especially now.  If you’re too casual with your behavior around social distancing, mask wearing and cleaning your hands, I make a mental note of it.  You have a right to your opinion, but mine counts too, and if you aren’t taking measures to prevent people from catching something you might have I simply won’t do business in your establishment.

      Restaurants offer much more outdoor seating than before, which somewhat makes up for the fewer and more distanced tables inside.  Everyone who walks around inside the restaurant is supposed to be wearing a mask, and it seems most everyone follows that rule, whether staff or patrons.  The gray area is the outdoor seating, where some people aren’t sure whether to wear a mask or not.  I think the rule is pretty clear: keep your mask while you’re on the property of the restaurant until you’re backside is planted in the seat they offer you.  Simple, right?  In Massachusetts and New York, the rules are clear: wear the mask or don’t go into the restaurant.  In New Hampshire, the more Libertarian “Live Free or Die” state, it’s more like a strong suggestion.  And behavior reflects this.  I saw several people walk in for a table without a mask on, many in high risk categories.  The staff wore masks at an Italian restaurant I got take-out at, but a few of the servers had the mask tucked below their nose.  Noted.

      The only place that I’ve had my temperature taken before entering was at the dentist.  Getting a haircut everyone wore masks, but there was no screening of patrons.  I checked in to my first hotel since the pandemic began and noticed the rooms are cleaned and sterilized better and the free coffee is no longer in the lobby, but there’s no screening of guests for fever.  That’s been my experience with restaurants as well.  That’s a lot to ask of a small business.  People expect you to self-screen yourself if you’re sick, and aren’t turning people away based on having a fever (if you aren’t screening how would you know anyway?).  Taking a temperature isn’t perfect anyway, and I don’t believe it should be required in most places.  I’d hope that someone who was obviously sick would be politely refused entry should they be bold enough to try.

      The northeast United States was hit by a wave of COVID-19 early, which locked down many businesses.  We tend to believe science over rhetoric around here, and most people have flipped to wearing masks as the price of entry into that new normal.  Restaurants have pivoted too, and most are doing what they can to be open and profitable in this pandemic.  No more buffets, no more candy dishes at the cash register, no more packed restaurant bar full of patrons waiting for their table (wait outside until your table is ready).  But the ones that survived are largely open for business again.  That’s dining in the northeast – follow the rules or go home.  Americans generally don’t like rules and people telling us what to do.  But we’ve all seen what happens when you just open up with no regard for the virus.  Spikes in Florida, Texas, Arizona and other states, even in the heat of summer (sorry, another incorrect Trump statement) are indicative of the danger of COVID-19.  By now we know the drill, this isn’t February people.  So act accordingly.  Eat out and support local businesses, but do it responsibly.

    • Think Like a Mountain

      “We reached the old wolf in time to watch a fierce green fire dying in her eyes. I realized then, and have known ever since, that there was something new to me in those eyes – something known only to her and to the mountain. I was young then, and full of trigger-itch; I thought that because fewer wolves meant more deer, that no wolves would mean hunters’ paradise. But after seeing the green fire die, I sensed that neither the wolf nor the mountain agreed with such a view.…  I now suspect that just as a deer herd lives in mortal fear of its wolves, so does a mountain live in mortal fear of its deer. And perhaps with better cause, for while a buck pulled down by wolves can be replaced in two or three years, a range pulled down by too many deer may fail of replacement in as many decades. So also with cows. The cowman who cleans his range of wolves does not realize that he is taking over the wolf’s job of trimming the herd to fit the range. He has not learned to think like a mountain. Hence we have dustbowls, and rivers washing the future into the sea.” – Aldo Leopold, Sand County Almanac

      We all have favorite writers who take our breath away.  I’ve quoted a few of my favorites frequently in this blog, but not as much Aldo Leopold as I should.  Can you read the passage above and not be breathless at the prose?  Not if you have green fire in your own eyes.  I’ve been trying to think like a mountain since I first read A Sand County Almanac in college, but I find that when you grind away at life too long, stay in too many hotels, endure too many long drives and time in airports, spend too much time in business-speak meetings, and focus a bit too much on your net income the green fire fades.  I’m finding my way back again.

