Alexandersmap

    Category: Writing

    • As the Twig is Bent the Tree Inclines

      “Everything that is printed and bound in a book contains some echo at least of the best that is in literature.  Indeed, the best books have a use, like sticks and stones, which is above or beside their design, not anticipated in the preface, nor concluded in the appendix.  Even Virgil’s poetry serves a very different use to me today from what it did to his contemporaries.  It has often an acquired and accidental value merely, providing that man is still man in the world…  It would be worth the while to select our reading, for books are the society we keep; read only the serenely true; never statistics, nor fiction, nor news, nor reports, nor periodicals, but only great poems, and then they failed, read them again, or perchance write more.” – Henry David Thoreau, A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers

      I keep returning to Thoreau this year.  And he rarely lets me down.  When he wrote these lines he was referencing the poetry of the long dead Virgil, contemplating the power of his words in his time, even as they meant something slightly different to him.  And now I read Thoreau’s words, in turn contemplating the power of his words in the same fashion.      We all are influenced by the collective wisdom of the ages, and if we’re bold write about our own perceptions of the world to in turn influence others.  I’m not so bold as to compare myself to Virgil or Thoreau mind you, but I’ll keep working towards it nonetheless.

      “Your descendants shall gather your fruits.” – Virgil

      I’ll follow Thoreau’s lead and contemplate some of Virgil’s writing for a moment.  Whether my writing amounts to anything more than the ramblings of a restless mind or the beginning of something greater remains to be seen at this point, but those descendants will know a bit more about that mind for having done the writing.  Neither could have envisioned the world as it is today, and who might be contemplating their words.  We all add to the chorus with our voice.

      “As the twig is bent the tree inclines.” – Virgil

      There’s no doubt that blogging has bent the twig a bit, so to speak.  The benefit of this daily writing habit is that the behavior inclines us more towards greater things.  Ultimately that’s the entire point of the exercise (and thank you for being part of the journey), chipping away at it.  Getting that 10,000 hours in.  Refining, building, becoming something better for the effort and consistency.  And maybe add a little great poetry to the world in the process.

    • Now… or Never

      Reading has a way of pulling material out for us.  I fully intended to write about the Battle of Lake Erie today, but it will have to wait just a bit longer.  Instead I came across this poem last night while thinning out the bookshelves.  I have books stacked on books, and it’s time to clean out a bunch of them.  Fall yard sale or donate to a library or sell to a used bookstore?  Their fate is to be determined.  But back to that poem.  It speaks of young lust to be sure, but also calls out across the centuries, warning us to get on with it already (so to speak), for time is short:

      “Had we but world enough, and time,
      This coyness, lady, were no crime.
      We would sit down and think which way
      To walk, and pass our long love’s day…

      But at my back I always hear
      Time’s winged chariot hurrying near;
      And yonder all before us lie
      Deserts of vast eternity.
      Thy beauty shall no more be found,
      Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
      My echoing song; then worms shall try
      That long preserv’d virginity,
      And your quaint honour turn to dust,
      And into ashes all my lust.
      The grave’s a fine and private place,
      But none I think do there embrace.”

      – Andrew Marvell, To His Coy Mistress

      Who doesn’t smile at the game old Andrew was playing here?  That the game was played in the 1650’s, but published posthumously, as if our hero were reaching out from the grave to remind us that time is short, and to do what we must do….  now.  Carpe Diem.  Marvell was apparently a real player, and I spent some time getting acquainted with a few of his poems this morning before writing.  I may revisit his work sometime, but I can’t ignore the call.  I dance with a lot of ghosts after all, and so should everyone.  They know things we don’t yet know.  History speaks, and so does literature.

      Interestingly, the first time I read the first and last two lines of the poem wasn’t in some English class, but in a business book written by Felix Dennis called How to Get Rich.  I’d picked up his book back in 2006 at the height of my lust for business success.  Back when I read it the first time I ignored the urgency of his call.  I’m less inclined to do so now.  Dennis died in 2014, joining Marvell in calling out from the grave.  Seize the day!

      The grave’s a fine and private place,
      But none I think do there embrace.”

