Alexandersmap

    Tag: Arete

    • Better Than Perfection

      As certain as rain
      will make you wet,
      perfection will do you
      in.
      — Kilian McDonnell, Perfection, Perfection

      I write a lot about arete, or personal excellence. It’s a quest for improvement, one step forward and two steps back occasionally, but generally moving upwards and to the right. We know when we’re getting better, even as most of us without an ego problem know that we aren’t or ever will be perfect.

      This blog post is number 3000 published. That means something and nothing, all at once. Anyone can publish a blog—especially now with AI so ubiquitous. This very post will be scrubbed by AI countless times and mined of anything of value to spit out someone else’s “work” for the day. Copying or iteration has always been with us since humans began putting their brains to work. That it’s infinitely more efficient now than it was when this blog began should be anticipated. We ought to do the work worthy of someone else coveting.

      I’ve aspired to greatness in writing like every other writer has and ever will. That the writing hints at potential now and then is small consolation for the perfectionist in me, but years of effort have largely stifled that particular voice in my head. This post, after 3000 attempts at something better than average, will probably be close to my average. Call me a consistent voice if you will. That may or may not be a compliment, but there’s something to be said for giving it a go every day, just to see where we end up.

      I might have titled this blog post “What I’ve learned after 3000 blog posts” for the extra clicks and views it might have garnered. An earlier version of me would certainly have done it. I’m not that person anymore. I’m better (in some ways), and definitely not perfect, and will move through my day today working to make myself better still. Leave perfection to the gods, for that’s where arete was always meant to be. The moment we believe we’ve reached perfection is the moment we stop getting better.

    • Unvisited Tombs

      “…for the growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been, is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs.”
      ― George Eliot, Middlemarch

      We may be inspired by the occasional brilliant life that changes the world, or puts a dent in the universe, as Steve Jobs once said. Most of us will never be Steve Jobs, will never ascend to levels once unimagined in humble beginnings, will never have all that much of a ripple at all. And yet we may have a verse.

      Perhaps this blog has been my verse, but more likely than not, it’s but a small footnote in a life lived. We are more than the things we write, after all. Even the most prolific writers have far more in their lives than words written on a page. And yet those words dance with infinity, while we humans have a shelf life.

      I borrowed the quote above from James Clear’s weekly newsletter. I thought immediately of people in my life who have passed on, who lie interred in graves not all that far from where I write this, whom I haven’t visited in some time. I owe them a visit, just as I owe a visit to those still living. At the very least, perhaps a phone call to let them know I’ve been thinking about them. We tend to wonder about the impact we’re having on other’s lives when we don’t ever hear from them. ’tis best to let them know while they’re still around just how much they’ve meant to us.

      I’m under no illusion that I’ll ever be famous. I’ve never aspired to fame, or even fortune. My only goal is to make a positive difference in the lives of the people I care about the most, and to have enough FU money to completely disregard the bastards who would otherwise grind me down. Call that an aspiration if you will, or simply a general guide for living.

      This blog, over the years, may in fact be my way of revealing what is otherwise largely hidden. There’s no doubt that some people in my life follow it closer than I ever expected them to (while others follow it far less than I ever hoped they would), but the vast majority are people I will never meet or interact with. Were I to stop today, life would go on as it usually does, and that’s okay. Because for now at least, mine will too.

      This blog has been my way of dangling who I aspire to be in front of me in a futile attempt to reach personal excellence(arete). I won’t ever reach those heights, but I’ve reached higher than I would have otherwise. My legacy will not be some engraved granite atop a plot of land, but the contribution I made to make the world better than it might otherwise have been. And that, friends, is something to rest in peace with.

    • Taut Boldness

      “I don’t care about spending much time with people who haven’t a definite personality. I am that kind of an equalitarian. I like to mix with my equals, people who have as much personality as I have… but the great thing is taut boldness… People… will tell you that freedom lies in being cautious… Freedom lies in being bold.” — Robert Frost

      Robert Frost’s take on boldness is surprising if we think of productive poets as disciplined, but less so if we think of them as audacious. Don’t we have to be a little audacious to publish our work expecting the world to take notice? I think this is especially true of poets. What fascinates me is the company he kept. To be at that table with those bold characters, talking of bigger things than the average. Am I so bold as to believe I could hold my own?