      Writing every day teaches you things about yourself.  I highly recommend it if you aren’t doing it yet yourself.  I thought I heard the call to write and so I wrote, but until I started publishing something of substance every day I didn’t really understand.  Understand the process of disciplined writing.  Understand the formation of thoughts and quotes and observations and molding it into your own creation that you nurture and place gently into the world, whether it’s perfect yet or not.  Blogging isn’t writing a novel, with an editor and time to get just the right phrasing down.  You ship every day no matter what.  No expectations of glory or financial gain or viral explosions of followers, but because it matters to you that its out there.  And its transformative: You’d rarely hear me sorting things out in casual conversation the way I write about it in this blog.  I wrote yesterday about taking on too much and working to simplify things.  That’s my own version of trimming the herd to fit the range.  I just happened to publish it for all to see.

      Aldo Leopold died a week after hearing that A Sand County Almanac was going to be published.  He was only 61 at the time, and had no idea how much his book would resonate and influence generations of people.  He simply created it and gave it to the world, perhaps hopeful it would gain an audience.  He would have been amazed at how transformative his work was for the environment and for those who fight for it. Teaching generations how to think like a mountain.  It’s his enduring gift to the world.  We never really know what can happen if we just put ourselves out there, do we?

       

    • Getting Lost is Not a Waste of Time

      “We can park the van and walk to town
      Find the cheapest bottle of wine that we could find
      And talk about the road behind
      How getting lost is not a waste of time
      Le Bois d’Amour will take us home
      And in a moment we will sing as the forest sleeps”
      – Jack Johnson, What You Thought You Need

      I was thinking about getting lost, and how it never really turns out that badly.  There are different ways to get lost, of course.  Getting lost on the road used to be common until we put global positioning services in our pockets.  Shame really, in most cases when I wasn’t in a particular hurry, I used to love pulling the atlas out and looking up the street name I was looking at to figure what the heck went wrong on my drive.  There’s magic in maps, and the whole world would open up for you in that moment of realization of where you were.  Now people just follow directions from a phone.

      I see a generation of students graduating with degrees that don’t really tell them what the directions are.  You get a degree in Electrical Engineering you generally know the first step on the path after that.  But what of the Philosophy or the Business major?  What shall they do as a first step out into the world?  Suddenly lost in a world that seemed to offer clear steps to take every moment until this one.  And to double down we’ll throw a pandemic at you.  Enjoy!  So it’s no surprise that so many are looking around saying What next? and hoping for an answer.  The answer lies within, friend.  You’ve been told what to do for your entire life, now it’s your turn to tell us what you want to do.  Don’t know?  Welcome to adulthood.  Take the time to listen.  Do things that pull you in different directions.  Uncertainty is a gift should you use it wisely.  Most don’t use it wisely. Life is full of transition moments where you need to sort through things to find your way.  Not what you “have to do” but what you wish to experience.  What is the path that brings you there?  Be patient, you’ll find the way.

      “Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail.”
      – Ralph Waldo Emerson

      Closely related is being lost in your mind.  Not losing your mind in a road rage sort of way, but lost in your thoughts.  Driving an hour and realizing you’re already there and not quite sure where you were for the duration.  Where did the time go? Getting lost is a gift.  It’s the soul’s way of gently steering you towards another track.  I find I’m spending less time lost in my mind as I write more and as I’m more present in the moment.  I take long walks trying to get lost in my mind and realizing that I’m present the entire time.

      “To be awake is to be alive.” – Henry David Thoreau, Walden

      Thoreau was awake, but he was restless and lost until he had time to sort through things.  Walden was a great example of sorting through things and putting it on paper to help the rest of us find our own way.  I think of the moment before he went into the woods, when he was living a life of quiet desperation and lost on the path.  He found it in writing and contemplation and conversation with great thinkers like Emerson and Nathaniel Hawthorne.  I should think there might be no better place to find your way than getting lost in conversation amongst great thinkers.  That might not be possible with that cast of characters, but we can still tap into their thoughts, conveniently downloadable right onto that magic computer in your pocket.

      “Happiness is like a butterfly which, when pursued, is always beyond our grasp, but, if you will sit down quietly, may alight upon you.” – Nathaniel Hawthorne

      And here I think of the scene from Dead Poet’s Society where the boys find the cave and reveal the great works of time to each other.  The magic is in discovery and sharing and lifting each other up.  Conspiring with some fellow soul and realizing that hours have gone by like minutes.  Helping lost souls find their way, together.  Until the adults get in the way anyway.  Rejoice in getting lost in conversation and in reflection, for getting lost is not a waste of time.  It’s a pivot point in our lives and a chance to find a new direction.  If you’ll just stop listening to the adults telling you where to go and listen to yourself.