       

    • Stories to Come

      “At first sight the field seemed flawless; floe country. Then I set out across it and started to see the signs. The snow was densely printed with the tracks of birds and animals – archives of the hundreds of journeys made since the snow had stopped… Most of the animal tracks on the course had been left by rabbits. If you’ve seen rabbit prints in the snow, you will know they resemble a Halloween ghost mask, or the face of Edward Munich’s screamer: the rear two feet are placed laterally to make elongated eyes, and between and behind them fall the forefeet in a slightly offset paired line, forming nose and oval mouth. Thousands of these faces peered at me from the snow.” – James Macfarlane, The Old Ways: A Journey on Foot

      I first read this passage from Macfarlane’s book seven years ago, and was stunned by the beauty of this opening story of walking out into a golf course after it snowed. Lately I’ve been looking back on a few books I’d loved before, ignoring for a spell the stack of books waiting for me to make their acquaintance. Life is short and there’s only so many pages to read in the daily march. But I wanted to revisit this magical golf course with Macfarlane, and see those faces in the snow once more. You know great writing when you read it, and for me, this was it.

      They say if you want to write better you should read more, and of course get out and see the world. I believe one hand washes the other, and writing prompts me to read and see more too. So goes the dance. I’ve been an avid reader, an eager traveler and an occasional writer. Writing every day has amplified my reading and travel alike. With a few trips planned, both business and pleasure, I’m looking forward to seeing how that travel flavors the writing.

      This morning the writing took place back inside in a chair facing back into the room, away from the world waking up behind me. By all rights I should spin the chair around and look outward, but the inward view has its merits too. I came inside as the coolness of the morning air mocked my choice of clothing. It’s August still, but the air says September. Our cat resumed her routine of sitting behind me, covering my back literally and figuratively, should the chipmunks and squirrels stage a late summer raid. She approves of my move indoors, appreciating the company. I think of days to come, and wonder what I’ll write about next. Like a stack of books waiting for you, there are so many stories to get to, and never quite enough time.

    • Felling the Tree

      “Every action you take is a vote for the type of person you wish to be.” – James Clear

      This morning the snooze alarm went off well before I was prepared to get up. I don’t use the snooze button mind you; don’t believe in it. You’re either sleeping or you’re getting up. But my wife uses the snooze button often as part of her wake-up routine. Thankfully most days I’m up well before her alarm would go off. Today was an exception. Feeling a bit worn out I was going to sleep in, until the second snooze convinced me it wasn’t possible.

      This morning I operated in slow motion. Foggy and some aches and pains. I slowly dressed to work out, walked downstairs and drank a pint of water. The internal dialogue trending towards bagging the morning workout and doing it later in the day.  I’ve heard this song before and point my feet towards the basement door, down thirteen steps and onto the erg for a row.  I row 500 meters to warm up and assess my overall condition.  My assessment isn’t good, but I stand after 500 meters and warm up the shoulders.  More aches…  but I ignore them and drop down for the burpees, slower than usual but complete, row another piece and call it a workout.  I’ve done the bare minimum, cast my vote and I’m back upstairs.  I hear the snooze going off upstairs and look at the clock.  60 minutes of snooze buttoning.  Yikes.

      On to reading stoicism, a bit of an article on Ben Franklin in London, and a bit of writing this before my wife is downstairs and off for her commute.  Habits carried the morning for me even as the mind rebelled.  The James Clear quote above stays with me more than anything else in his excellent book.  Simple, memorable wisdom in a bite-sized chunk.  I wish I’d written that.  Instead I write other words, casting votes for the type of person I wish to be.  I’m closing in on 100,000 words written in this blog, and a few thousand burpees.  I need to move beyond the bare minimum workout, which means changing other habits later in the day.  Win the morning, lose the evening and it’s a wash.  Life is too short for a wash.  With only 142 days left in 2019 there’s so much to do still.  Why settle for the bare minimum?

