Alexandersmap

    Category: Writing

    • Spending Time

      Saturday I left the house mid-morning to catch our son’s college basketball game with a quick dinner afterwards, dropped the in-laws off and got home eight hours after I left. We casually spend time like this without a thought, for it’s the essence of life. Time spent on a worthwhile investment. At least to me.

      I once worked for a man who blocked time as A, B or C time. “A” time was normal business hours, say 8 to 5 PM, when you’d hustle like everyone else. “B” time was before 8 AM and after 5 PM, when you’d catch opportunities at the edges. “C” time, to him, was where you would become “successful”. It was the weekends and late weeknight time that normal, balanced people spent time with their families, or exercising, going to church or engaging in meaningful, non-work activity. For him “C” time was when you leapt past your competition and did the extra work needed to win. He fired me when I chose to go on a family vacation instead of working. He was summarily dismissed several months later when the rest of the world realized they despised him. I feel a little sorry for him.

      Which of us was wrong in how we choose to spend our time? It depends on what you prioritize in your own life. I don’t prioritize my career over my family, but do the best I can with the time I spend in it. I’ve had a decent career despite my egregious use of B and C time. Go figure. I rarely think about the guy I worked for anymore, but he taught me an important lesson at a crossroads in my career ten years ago: Life is too short to work for assholes.

      Last night as I was evaluating my time spent during the day, I thought to myself that half the weekend was gone and what had I really accomplished? My answer; I’d spent my time well, in the company of people I wanted to be with. A worthwhile investment of precious time. Will my choice enable me to squash my competition? Get promoted? Make more money? Ultimately I’m richer for having spent the time of other pursuits. I’ve learned not to focus on what other people do with their time, even when I don’t understand it. Sometimes this actually works.

      As we approach Thanksgiving in the United States, it once again presents an opportunity to spend precious time. Four-day weekends in this country are rare indeed. So with this much time, how to spend it? Use the time for a trip to a faraway place? Use it for chasing sales at stores desperate to separate you from your money? Binge watch a Netflix series? Sequester yourself away from others in your happy place? Or maybe spend that time with people you don’t see enough? I know what I’ve chosen, and anticipate a wonderful time.

    • The Fruitful Kernels of Time

      “The truly efficient laborer will not crowd his day with work, but will saunter to his task surrounded by a wide halo of ease and leisure, and then do but what he loved best.  He is anxious only about the fruitful kernels of time…  Some hours seem not to be occasion for any deed, but for resolves to draw breath in.  We do not directly go about the execution of the purpose that thrills us, but shut our doors behind us and ramble with prepared mind, as if the half were already done.  Our resolution is taking root or hold on the earth then, as seeds first send a shoot downward which is fed by their own albumen, ere they send one upward to the light.”  – Henry David Thoreau, A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers

      Sometimes I’ll pick up any old Thoreau book and flip to a random page to see what he has to offer.  Thoreau offers a lot. Often he’ll casually flip a healthy dose of wisdom across time, and I’m the better for having found it. I’m in a post-vacation/pre-holidays work funk where I haven’t quite found my stride again (Some hours seem not to be occasion for any deed), and Thoreau’s analogy of the seed setting its root resonates for me. I don’t seem to have this funk with writing, but with my career it’s been a struggle. These are not days to work from home. To find your stride again you need to move, and I’ve booked meetings in faraway places to do just that.

      Writing seems immune to the funk, but the reality is that the fuel for writing is the distraction in my career. Solitude, travel, reading and long walks inspire writing but not sales. Business meetings, commuting, grinding out proposals and crafting concise emails suck the life out of writing but fill the sales pipeline and ultimately keep the lights on. Knowing this, I work to balance the two appropriately. My job isn’t going to offer immortality but it feeds the family. Allocate time accordingly, and write in the quiet corners of the day.

      “Perfect freedom is reserved for the man who lives by his own work and in that work does what he wants to do.” – R.G. Collingwood

      The reality is that most of us aren’t living in perfect freedom. We live in chains of our own creation. Does that have a negative connotation? Only if you view it that way. For me I happen to enjoy feeding the family, and the grind of the job offers its own rewards too. The writing is transformative, and I regret the years of neglect, but shake myself free of that trap when I recognize it. We’ve only today, and so I produce what I can in this moment, bit-by-bit, like the seed taking root before reaching to the light. Will it yield fruit eventually? Every seed believes so.

    • Writing with Purpose

      “I believe that God made me for a purpose. For China. But He also made me fast. And when I run, I feel His pleasure. To give it up would be to hold Him in contempt… To win is to honor Him.” – Eric Liddell, Chariots of Fire

      I re-watched Chariots of Fire tonight with the perspective of having recently been in Edinburgh and London, and in immersing myself in the horror of World Wars I & II in reading, visits to museums and the epic long-form Hardcore History podcast on the First World War. It’s an entirely different movie when you watch it through the lens of history and the accumulation of life experience. But then again, the same can be said of life. Too many people ignore the lessons of history, and we all suffer as a result.

