Alexandersmap

    Tag: Alexander Dumas

    • Killing Follies

      “The overflow of my brain would probably in a state of freedom have evaporated in a thousand follies. It needs trouble and difficulty and danger to hollow out various mysteries and hidden mines of human intelligence. Pressure is required, you know, to ignite powder.” — Alexander Dumas, The Count of Monte Cristo

      Do you wish for a superpower? Learn to focus. Delete the app, turn off all notifications and put the phone away. This, I know, is an impossible ask in this day and age. We are all so very dependent on our phones (perhaps you’re reading this blog on it right now).

      Honestly, I struggle too, to eliminate a thousand follies. We are super-connected, after all. This should in itself be a superpower, but alas, it’s simply a series of distractions that keep us from diving deep into the well of thought and insight.

      How to focus?

      Go analog. Pick up a classic book like The Count of Monte Cristo, a thousand pages of “I’ll read that someday” deferment, and sequester yourself from all that would draw your attention away to immerse yourself in another world. You’ll be in good company. It’s impossible to know how many people have read this classic, but estimates run in the tens of millions over the almost two centuries since it was first published. Truly a novel that stands the test of time.

      Go for a walk. Leave the device behind and listen to the wind through the trees, or raindrops on leaves, or how wildlife reacts to your presence. Sometimes they go silent, sometimes they chirp a warning to others, sometimes they scurry away with a telltale rustle of leaves. To be present with in the wild is to be connected in the best possible way: no power cord required.

      Write. Journal or write a blog or a full novel if you want. The point is to listen deeply to what we harbor within and turn it out onto the page. All the AI mining in the world won’t duplicate what we find within, if we learn to listen to ourselves and find our own voice. To leave our verse unsaid is the ultimate betrayal to those who wish to hear it.

      Practice presence. Like Thich Nhat Hanh washing dishes relaxingly, we may be fully present with the task at hand. I try to practice this in the garden, walking the dog, commuting in traffic and standing in line at the grocery store. Sometimes I get it right, and sometimes I miss badly. Try again, I tell myself, and sometimes I do better the next time, or maybe the time after that. Presence is a lifetime practice. Be patient.

      The trick, I think, is to question everything that would draw our attention away from that which we desire to focus on the most. In order to do anything, we have to say no far more than yes. What will it be for you and me? We should kill off those follies as they try to steal away our attention. For we have bigger fish to fry.

    • Resonance and Depth

      “It goes without saying that a fine short poem can have the resonance and depth of an entire novel.” — James Wright

      Poems are like friends: find the right one and it will change your life. And like people we encounter throughout our lives, they serve as stepping stones between who we were prior to landing on one and who we become as we launch towards some other insightful plateau.

      So what is reading a great novel, if not more time with something of substance? Like a marriage that carries us on a journey of discovery? We may find a resounding truth in a few words, or one that unfolds over the course of a lifetime. A resolve towards discovery is the thing.

      I started reading The Count of Monte Cristo again. And in reading it, I came across a business card from a decade ago that I’d stuck between the pages as a placeholder marking the last time I’d passed this way. Have I mentioned that I’ve started and stopped reading this novel a few times over the years? Perhaps this time I’ll finish it. Twenty pages a day and it will be wrapped up by Thanksgiving. I can surely outpace that metric, given enough time… and the inclination.

      We are the sum of all that we layer atop the foundation we venture out into the world with. No doubt a solid foundation helps a great deal in reaching a higher potential. Isn’t that why we strive to put our children in the best neighborhoods and schools we can afford? But a solid base means nothing if we don’t grow from it. We may shore up our own foundation, and fill gaps through a regimen of lifetime education. This is our duty to ourselves, to reach for that elusive arete in our time. Or we could simply coast into a lesser version of who we might have been. The choice is ours.