Alexandersmap

    Category: Writing

    • Life and Poetry

      All the things to which I give myself
      grow rich and spend me.
      — Rainer Maria Rilke, The Poet

      We are what we focus on, for we are spending our lives in the process. Wherever we go, whatever we do, we are doling out our grains of sand. The time will never return again. Awareness of the value of time is our curse and our saving grace. The only answer for tempus fugit is carpe diem.

      I read poetry to encounter verse like that above. I write to try to arrive at something approaching the feeling I get when I read it. Perhaps you read it the same way, or wonder what the fuss is about. We all bring our own lens to life and poetry. For me, Rilke demonstrates that we are timeless and fragile all at once.

      I’m delighted by the perfect crust on a sourdough. The aroma of fresh herbal bread made on a hot day when I had no business using the oven but eagerly pay the toll for the way the house smells as the bread bakes. Candles are nice, baking bread is nirvana. Should we not pursue with vigor all that makes us feel alive?

      Sourdough is a two-day event. One makes the dough today to bake tomorrow. That in itself is an act of faith that we’ll be around tomorrow to enjoy the bread, but life’s greatest rewards aren’t immediately gratified. One must earn tomorrow today.

      That which delights us offers a higher return on the minutes spent. It’s not nihilistic to seek a higher return on our time, it’s our duty to our one precious life to maximize our value. To derive meaning from minutes spent vigorously. The spend will happen on its own. ’tis the vigor we bring that makes all the difference, now and in that uncertain future awaiting us.

    • Pebbles

      “It isn’t the mountains ahead to climb that wear you out; it’s the pebble in your shoe” — Muhammad Ali

      Inevitably, after doing some workout and feeling the rush of adrenaline that washes over you when you finish, I tell myself I ought to do that more consistently. I mean, a year ago I was working out twice a day for 75 days, so why am I not working out at least once a day now? Maybe working out twice a day was a bit much, but not working out at all was a bit too far in the other direction.

      Habits come and go. I wrote this blog every day for seven years and just stopped one day just to reset myself and stop that creeping feeling that writing was an obligation and not a privilege. I’m writing again with new perspective, and without feeling like I must publish today no matter what. Hopefully the content feels less like an obligation to read too.

      Habits stick when we love doing something. When it becomes so ingrained as part of our identity that we can’t imagine not doing it today and for every tomorrow we have left ahead of us. When it nags at us like a pebble in the shoe, we’re far less likely to follow through with it today. And our actions today are all that matters in all things.

      Today I took my bike out for a 15-mile ride. That’s nothing for a hard-core cyclist, but it’s not a bad use of an hour for a casual cyclist trying to get back in the habit again. It turned out what was nagging at me was how much I missed being out on the bike while stuck in a routine chock full of excuses. Tomorrow will take care of itself, but I’ll celebrate today for all the right reasons.

    • 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.

    • Coming to Fullness

      I have my freedom
      today
      because
      nothing really happened

      and nobody came
      to see me.
      Only the slow
      growing of the garden
      in the summer heat

      and the silence of that
      unborn life
      making itself
      known at my desk,
      my hands
      still
      dark with the
      crumbling soil
      as I write
      and watch

      the first lines
      of a new poem,
      like flowers
      of scarlet fire,
      coming to fullness
      in a new light.
      — David Whyte, It Happens to Those Who Live Alone

      This summer is halfway over, and as usual, the flower garden peaked before the 4th of July. But here come the tomatoes, reminding us that the harvest is still to come. Days and weeks pass by with seemingly no progress, until one day there it is waiting for us to notice. Ripeness isn’t so much progression as a natural conclusion to the growing season. In this way, gardening and writing follow a similar path.

      Writing is inherently personal. Isolated. But never lonely. To create anything meaningful, one must mine something of oneself. To go deep within and pluck out bits that we believe maybe shouldn’t see the light of day. There they are anyway—read ’em and weep. Or laugh. Or sometimes simply relate. Like a ripening tomato, what was once green and not ready arrives at full ripeness. Now we must pluck it before it dies on the vine.

      This blog is posting on the 31st of July. Shockingly over too soon, this month. It’s always been this way. Life is a series of opportunities seized or slipped away from our grasp. It’s up to us to make the most of our days. A full life begins with doing something with the green idea ripening to fruition. Just what are we to be next? Where is this story going anyway? The harvest is still to come. The answer is to keep at it, as anyone growing anything would tell us.

    • 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.

    • The Resonance of the Ritual

      I have dreamed
      of accomplishment.
      I have fed

      ambition.
      I have traded
      nights of sleep

      for a length of work.
      Lo, and I have discovered
      how soft bloom

      turns to green fruit
      which turns to sweet fruit.
      Lo, and I have discovered

      all winds blow cold
      at last,
      and the leaves,

      so pretty, so many,
      vanish
      in the great, black

      packet of time,
      in the great, black
      packet of ambition,

      and the ripeness
      of the apple
      is its downfall.
      — Mary Oliver, The Orchard

      I spoke with an old friend this week about sailing and song. As sailors in my circle of friends tend to do, he lectured me on working too long into life, and did the quick math on life after work. So many pretty leaves, vanished in our time. And what lesson does it offer for us? We ripen so quickly, don’t we?

      I’m writing less, which means I’m publishing fewer blogs. Yet I’m living a fully aware, active life. We reach a point where the length of work is less important than the resonance of the ritual. In a world that is upside down, we find meaning in the little things stacked together just so. The aim hasn’t always been awareness, but surely it is now.

