Alexandersmap

    Category: Writing

    • The Next and Most Necessary Thing

      “Routine will take you further than willpower.” — @ShaneAParrish

      The “next and most necessary thing” is all that any of us can ever aspire to do in any moment. And we must do it despite not having any objective way to be sure what the right course of action even is. — Oliver Burkeman, Four Thousand Weeks: Time Management for Mortals

      I ran into an old friend a while back, someone I hadn’t seen in a long time. We passed the usual compliments to each other about surviving to this point relatively intact, exchanged phone numbers and went our separate ways. We might never see each other again, or maybe we’ll be best friends someday. The only certainty is the next step.

      All we ever have is now and the next most necessary thing. We fall into the groove of routines, and it’s hard sometimes to slip out of that groove and introduce new things. It’s our attractive rut, carrying us to the grave or to salvation, whichever comes first. We remind ourselves over and over again that we are what we repeatedly do. The hidden message in Aristotle’s statement is that sometimes we have to break free of habits and find a new groove. And once in a blue moon we find the right groove and ought to stick with it.

      There are days when it all feels right, and days when nothing does. Routine saves the day more often than not, if we choose wisely. We tell ourselves to move more, eat better, read and write and floss. Each is a habit, a ritual, embedded into the groove of routine. If some part of that routine feels unfulfilling, who says we can’t find a new one? We have the agency to make the most necessary next move.

      Whatever will be will be, surely it will, but we may alter the course a degree or two in our favor. The two or three things that make the most positive difference in our lives ought to be part of our ritual. The things that slide us sideways off the track ought to be replaced with better routines. The question we might ask ourselves in our next chance encounter, with an old friend or perhaps the mirror, is whether time has treated us well or not. We can influence the answer with our routine established now and next. Given that, it doesn’t seem so routine at all.

    • What Falls Away is Always

      Great Nature has another thing to do
      To you and me; so take the lively air,
      And, lovely, learn by going where to go.

      This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
      What falls away is always. And is near.
      I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
      I learn by going where I have to go.
      — Theodore Roethke, The Waking Poem

      We might agree that our lives are a brief accumulation of ideas and ritual, happenstance and things, that are ours today and a part of our history tomorrow. We’re all winging it, it seems, following instinct and a compass that is drawn to comfortable and habitual. Learning this about each other and ourselves, most of us hit our stride in time. Still, some chafe at life and constantly turn it upside down in the hope that there’s more on the other side. What is the right path? Doesn’t that change too? We’re a work in progress, each of us, wherever we are along the path. The view and how we feel about it changes as we ourselves change.

      Looking back is most striking. Old photographs and videos from another time in our lives betray who we were once, and that wave of change breaks over us, soaking us in memories. We recognize that we are not any one moment in our lives, we’re the sum of it, a character study transforming. We each see where we’ve been, but we learn by going. Who we were always falls away. The only way is onward to the next.

    • How We Interact

      I was looking through some old pictures for images of an uncle who passed away over the weekend, images that would be part of a collage of images of interactions he’s made in his lifetime. It occurred to me that he’s never joined Facebook or Instagram. If you wanted to interact with him you needed to do it the old-fashioned ways with a call, a letter, or best of all, face-to-face. Technology is handy, but it will never substitute for a conversation with an engaged, interested human being.

      Writing this, I sit at a desk looking to my right to a Mac screen. Looking left, I might interact with a PC screen. I’m technology-agnostic in this way, as most of us must be. Work to the left, personal to the right. Throw in work and personal iPhones loaded with apps, a Kindle, iPad, and both an Apple and a Garmin watch and it seems I can interact with the world in all manner of ways. But I still prefer talking to humans face-to-face. Call me an old soul if you will.

      Technology makes us scalable and efficient. I can click publish on this blog post and it’s possible for the entire world to read it in an instant. We both know that’s not going to happen, because the entire world is pushing out their own content too, making it a very noisy tech world indeed. To rise above the din you must be louder and more committed to connection, not just more interesting or introspective. I’ve come to realize that accumulating followers is just not me. I celebrate organic growth, but dwelling on it is counterproductive and artificial. I’ll just keep doing my thing, quietly interacting with you and the occasional five hundred-ish other folks, from now until it ends.

      One of these days I’ll fix the blog, to make it easier for people to interact with me. Or maybe not, but just know it’s not because I’m not interested in the humans on the other side. Just not so much the technology that connects us. There’s irony in that statement, but it’s not meant to be clever. It just means I’m more like my uncle than I thought I was.