      Eric Liddell died in a Japanese internment camp in 1945. He’d dedicated (and sacrificed) his life to his missionary work in China. But he’ll always be remembered as an Olympian who chose not to run in a qualifying heat on the Sabbath, who would go on to win the 400 meter sprint and solidify his place in history. You can make a strong case that his Olympic medal was secondary to the rest of his life’s work.

      I have no idea if Liddell ever uttered the quote above. But I do know it fits what I know of the man, and I can imagine him saying it. I’m not particularly religious, but the quote resonates for me. We are created by some miracle of God or infinitesimally random luck, completely unique from the 100 billion other people who have ever lived. I’m no Olympic runner, but I have some talents that I work to bring out. Writing seems to be one… if a work in progress. To give it up would be to hold Him (and myself) in contempt… So why not embrace whatever magic makes you who you are?

    • 2020 Vision

      “No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man.” – Heraclitus

      There are just 44 days left in 2019, and with that realization, I’m looking ahead at 2020.  What will the new year bring?  Major political change?  A swing away from nationalistic tendencies towards a global, we’re all in this together outlook?  An acceleration in the economy or a recession? Environment progress or rapid climate change after years of neglect?  A return of common sense and dignified communication or an increase in bitter, antagonistic rhetoric?  I don’t see the future, but I’ll hope for improvement in 2020.  Either way, I do know that change comes whether you want it or not, and it’s best to be as prepared as you can be for when it does.

      So with that in mind, and a look towards the New Year, what’s the mission?  Outside of a vote I can’t control larger political forces at play in the world that may lead to conflict, but I can control my general fitness and health through exercise and better nutrition.  I can’t control whether we go through a global recession in 2020, but I can control how much money I spend and to a certain extent how much I earn.  I can’t control the clickbait, extreme views that pull society apart, but I can choose what media to consume.   If stoicism teaches you anything, it’s to focus on improving yourself, and don’t try to control what the rest of the world is doing.  Step in when you can make a difference, offer support and encouragement, but don’t try to change people.  That’s on them.

      Reading, exercise, writing and travel have done more to improve my state of mind than anything else.  Doing more of each makes a lot of sense, and will help build a stronger foundation as I turn the calendar into 2020.  Looking at the future and assuming you’re in it is a fools game, but not preparing for the future is too.  So building habits that offer value today and long-term benefits tomorrow makes sense.  It’s a win-win when you pick the right habits. Change happens, and building resilience through positive habits helps us survive and maybe even thrive when it does.  So that’s my focus as we march towards 2020, tweaking the good habits and phasing out the bad whenever possible.  Acknowledging my small role in the universe, I’m hoping that occurs on both a micro and macro level.

      Today’s post was directly influenced by The Daily Stoic, providing both the Heraclitus quote and the reminder that we can only change ourselves.

       

    • That’s Not Me

      With apologies to the rest of the Starks, the best character arc in Game of Thrones is Arya’s. Beginning way back in season one when her father Ned talks about how she’ll grow up to marry a high lord and rule his castle, and she looks at him and replies, “No, that’s not me”. It’s the beginning of an amazing journey for Arya.

      That line stays with me, as it stays with many people.  But will you listen?  Just yesterday I opened a trade magazine and scanned their list of 40 under 40 up and comers, and thought of how this might have driven me at one point in my life, but no longer. Taking nothing away from the accomplishments of those forty, and I know a few of them, I’m happy to reply; “No, it’s not me”. I stepped away from the management track 12 years ago and haven’t looked back. Knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back.  Don’t live your life based on the expectations of others, choose your own path.

      “Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
      And sorry I could not travel both
      And be one traveler, long I stood
      And looked down one as far as I could
      To where it bent in the undergrowth;

      Then took the other, as just as fair,
      And having perhaps the better claim,
      Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
      Though as for that the passing there
      Had worn them really about the same,

      And both that morning equally lay
      In leaves no step had trodden black.
      Oh, I kept the first for another day!
      Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
      I doubted if I should ever come back.

      I shall be telling this with a sigh
      Somewhere ages and ages hence:
      Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
      I took the one less traveled by,
      And that has made all the difference.”  

      – Robert Frost, The Road Not Taken

      It turns out the path I chose was full of twists and turns and hard climbs.  The path itself diverged a few times along the way.  Financially not as lucrative at times as the original, but time is a more valuable currency than income, and I’ve followed a path that gave me a hefty time raise over the previous path.  And interestingly enough, the income hasn’t been all that far off the other path either.  Keeping score of your life using income, position, clicks and likes is a trap.  It’s nothing more than trying to meet the expectations of others.  Be yourself, and grow organically.  The path will get you there eventually, and even if it turns out to be longer and harder than anticipated, the view is better. And that will make all the difference.