      Consider what we will never do in a lifetime. The list is far longer than the things we will do. There’s a restlessness that stokes a fire in us, pushing us to do more and still more with the time we have. If we’re lucky and aware, we learn what to leave behind as not for us. People, jobs, projects and places all recede from possible to probably not. We are forever reconciling our probably nots.

      Rather than dwell on probably nots, there is joyfulness to be found in the ritual of what we’ve said yes to. Each day is a dance with yes. It becomes less about filling bucket lists and more about more of this, please. The time will still fly by relentlessly, but the hours are measured in what we bring to the world.

    • Participation

      This blog is on a sabbatical of sorts, with an occasional post to let you know I’m still around. I’m not sure when or if I will return to posting every day, but I can assure you that I still have much to see and do and to ponder and write about. The world demands only our brief presence with it, not our participation. Participation is a choice we make to dance with life in our time and place.

      For the last two weeks I’ve been in France, experiencing that country’s joie de vivre first-hand, and also the extreme heat that has made the news around the world. The heat modified a few plans, but it didn’t cancel any. We are changed for having been there, which is exactly what travel offers. Will it influence my daily rituals now that I’ve returned? Almost certainly. Just as assuredly, my perspective and writing will also be transformed for having been. With France, you never really leave it, it stays with you for as long as memories do.

      Rather than post a bunch of familiar pictures of the Eiffel Tower or the Mona Lisa or some such bucket list item, here are three pictures of the sun from uniquely beautiful locations. Each has their own story, as each day must. Like every great experience in a lifetime, we will linger on each memory with the hope of returning one day.

      The sun slowly dropping into the hazy English Channel as seen from the top of the hill at Arromanches-les-Baines in Normandy. 82 years ago this was the sight of “Port Winston”, the artificial port built here to create the essential supply chain that would decide the outcome of World War II. A visit reminds you not only of the sacrifice of so many, but the stunningly beautiful place that it had been before the German occupation and is once again.
      The sun rising above the mud flats and shifting sands of the Bay of Mont Saint-Michel. There is quicksand and a rapidly rising tide in the flats, making it treacherous for those who don’t heed the warnings. Mont Saint-Michel is a stunning destination worthy of the pilgrimage so many took to arrive here. We spent one night on the island, which gave me the opportunity to take this photo as the new day began.
      Sun setting over the Loire River from the banks of Amboise, France. Just behind me over my right shoulder is the Château Royal d’Amboise, where Francis I, former King of France, lived. Francis invited Leonardo da Vinci to spend his final years in Amboise, given a generous stipend and a home at Château du Clos Lucé just up the road. Leonardo da Vinci final resting place is in Amboise, supposedly in the Château Royal d’Amboise with a view similar to this sunset view. I can think of worse places to spend eternity.

    • Alive and… Well?

      To pay attention, this is our endless and proper work.
      — Mary Oliver, Yes! No!

      What we pay attention to determines how we live, who we are and who we will become. To notice the little details is immersive, or it’s distracting—it all depends on what our attitude is on the matter. There’s just so much to pay attention to. There’s just so much to see and do and be.

      I’ve noticed that some people have receded from the conversation. Or maybe it was me all along. I’ve been sliding in the direction of less is more for some time now (even as I’m busier than ever: I’m a living contradiction). Shifting this blog from every day without fail to now and then when I have something to say is indicative of an inclination to step out of the noisy lane towards a quieter path. Perhaps one day I’ll get there.

      Alive and, well, less focused on rushing this moment along for the next dose of click bait or sound bite packaged just so. Social media, text streams, demands for our time, and good god, the news of the day. It’s all just so distracting and not us. We are here, now. We ought to be aware of it all, at the expense of all that we ought to ignore.

      “The essence of greatness is the perception that virtue is enough.” — Ralph Waldo Emerson

      To be engaged with everything is to be focused on nothing. Slow down and have a look around. See the world as a poet or a philosopher observes it. This is the path to a deeper awareness than the fast track offers. Where is the fast track bringing us anyway? Life shouldn’t be a blur of forever next. It all flies by fast enough already. To be quietly virtuous, aware and fully alive: That feels worthy of our remaining time together. This is our great life, so have a look around.

    • Old Men Ought to be Explorers

      Old men ought to be explorers
      Here or there does not matter
      We must be still and still moving
      Into another intensity
      — T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets: East Coker

      Not old. Not yet anyway. But oh my, we’re getting there. And so there is a calling to do more with the time available. To become more in the process of doing. Old men ought to be explorers.

      I’m publishing less often these days. Consider it a sabbatical of sorts, with an abundance of other things to focus on. I enjoy the process enough to suggest that I’ll be back again. With the level of surety of one who knows the fragility of promises.

      To return means to first venture somewhere. To be and see and do that which transforms us in meaningful ways into a greater version of our selves. Returns, like tomorrows, are never promised, but they’re suggested. I would suggest that this blog, founded on the idea of travel and history, poetry and song, will return again with something more to say.

      But first, there’s this matter of moving into another intensity.

    • The Space Between

      Writing without the pressure to publish contradicts all that I’ve said about consistently shipping our work. But to choose to embrace the writing and not the streak of publishing every day for seven+ years liberated this writer from a feeling of obligation. To ramble on just to check a box felt a shallow victory. We aren’t put on this earth to check boxes, we’re put here to add our verse. Instead, I write because I have something to say.

      As with music, the space between often means far more than what initially draws our attention.