      I joined a group challenge with co-workers.  We all travel, and we all struggle with the balance of exercise versus caloric intake that the job seems to demand.  We’ve all agreed to lose ten pounds by the time we reach a trade show in Chicago next month or pay $20 bucks and hear about it from those who were successful.  Nothing focuses the mind like peer pressure, so I’m all in on this challenge.  But I noticed I gave myself a pass last week (after all I had five weeks to complete the challenge).  I recognized this trend – it reminded me of pulling all nighters to complete papers in college.  Wait until the last minute, then put yourself through hell to reach a goal.  You won’t fell the tree with one swing of the axe…  I like the more intelligent approach of consistent, daily action and the compound effect, and so an incremental increase in daily workload to reach the goal is in order.  Keeping it going for the rest of the 142 days offers a head start on 2020, a nice round number with some big moments scheduled.

      I’ve always been intrigued with the concept of accelerating through the curve.  In racing that means slowing down in the first half of the apex and accelerating in the second half. Using momentum to your advantage.  In life momentum starts with casting consistent, daily votes.  That applies in your career, with exercise and weight loss, and writing.  The lack of momentum also applies in each of these areas, so why build anchors when you can build kites?  Or to return to that zen philosophy, you need to chop for a long time to fell the tree, you can’t do it with one swing.

    • An Infinite Sea

      When I was 17 I was sure I’d found my vocation. I’d become a draftsman, and the drafting table was a place where time flew by in a blur. But even then the ripples of change were in the air, and CAD (Computer-Aided Design) was taking over. Pencils couldn’t keep up with programming, and I opted for college to find a wider channel.

      Each man has his own vocation.  The talent is the call.  There is one direction in which all space is open to him.  He has faculties silently inviting him thither to endless exertion.  He is like a ship in a river: he runs against obstructions on every side but one, on that side all obstruction is taken away and he sweeps serenely over a deepening channel into an infinite sea.  This talent and this call depend on his organization, or the mode in which the general soul incarcerates itself to him.  He inclines to do something which is easy to him and good when it is done, but which no other man can do.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson

      Emerson witnessed the American Industrial Revolution happening all around him in Waltham, Lowell, Lawrence, Fitchburg and other mill towns. The pace of change was extraordinary for the time, and still inspires awe. Cities bursting upwards from ancient land, transformed forever from ancient forests to quiet farmland to bustling brick and steel blocks as far as the eye could see. Timeless rivers dammed and diverted into canals that fed in turn the turbines and the looms and the mill workers and most of all the mill owners and investors. Railways and highways built and expanded to move goods efficiently from place-to-place. Neighborhoods creeping ever outwards to house the workers. The transformation is ongoing in an ebb and flow of maddening hunger for more and more.

      Mixed into this crush of transformation was the pressure to keep up, leading to consumer debt and then student debt. Shackled to interest payments, how does a young person navigate the obstructions on all sides and find the channel that brings them to the endless sea? The system is set up to feed the beast, not the soul of the worker. The futility of this leads to anxiety, blame and rage. Look around in America today and you see it everywhere. The dream lives on, but obstacles clog the channel. That channel is there, if only we break free of the obstacles. Too many never do.

      “Just as a well-filled day brings blessed sleep, so a well-employed life brings a blessed death.” – Leonardo da Vinci

      I’m further down the river, but haven’t reached that infinite sea. The writing feels like a better channel, though it’s currently a hobby not a vocation. I’ve sprinkled long form writing into many career stops down the river, but one man’s channel is another’s obstacle. In business long form writing gets swept aside for quick sound bites of absolutely necessary information and then on to the next thing.

      Better to find a better audience, and technology allows for that to a degree, even as it eliminates other opportunities. The proverbial river has changed since Emerson’s America, narrower channel in some places, wider in spots, but dammed up in others. Opportunities to find your way to that infinite sea have never been more available, just stop bouncing from shore to shore trying to find the channel and the journey will be a lot easier. There’s no serenity out of the channel (where too many find themselves), and the sea awaits.

    • On Writing and Ritual

      This morning the blues were running into shore again, hundreds of thousands of silvery fry swam in unison to escape the feeding frenzy, growing swirls of terns cried out in ecstatic approval as the desperate columns of fry rose to the surface. Individual fry break for the sky, betraying their unspoken vow of safety in numbers only to prove the point as they’re plucked from the air by the terns hovering for just such a moment. Removed from this frenetic dance of life and death by my place on shore and the couple of notches up the food chain humans are offered, I contemplate the cooler, autumn-like air and the changes to come in the next few weeks.