      “To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.” –  Ralph Waldo Emerson

      It’s easy to get lost in this mad world.  Billions of souls all trying to find their way – how do we figure out our place in all of this?  The world sparkles in light and breathless magic.  The world also grinds down dreams into dust and feeds it back to you as cake if you let it.  Who says everyone else has it figured out anyway?  I can assure you they don’t.  Celebrate being lost.  It’s far more interesting than knowing every step laid out in order like those cars in amusement parks that ride on tracks.  Remember how boring that got as you realized you weren’t really going anywhere special?  Suddenly the only interesting part was crashing into the car in front of you or getting bumped from behind.  I’ve seen many career paths that look just like that.  There’s nothing wrong with finding yourself off the track.  You’ll be amazed at the view as new paths open up ahead of you.

    • Blank Places

      To those devoid of imagination a blank place on the map is a useless waste; to others, the most valuable part. – Aldo Leopold

      Blank places on maps are increasingly rare.  With technology we’ve managed to reveal extraordinary detail on the contours of the land, water sources and potential sites to camp for the night.  You can hike many trails virtually from the comfort of your home with street view images of what you might see.  Even some of the most remote places in the world have 360 degree images uploaded from some soul that visited before.  And yet there are still blank places on maps that tease and mock those who would plot the world.

      Blank places on calendars betray opportunity lost, or not fully leveraged.  Time is money, they say, and to leave blank places on calendars is to waste our most precious resource.  Make the most of your day and fill every moment with appointments, meetings, conference calls, time for tasks, workouts, dates, drive time and even time to think.  There’s merit in a full calendar, but there’s also merit in blank places on the calendar too.  Some of my best career moments came in blank places that developed into magic moments.

      Blank places in ourselves are harder to see, but we know they’re there.  Revealed in quiet moments, in challenging tasks completed, in new things tried and most especially in things avoided.  Risks not taken reveal as much as they forever hide what might have been had we just begun.

      “Oh, I kept the first for another day!
      Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
      I doubted if I should ever come back.”
      – Robert Frost, The Road Not Taken

      The funny thing about maps is that they reveal where others have already been.  When you follow the map you’re just following someone else’s path.  Way leads on to way, and blank places might never be revealed.  That’s true for most everyone, isn’t it?  We tuck aside those unreasonable pursuits in favor of the tried and true path, never getting around to seeing what’s down that other path.  Don’t despair for what might have been, but be bold enough to see what might be.  See where stepping into the unknown leads you.  Should you find you need to double back the world will be just as you left it.  They might not even look up from their screens long enough to realize that you left.

    • The House and the Road

      “My house says to me, “Do not leave me, for here dwells your past.”
      And the road says to me, “Come and follow me, for I am your future.”
      And I say to both my house and the road, “I have no past, nor have I a future. If I stay here, there is a going in my staying; and if I go there is a staying in my going. Only love and death will change all things.”
      – Khalil Gibran, Sand and Foam

      Lately I’ve been thinking of the house I’ve lived in as an anchor.  An anchor can have both a positive and negative connotation of course, but I thought of it in the positive way.   I’ve been putting a lot of time in at the old anchor lately, quarantined in a pandemic and working from home.  And the completed projects have stacked up into something tangible.  I could almost stay here forever.

      Lately I’ve also been thinking about the road.  Getting out there and seeing the world again, almost like things were normal.  The list of places to go grows quietly urgent, for time is fleeting and the world changes but so do you.  I imagine a scene akin to the running of the bulls in Pamplona as would-be travelers run the streets, hoping they aren’t run over by time as they make up for 2020.

      I look at the trees when I sit in the backyard, thinking they’re beginning to encroach a bit in their search for light.  This won’t do, not if we stay.  Limb up the trees now added to the list.  The list that grows and nags.  It only takes the right ratio of time and money to make a house work out for you.  You either put in more time or more money, but one way or the other the house demands a mix of both from you.

      I scrolled through a list of the most beautiful place to visit in each state that Conde Nast Traveller put out a couple of years ago.  I’ve been to ten of the places listed.  Ten out of fifty.  For all my travel I’ve only been to 33 of 50 states, if you exclude layovers in random airports.  Using the same criteria, my results are much worse on global travel, where I’ve spent meaningful time in only 12 of 195 countries.  The road mocks me even as it calls.