    • Walking In Their Footsteps

      There’s a moment 7:24 into the James Corden Carpool Karaoke with Sir Paul McCartney when James remarks, “If my grandad were here right now he’d get an absolute kick out of this” and McCartney replies, “He is.” That moment grabs me by the throat each time I’ve watched it. After a trip to Liverpool a couple of weeks ago, I’ve revisited the episode on YouTube a few more times for the “I was right there” time warp it offers. Which is closely related to the “They were right there” experience of walking in their footsteps on that day.

      We’re all souls marking our time on this planet, eventually our time ends and we’re remembered in moments like Corden’s. Generations later we’re just a small ripple, echoes that show in the traits of future generations, the equivalent in personality to having the same color eyes or the same shape to the earlobes. I can only hope my children carry my better traits to the future, and leave the more annoying stuff behind. But whatever will be will be.

      As I write this my friend the Carolina Wren is singing her morning song outside. We’re well into November and I thought she’d have migrated south by now. But it seems she wanted to stick around a bit longer, brightening up the days with her songs. It’s a sound I wasn’t familiar with until she arrived just this year, but one I won’t ever forget now. It’s funny how little things like that mean so much over time. Which makes me wonder, how will we be remembered?

    • The Farmer and the Poet

      It sits perched atop its fellow stones, neatly laid as a capstone of sorts. Who’s hands laid this stone? A farmer from the earliest days of this nation? Or perhaps their grandchild, the last generation to farm this land before the young turned to the mills or went west? Once the land surrounding the wall was cultivated, bearing harvests of corn, beans and squash. Then the farms faded and the trees regained the land. This wall marks the past, and this stone waits eternally to tell its story, like that poem buried in a musty old book on a library shelf. The farmer and the poet each speak to us through their creations long after they’re gone. If only we’ll listen.

    • Travel and Writing

      Vacations end. There’s no getting around that. But there’s value in resuming the life you’ve built for yourself at home. This morning I’m dining at a lovely breakfast buffet in London, tonight I’ll assess the empty pantry we left behind. But full instead on recent memories. That’s a fair trade.

      The hard part of writing when you travel is carving out meaningful time to do it well. For me early morning was my salvation. The easy part is having a treasure chest of material to write about. Embarrassment of riches? Most definitely. Doesn’t get much richer than London and Scotland (but I’ll surely test that in the coming years).

      Travel and writing pair well. No revelation there. Not all travel is created equal, and this trip provided a wonderful shock to the apathy of the everyday. I try to stop and smell the roses wherever I am, but sometimes you’ve got to step into a new garden to see how they tend things elsewhere. And as I head back to my own backyard, I’ll tap into these memories again and again.

    • The Birdman of Stirling Castle

      You see Stirling Castle long before you get to it. Perched high on a chunk of volcanic intrusive rock at the strategic point where the River Forth widens, offering the last downstream crossing between the Highlands and the Lowlands of Scotland. You couldn’t pick a more strategic spot for a castle, and the sheer cliffs made it impossible to breach from any side but the heavily-defended front. There were eight significant sieges on the castle, the last (unsuccessfully) by Bonnie Prince Charlie.

      Mary, Queen of Scots was crowned here. That’s a story many know. Lesser known but certainly noteworthy was the life of John Damian, resident alchemist for King James IV, who boldly declared that he would fly to France in a flying rig he created that looked like a chicken suit. Damian brought the court out to the Ladies Lookout, which offered one of the steepest drops. He flapped his wings, stepped off the edge and… promptly plummeted. He would have died right then had it not been for the large pile of chamber pot remnants. Instead the mound of muck cushioned his landing just enough that he got out of it with a broken leg and wounded pride. And on the bright side, a bit of immortality.

      Glancing over the wall where Damian made his flight, its hard for me to imagine him taking that leap into the abyss. But that demonstrates the power of convictions. Sometimes they work in your favor, sometimes they leave you covered in feathers and crap with everyone you know laughing at you. There’s nothing wrong with taking the leap, but maybe limit your downside first.

    • Live Awakened

      The book Awakening begins with a foreword by Francis J Stroud, relaying a story the author of the book used to tell when he was alive:

      “A man found an eagle’s egg and put it in a nest of a barnyard hen. The eaglet hatched with the brood of chicks and grew up with them. All his life the eagle did what the barnyard chicks did, thinking he was a barnyard chicken. He scratched the earth for worms and insects. He clucked and cackled. And he would thrash his wings and fly a few feet into the air. Years passed and the eagle grew very old. One day he saw a magnificent bird above him in the cloudless sky. It glided in graceful majesty among the powerful wind currents, with scarcely a beat of its strong golden wings. The old eagle looked up in awe. “Who’s that?” he asked. “That’s the eagle, the king of the birds,” said his neighbor. “He belongs to the sky. We belong to the earth—we’re chickens.” So the eagle lived and died a chicken, for that’s what he thought he was.” – Anthony De Mello

      Today I’m walking all around Edinburgh, feeling quite awake. Yesterday I came across Memento mori at Greyfriars Cemetery and smiled at the sight of this familiar reminder that life is short. Learn who you really are and live a larger life. The rest will take care of itself.