      I’ve long believed that boldness offers opportunities seldom available with timidity. Maybe mothers don’t like to hear bold talk, but free spirits are stirred by it. For all the structured discipline in my life, there’s still a wild child hiding within. Now and then he sees the light of day.

      The world is full of exceptional people, each bold in their own way to reach the higher stratosphere in which they fly. Each day builds or erodes personal excellence. Boldness plays as much a role as grit or resolve do. We choose who we will become, how high we might fly, and yes, the company we will ultimately keep.

    • Sagacity

      “It is only with prudence, sagacity, and much dexterity that great aims are accomplished, and all obstacles surmounted. Otherwise nothing is accomplished.” — Napoleon Bonaparte

      Having wisdom without purpose makes us worthy of nothing but trivia night at the local pub. What is the use of being wise if we don’t then use our accumulated sagacity to navigate the complexities of life with greater efficiency and tact? If purpose is our fuel, and action our engine, then wisdom may be thought of as our navigation system.

      We age, acquire knowledge, and fill our cache with street smarts. It’s easy to believe that we have it all figured out. But in a time with so much foolishness in the world, sagacity clearly isn’t a given. Just because our average lifespan increases doesn’t mean that wisdom is keeping pace. To be learned, we must be inclined to learn.

      With that in mind, I’m trying to use my time to advantage. When I tell people that this book isn’t going to read itself , I mean it. Reading isn’t the only way to gain wisdom, but it’s a proven path to greater insight. When we graduate out of the classroom, our path to wisdom is only just beginning.

      In order to finish what we start, we’ve got to persist in the activity to its conclusion. It’s appropriate to then ask ourselves what we’ve learned from what we just traded some of our life to obtain. Each great lesson advances our wisdom, each wasted opportunity stalls our advance.

      As with everything, reaching our potential is largely dictated by what we say yes or no to. We cannot control everything in life, but we do have the agency to choose how sagacious we might become. Rather than hoarding wisdom, sagacity may be a gift we offer to help others rise above the din of dim wit that passes for clever nowadays.

    • Declaration

      My declaration
      will be
      absolute.

      An arrival
      in the here
      and the now.

      Then
      there will
      be little else to do.

      I will have become like
      the madman running
      to see the moon
      in the window,
      the hawk
      I saw tracing the cliff edge
      above the river.

      I will be the man
      I have pursued all along
      and finally caught.
      — David Whyte, Mortality My Mistress

      Declarations are nothing without action executed to conclusion. We must learn to keep our promises to ourselves and others, and to back up our words with results. We are where we are because of our actions, not because of some declaration.

      There is a growing awareness that may reveal itself through the accumulation of years. We grow wealthy given time and compounding interest. Call it wisdom or call it experience, it’s collected through deliberate action and an inclination to be present with life as it unfolds before us.

      Not all who grow old grow wise, any more than gathering years mean that we have gathered experience. Gathering is itself a deliberate act.

      Not all who age grow old. Youthful vigor is derived from receptivity multiplied by energy. We are as alive as we allow ourselves to be, no matter our age.

      If an arrival infers place, a declaration suggests direction towards something more. We may savor place while aspiring for more. At least that’s the mindset I have as I arrive at this place with an eye towards the next. Today, we are as fit and wise and wealthy as yesterday has made us. This is nothing but currency to spend as an investment in the present and future person we wish to be.

    • Each Hard Thing

      “Unless the lake was actually frozen, I would go out on it.” On winter days, he adds, “The first four kilometres are hard because you can still feel your hands. After that it gets easier, because your hands are numb.” — Oliver Zeidler, Reigning Olympic and world champion in the men’s single sculls, article “What Makes a Champion?” from Flow

      Ever wonder at how hard it is to row a single scull against elite athletes for 2000 meters? Row 2000 meters on a rowing ergometer for time and see how you feel. It dents your soul in hurts so much. So I laughed when I read Zeidler’s quote, because “numb” applies to more than overcoming the cold. Elite athletes push aside levels of discomfort that sideline the rest of us.