      There is a season for everything, and the last twenty-two years have been the season of parenting and being present as a father, layered with epic travel blessings.  I travel more than many do in their lifetimes, and I’ve managed to do it while being present for my children in their own lives as they’ve grown into adults.  I see the people traveling the world with their children and I’m awed by the life these families are living, but I wanted my own kids to grow up in a neighborhood, playing sports and riding bicycles up and down the street and building lifetime memories.  I suppose I could have added another dozen countries to the list, maybe even 50 more.  But here in this house dwells my past, and it’s not such a bad past at that.

      “Come and follow me, for I am your future”

      And now?  Now I plot and scheme and decide what to prioritize. I have at least 47 reasons to stay in New Hampshire for the foreseeable future as I quietly chip away at the 4000 footers.  There’s a net benefit in hiking in better fitness as well.  Resuming global travel will have to wait a bit longer.  Same with a few of those places I haven’t seen in the United States.  And I don’t mind waiting, for the house is not just the past, but the future as well.  At least for a little while.  It’s good to have a solid anchor at the ready.  Today, Father’s Day in America, I realize I’ve been an anchor myself.  Paid in full through time and effort and love.  With one eye on the house and the other on the road, but always present when it counts.

    • Is It Yourself You Seek?

      It is yourself you seek
      In a long rage,
      Scanning through light and darkness
      Mirrors, the page,

      Where should reflected be
      Those eyes and that thick hair,
      That passionate look, that laughter.
      You should appear

      Within the book, or doubled,
      Freed, in the silvered glass;
      Into all other bodies
      Yourself should pass.

      The glass does not dissolve;
      Like walls the mirrors stand;
      The printed page gives back
      Words by another hand.

      And your infatuate eye
      Meets not itself below;
      Strangers lie in your arms
      As I lie now.
      – Louise Bogan, Man Alone

      I seek myself in early morning quiet, listening for the whisper.
      I seek myself on long walks in rough terrain, one step at a time with an eye on the footing and the other at the way forward.
      I seek myself in the long drives to faraway places, with nothing playing but the soundtrack of the tires on pavement.
      I seek myself in pictures, vainly attempting to capture the light and never quite reaching perfection but smiling at the moment anyway.
      I seek myself in the dusty soil, that traps under fingernails and turns into beauty with water and time we hope we have.
      I seek myself in deep plunges into water, thoughts rising with the bubbles as we break the surface, clearer than before.
      I seek myself in lyrics captured from songs in the air, hearing words for the first time and desperately grabbing at Shazam to find the source before it disappears forever.
      I seek myself in habits made and promises to myself broken, with hopes of trying again tomorrow.
      I seek myself in reaching out in service to others, to rejoice in the moment of connection ever fleeting.
      I seek myself in old battlefields and graveyards and monuments to ghosts who only wish to be remembered once more.
      I seek myself in freshly chopped vegetables, sautéing in snaps and pops that betray my anticipation.
      I seek myself in the words that dance on the page, my own or those of strangers in my arms.
      I seek myself in skimming across water, skipping like a stone on the pull of an oar or the puff of the wind and wanting only to fly a little bit longer.
      Tell me, where do you seek yourself?

    • Grilling Pizza

      One silver lining of quarantining is that my cooking game is getting more diverse and adventurous.  More Indian food, more vegetarian options, and now, … grilling pizza.  I know: grilling a pizza isn’t exactly adventurous, people have been doing it forever!  But in this house, homemade pizza was always slipped gently into the oven.  When you spent time and effort making something as lovely as a pizza, why risk it on the variability of a charcoal grill?

      Flavor of course.  Flavor is the reason you grill anything on a charcoal grill.  Not a propane grill – that’s just an outdoor extension of the stove.  Charcoal grilling on a ceramic grill that heats up beyond oven temperatures when closed and the coals are bright orange and alive.  That’s ancient cooking right there –  none of this propane-fueled regulated blandness, thank you.  And that’s what I brought my homemade pizzas out to.  That’s right: pizzas.  Plural.  If you’re going to use charcoal, make the most of the resource.

      The first attempt was a traditional cheese pizza with dough spread thinly across a large, perforated pan that I’ve had since college.  This baby has seen everything in it’s time…  everything but a charcoal grill anyway.  Simple and classic cheese pizza recipe, thin crust, thin layer of sauce, generous layer of cheese, done.  My concern with this first pizza was the grill temperature.  I waited until it dropped below 500 degrees Fahrenheit before putting the pizza on the grill, and watched it carefully to make sure it didn’t just erupt into flames.  Using a grill spatula, I’d gently lift up an edge, inspect and spin it and try again.  Can’t be too careful with that first pizza.  And it turned out to be an excellent first attempt.  Congrats!  We won’t be ordering pizza to replace a burnt offering!