      “When we take our time and focus in depth, when we trust that going through a process of months or years will bring us mastery, we work with the grain of this marvelous instrument that developed over millions of years. We move infallibly to higher and higher levels of intelligence. We practice and make things with skill. We learn to think for ourselves. We become capable of handling complex situations without being overwhelmed. In following this path we become Homo magister, man or woman the Master. – Robert Greene, Mastery

      I’m a long way from mastery in writing, but I enjoy the pursuit. The daily ritual of observation, contemplation and expression offers me the opportunity to improve my skill set, and perhaps live up to the declaration made by Mr. Harding in that high school English class when he handed back our papers, looked at me and announced to all that would hear, “You will be a writer someday”. 35 years of active avoidance later, I’m finally getting around to it. Or more accurately, putting it out there. Robert Greene writes of focus in depth, and I sense that in the ritual. It bears fruit in productivity, and is its own reward in transformation. Shame that I waited, but I’m writing now and will do so every day that I’m given.

      “If you wait for inspiration to write you’re not a writer, you’re a waiter.” – Dan Poynter

      “I like myself better when I’m writing regularly.” – Willie Nelson

      The sunrise was lovely this morning, but not spectacular. No clouds in the sky, just a brightening orange sky and an eruption of flame as the sun rose up once again. Cape Cod offers a different perspective than New Hampshire, there’s nothing shocking in that statement but the obviousness of it. The last week was a change of scenery as I save vacation time for big travel to come. So the mornings offered me the state change that the rest of the day couldn’t. Even in this there’s nothing new, save for the ritual that documents it. Daily writing offers the opportunity to discover the spectacular. Like the sunrise often it doesn’t reach that level but it can still be pretty good, and I’m better for having done it.

    • Raising the Average

      “Perfection is the enemy of action.” – Ryan Holiday, The Daily Stoic

      Somehow I haven’t found the time to walk five miles every day this week. Busy with stuff. Like finding excuses to not get some exercise. But somehow I’ve managed to knock off a dozen burpees every day. Granted, it’s a small token of daily fitness, but I haven’t broken the streak yet. I’ve established a cadence with burpees. It’s a form of daily ritual, a small gesture towards fitness. It won’t close the gap on its own but it gives me some measure of achievement.

      Seth Godin mentioned in an interview that he writes multiple blog posts every day, essentially building a library of possibilities to post. I have no such library. Instead I write as inspiration strikes, usually in the morning but sometimes late in the day. But I post daily to keep the streak alive, typos and all. I’m not writing a masterpiece, though I surely try. The cadence is what I’m focused on. Hopefully the content meets expectations on occasion.

      Every morning this week I’ve gotten up for the sunrise, alone to catch the sun break the horizon. There’s a feeling of hope for this new day, as there was yesterday and hopefully tomorrow. I haven’t had a perfect day yet this week, but I’ve had good days nonetheless. Perfect days are evasive creatures; I’ll take great days or even average days. Average is still pretty good when you look at how dark the world can be. I woke up today (bonus!), saw a sunrise, sipped some coffee and read a bit of meaningful prose. I’ll take that kind of start any day. Chasing perfection leads you down a path of never good enough, which leads to the darkness. I choose the light, errors and all.

      There’s a great article about Dalilah Muhammad’s world record 400 meter hurdle run in Sports Illustrated this week. She ran an imperfect race, but she didn’t need perfection to get the WR because she’d worked so hard to be at a level of performance where an average race was still far ahead of the perfect race for someone else was. There’s a lesson there for all of us. We can’t reach perfection but by continually raising the bar in our own lives we can reach levels of greatness in our pursuits. Steady improvement over time moves us closer. That seems healthier than never good enough.