    • Little Things

      Elle est retrouvée!
      Quoi? -l’Éternité.
      C’est la mer allée
      Avec le soleil.

      She is found!
      What? -Eternity.
      It’s the sea gone
      With the sun. — Arthur Rimbaud

      Sunsets are routine, often ritualized. Little things, really, repeated daily. I’ve been known for carrying on about such things as the position of the sun relative to where it was in warmer days. Most people, it seems, could care less about where the tilt of the earth is. We are what we focus on.

      “Little things in life, which afford what [Daniel] Kahneman calls “experiences that you think about when you’re having them,” provide a great deal of everyday enjoyment. Because you’re apt to pay more attention to your remembering than your experiencing self, however, it’s all too easy to forget to indulge yourself in these small but important pleasures on a daily basis, thus depriving yourself of much joy.” — Winifred Gallagher, Rapt

      I should think life would be less enjoyable the very moment one forgot to savor the little things. We get used to things that once delighted us, looking for the next big thing to replace that feeling, always chasing. Never really savoring.

      Most writers have an eye for details, and linger in them longer than the average bear, seeking a deeper understanding. There’s pleasure to be derived from digging deeply into what seems trivial. Consider Rimbauld’s twelve words, arranged just so, that draw so much out of what someone else might think of as just another sunset. Poetry itself might be thought a little thing. Ah, but what things they are, sunsets and poems! I think I’ll stick with little things, thank you.

    • Create It

      “By believing passionately in something that still does not exist, we create it. The nonexistent is whatever we have not sufficiently desired.” — Franz Kafka

      We’re each authors of our story, written daily. It’s easy to forget that sometimes. The novel we’re writing is realized in our daily action, page-by-page. We either arrive at the finished product or we flounder in the minutia of distraction. Nobody said life was fair, friend, only relentlessly present. And we all know the present is our gift.

      “Man plans, God laughs.” – Yiddish adage

      We may not arrive at what we set out to create, but we’ll be further along than had we never begun. Is that enough? I went to Iceland for the Aurora Borealis, and found relentless cloud cover mocking me each night. But I found glaciers and ancient volcanoes expressed as waterfalls and basalt columns instead. Am I the lesser for having gone? The lesson is to leap anyway.

      Kafka isn’t stating that just because we desire something deeply enough that we create it, only that we can’t possibly create it unless we desire it to exist first. Fate and grit play their part in the end. All we can do is do the work.

    • Each Page

      All of Time began when you first answered
      to the names your mother and father gave you.

      Soon, those names will travel with the leaves.
      Then, you can trade places with the wind.

      Then you’ll remember your life
      as a book of candles,
      each page read by the light of its own burning.
      — Li-Young Lee, Become Becoming

      Recently, I spoke about travel with people who aren’t traveling right now for the same reasons I once didn’t travel. Different chapter of life, as the saying aptly goes. Each page offers value and helps complete the story, but we don’t always see that when the story is incomplete.

      The thing is, the story is always incomplete to the very end. We live a novel life with the last page ripped out. There’s simply no knowing how this one turns out until we get there ourselves. Each page is ours to write, mostly ours anyway, edited by the troupe that presently surrounds us. Our task is to make it a hell of a story.

      Page-turners tend to be thrilling but lack substance. Weightier tomes sometimes feel plodding and a chore to get through but leave a mark long after we’ve tucked them up on the shelf. Somewhere in between is a life’s work that is meaningfully appealing and often reflected upon.

      Ultimately there will be other chapters. Aware of this, we might choose to weave magic and depth into this one. When we arrive later in our story, the pieces may finally all come together. It’s then that we’ll remember the true meaning of each page.

    • Anticipation and Memories

      And tomorrow we might not be together
      I’m no prophet and I don’t know nature’s ways
      So I’ll try and see into your eyes right now
      And stay right here ’cause these are the good old days
      — Carly Simon, Anticipation

      I’m reluctantly trying to reign in my anticipation of an exciting trip I’ve planned. That word, anticipation, prompted Carly Simon’s song to play on repeat in my head until I finally conceded and used the lyrics here. When the muse speaks, or sometimes sings, we must listen. And these are indeed the good old days, simply because we’re an active participant in now.