      The second pizza was slightly more daring: A thicker crust on a stone instead of a perforated pan.  This one had thinly sliced green peppers and chicken sausage spread on top.  And generally the results were pretty good.  Thicker crust on a stone meant risking an uneven, doughy crust in some places.  That proved to be the case in one particularly thick spot.  If it were a restaurant I might have sent it back, but in my backyard it was close enough.  Two large pizzas and leftovers for lunch.  And no sacrificial lambs.  Not a bad first effort!

      2020, for all the suffering and frustration, has offered opportunities to see the world in a different way.  Maybe grilling a pizza isn’t exactly tackling social justice, but it’s a step away from the norm.  And now I’m thinking about what else I can grill.  So grilling pizza became one very small measure of audacity that worked out.  I might not ever have tried it in a normal year when getting dinner done after a long day away from home was a task.  But 2020 replaced what is fast and easy? with what is going to be really interesting to try?  And that’s not such a bad thing at all. A moment of fun experimentation with relatively low stakes.  We can all use more fun this year.  

    • Capturing the Light

      There is a scene in The Secret Life of Walter Mitty where Walter Mitty looks at a picture of Sean O’Connell.  Walter is the daydreaming, play life straight ahead guy, Sean is the bold, adventurous photographer who masterfully dances on the edge between chaos and order.  Walter looks at the picture of Sean looking back at him and sees Sean waving to him “Come on, already!” as Wake Up by Arcade Fire begins to play.  I find it impossible to not be stirred up by this scene, no matter how many times I’ve watched it.  Because that’s all of us who play life straight ahead, looking at the bold and adventurous and wanting someone in that world to look us in the eye and tell us, “Come on, already!”  Mostly we forget that we can say it to ourselves.

      I took my typical plunge into deep water this morning and watched the sun beams streaming through the forest, lighting up each leaf it landed on in thousands of fluttering florescent green glowing congregation of the faithful.  Those who remained in shadow seemed to gaze longingly at the brilliant dancers, and I understood the look as my own.  I confess I’m awestruck at moments like that, and floated in the water watching the light probe deeper into the forest and continue the dance beyond my line of sight.  Light and shadow and me treading on the surface, floating in wonder.   It occurred to me at that moment that writing is capturing the light, and having the audacity to try.  There was better poetry in that moment, and I don’t quite have the words to reveal it to the world.  But I recognized it nonetheless and work to serve the muse who patiently awaits my contribution.

      I’ve been pondering the word audacity since I woke up this morning, but I don’t feel like it’s a word I can own.  After all, I’m not living an audacious life.  I fancy myself bold and audacious, but really I’m rather conservative in every day living.  I do audacious things on occasion – little exclamation points on a moment as I’ve written about previously.  But upon further review I’m more Walter than Sean.  I suppose most of us are, and that’s the appeal of a Walter Mitty moment.

      Whenever the fog of life clogs my line of sight I put on those noise cancelling headphones and watch Arcade Fire perform Wake Up at the Reading Festival and I’m jolted to clarity.  I suppose that’s what plunging into water does for me too.  An immediate state change.  An opportunity to reset.  But ultimately I come back to the reality that I’m still in the Walter skin.  And I choose to stay in it.  Secret conspiracies for audacious living remain, but Sean hasn’t waved vigorously enough to shake the inertia just yet.  Come on, already!  Absolutely, but could you wait for tomorrow?  I’ve got to finish this project I’m working on.  That wouldn’t be a very good movie at all, would it?

      Audacity has a negative connotation, but I’m rather fond of the positive connotation.  It derives from Latin, audacia  and means daring, boldness, and courage.  Three traits we’d all like to think we have in abundance.  Like most people, I’m chafing at the bit, restless at the quarantine and the impact on travel and getting out there.  It’s hard to live audaciously when you aren’t allowed to cross borders.  But then again, maybe it’s just waiting for you to wake up and get to it already.  Audaciousness is capturing the light within ourselves and showing it to the world.  Highlighting our spirit within for the world to see.  It seems you don’t have to cross borders to be audacious.  You just have to get to it.  Cue the music.