    • Honing a Curious Mind

      I’ve been trying to figure out who is singing in the neighborhood for the last six weeks. I make a point of being outdoors whenever possible in the early morning (New Hampshire summers are very short after all). Some singers are obvious, others are more evasively unfamiliar to me. I regret that my education never included identifying birdsong. But as with many things I’ve made it a point of my adult learning path. I’m currently in the 101 level birdsong classes.

      I tried an app that analyzes bird song, but the bluebirds always sing at the same time as this character and tend to confuse the analytics. It keeps think its a mockingbird when I can hear the differences clearly. Eventually I came to the conclusion that this was a Brown Thrasher. In the process of figuring that out I’ve come to learn the songs of another half dozen birds I’ve heard in the background music but never took the time to learn about. I’m far from an expert on any of this, but the path is more vibrant.

      In the last 18 months I’ve learned about or reacquainted myself with local and world history, stoicism, transcendentalism, world religions, the power of habits, physiology, native trees, horticulture, birds, bugs, the environment and other diverse (eclectic?) side paths on the route from here to, well, there. Side paths lead to other side paths and before you know it maybe you’ve accumulated something meaningful in the old brain. You can’t write about what you don’t know about, and this cajoles me from tangential interest to deeper learning about topics. As a side benefit I’ve become better at writing too… you’ll see it eventually.

      “The discipline of sharing something daily is priceless.” – Seth Godin

    • The Cure for Writer’s Block

      A friend asked me whether I ever had writer’s block last week. I can’t say that I have. Words flow easily out of me, but as with everything there’s timing and ritual involved… and one more thing. It’s the same thing that taught me humility.  Consuming nutrient-rich brain food. No, I’m not referring to eating more salmon and blueberries (but those count too), but the acquisition of rich daily experience. You’ve got to get out and in the world.  And out doesn’t have to be too far out.  Don’t just sit there in front of a computer screen or blank page in a journal; go for a walk around the block, or better, take a walk through a cemetery and read the history engraved on the tombstones.  Or a walk alone on a beach at dawn.  Ideas come from moving out and experiencing what the world offers.  If you don’t reach out to greet them someone else will.

      Ernest Hemingway was famous for living as large as he wrote. Henry David Thoreau walked and observed the world around him constantly. Cheryl Strayed hiked the PCT and wrote Wild based on that experience. I’m not any of those writers, but I follow their example.

      Jump in the ocean or a quiet pond.  Feel the current flow through your fingers as you tread water.  Weed the garden.  I get more ideas deadheading the flowers than I ever get staring at a screen.  And the ace in my pocket: read more consistently.  I get more ideas from reading great books than from any other source.  Stoicism, history, biographies, and even fiction spark the imagination.

      When I don’t read I listen and observe.  Living by the ratio of Two ears, one mouth has served me well over the years.  Seek solitude and blessed quiet when possible. I found joy in the quiet room at the car dealership today simply by walking in and closing the door on the negative stream of news on the televisions blaring in the waiting rooms. Nothing nutritious in that space.

      Some people meditate.  I wish I could slow my mind down enough to meditate.  Instead, I meditate through tasks.  Pulling weeds, painting, washing dishes, making the bed or mopping the floor have all become sources of quiet for my mind, and a quiet mind has time to sort out the stories you want to tell the world.  Rowing on the erg serves me well for processing information, so long as the music isn’t blaring.

      Getting out and experiencing the world through travel opens up your mind.  Travel is like a butterfly net for catching ideas. The stories write themselves from that point on.  My visit to Fort Niagara last month gave me another dozen stories to tell about the people who fought to hold that strategic point of land, and those who fought to take it away.  I have stories tucked away in the back of my mind from visits to places far and wide, and from visits to the garden in the backyard.

      This morning I spent 15 minutes deadheading the pansies.  That’s an insane amount of time that I’ll never get back deadheading a pot of pansies.  And that’s true; but it’s not about the pansies.  Like the Japanese kare-sansui, the dry landscaping where the concept is zero equals abundance, deadheading pansies provides me with an abundance of exactly what I need in that moment.  I don’t rake rocks and sand to get in touch with my Zen, I pluck maple seedlings from potted plants and the garden. I live in New Hampshire next to woods actively trying to expand into the garden. Inspiration is where you find it..