      The thing is, the anticipation remains, and flavors the time leading up to bigger adventure. That anticipation is very much a part of the big adventure, just as the inevitable stories and photos that fill our moments after are a part of it. We ought to add more flavor as this in our days, for we simply don’t know how many more we might have. None of us wants to go out on a bland note. Punctuate the stillness with a cadenza.

      Looking forward carries us there, often with a tinge of excitement about things to come. Looking backwards fill us with memories, sometimes better than the current moment. Comparison is the devil dancing in our heads. Looking around at where we are in the present is figuratively where it’s at. Yet we’re filled with all of them, toying as they do with our heads and habits. Anticipation and memories are our reference points for what we do in this moment at hand. We must remain the conductor of our days and remember that the moment is what matters. To stay right here ’cause these are the good old days, even as we look ahead to what’s possible.

    • Simply Do

      “I want to be famous in the way a pulley is famous, or a buttonhole, not because it did anything spectacular, but because it never forgot what it could do.” — Naomi Shihab Nye (with a nod to @MayaCPopa for showing the way)

      Fame is overrated, contribution is where it’s at. We are utilitarian at the root of it, here to be productive in our time, whatever our calling, lighting the way until we pass the torch.

      We tend to lean into complicated. This is a distraction from the beautiful truth, a collective turn away from the briefness of being, a wish before the song fades and we blow out the candles. It’s contribution that lives beyond wishes.

      Poetry stares the truth in the eye, wanting nothing more than to face it. I wished somedays I was a better poet, a better writer. I’d forgotten what I could do. Now I simply do.

    • A Wisp of a Moment, Captured

      On a recent walk I noticed the recently painted median strip dividing the road featured artwork now and then. It seems they painted the road in autumn, as the oak leaves returned to the earth to close their cycle and begin again. A few rebels, wishing for immortality perhaps, found the opportunity to capture the moment. It struck me this was what all artists do; reach out from the anonymous mass of their moment and leave something of ourselves for others to find.

      There’s something lovely in the temporary nature of this street art, akin to chalk drawings on sidewalks or sandcastles at low tide. Some art is meant to someday be a memory, recalled in quiet moments when you again walk down that street or on that particular stretch of beach. Do you remember the leaves of autumn, swirling in the wind? How quickly they fade from memory. We surf on a wisp of a moment, sometimes captured, mostly lost forever. We ought to embrace the freedom in that, elusive as it feels, for this is our fragile dance.

      “If you would create something, you must be something.” ― Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

      At times we hear the call from the naked page of a notebook, and at times from the middle of the road. Leaves locked in the amber of their moment are a whisper from seasons past to do something with this one. To feel the urgency of the season and make the most of it before the moment fades. This is the unique call of our work, leaping to our attention in the strangest of places. In each case, the question lingers in the moment: Where will you take us now?

    • The Rest of Your Life

      This is the beginning of the rest of your life
      You better start movin’ like you’re running out of time
      The realization coming over your mind
      That it should be a canter
      If you could just find the answer
      You know it could be a canter
      If you were just a wee bit less of a wanker
      More than half ae’ the time
      — Gerry Cinnamon, Cantor

      An old friend pointed me towards Gerry Cinnamon recently. Thick Scottish brogue filled with energy and clever lyrics. That friend has navigated the darkest of tragedies in his life, and I listen when he points me towards the music and writers he’s using to process his life going forward. Most of us are lucky to have easier hurdles than he’s had, but we still have hurdles. We all must find a way forward from whatever lingers.

      The first thing that old friend asked me about was how the writing was going. Not the blog writing, mind you, but that other writing. Not as well, I told him. Wrestling with fiction hadn’t felt right. Maybe non-fiction would be best. Just write and let it sort itself out. And so I am.

      What possible advice can you give a friend who has navigated grief you shudder to contemplate? Nothing unsolicited. Instead, we talked of finding beauty in a dark world, which prompted the Cheryl Strayed quote, which seemed like just enough in the moment:

      There’s always a sunrise and always a sunset and it’s up to you to choose to be there for it,’ said my mother. ‘Put yourself in the way of beauty.
      — Cheryl Strayed, Wild: From Lost to Found

      Life is short. We’ve wasted enough time already, and we must be deliberate and emphatic in how we spend our days. Whatever we wrestle with, demons and darkness or a tendency to idle through our time, we must break free of our inertia and get moving. It should be a cantor. But remember to find the beautiful on the journey.