      I write this fresh off a kettle bell circuit that made me question my own sanity. I made it through the workout, rested long enough to manage typing, and began typing this blog post. My rest involved reading the article quoted from above. We tend to be most open to positive action when we’ve already done something good for us. The opposite is also true, of course, so avoiding one bad habit helps us avoid a string of other bad habits.

      And this brings me back to doing hard things. Each hard thing done makes it more likely that we’ll do another hard thing, and another, and soon we’re surprising ourselves with all that we’ve accomplished in a day, a week, a year… and onward to a lifetime. That’s one reason I tend to write and publish every day, because it feeds the next hard thing I want to get done. What have we done today to make us proud of our effort? There’s still time to add something to that list.

      Ironically, the kettle bell exercise that makes me feel most alive is called a gravedigger. It will get your heart rate up quickly, and reminds me of the rhythmic swing of rowing, without the cold hands. That workout was fresh on my mind when I read the interview with Zeidler, and surely influenced my decision to seek it out in the first place. Reinforce the positive, whenever possible. Momentum ensues.

      We probably shouldn’t aspire to numbness in our lives, but pushing through discomfort to perform at a higher level is a worthy aspiration. Today’s discomfort is tomorrow’s excellence. And why wait any longer than that?

    • Once Devoted

      “So, preferring death to capture, I accomplished the most astonishing of deeds, and which, more than once, showed me that the too great care we take of our bodies is the only obstacle to the success of those projects which require rapid decision and vigorous and determined execution. In reality, when you have once devoted your life, you are no longer the equal of other men, or rather other men are no longer your equals; and whosoever has taken this resolution feels his strength and resources doubled.” — Alexander Dumas, The Count of Monte Cristo

      As I march through a thousand pages of The Count of Monte Cristo, I wonder why I used this book for years as nothing more than a way to lift my laptop up a couple of inches for a better Teams shot. I know the answer already; I simply wasn’t ready to read it then. Now I am and I use the time to devour it. In reading, I mine golden nuggets like the quote above, to ponder and write about.

      Most of us barely scratch the surface of our potential, but the truly great among us reach levels hardly imagined by the average. And thank goodness for that! Who are the average to determine the heights to which the great may reach? Do we wonder at such things as personal excellence nearly enough, or are we content to just be what we’ve always been? Just who are we to wallow in average when arete whispers to us, “Just ahead, if you’ll only keep going beyond this present level.”

      Perhaps we may agree that purposeful action elevates us beyond the norm. We may disagree on whether we ought to be chasing such dreams, when things are comfortable enough as they are. It’s okay to be average, it’s okay to settle; it’s just not excellence. The point is, there’s still time to exceed our expectations of ourselves. At least for now. There’s still time to do and dare, but dare not wait a moment longer.

    • As Best We Can

      “I perceive that, when an acorn and a chestnut fall side by side, the one does not remain inert to make way for the other, but both obey their own laws, and spring and grow and flourish as best they can, till one, perchance, overshadows and destroys the other. If a plant cannot live according to its nature, it dies; and so a man.” — Henry David Thoreau, Civil Disobedience

      It’s been a while since I’ve quoted Henry. I think it was the bumper crop of acorns that prompted me to revisit his work. When you live amongst the oak trees, you experience the full gamut of seasons with them, from catkins to acorns to stubborn leaves that hold on long after the maples and ash trees have gone bare. The oaks were here first, and (hopefully) they’ll be here long after I leave this place. I am but a steward of the land in my time.

      We know that time is flying rapidly along, because we experience the fruits of our own seasons. My catkin season is long past, I’m gathering as many acorns as I can before the harvest is over. With any luck, my own leaves will hold as an oaks, and not a swamp maple’s. Time will tell.

      The lesson, of course, is to learn to live according to our nature, but also in harmony with nature. Those who thrive in a lifetime do so with vigor, but also balance. So it is that I got back to my kettle bell workouts, and read in earnest, and yes, write this blog to keep growing and flourishing as best I can. We all ought to strive to deeply root ourselves with a sense of place and time and see just how far we can stretch ourselves towards the light. To exist otherwise isn’t really living at all.

    • With Urgency and Focus

      “Do that thing that honors life.” — John Kenney, I See You’ve Called in Dead

      I’ve written about this before, but it bears repeating. I have people in my life who question me for writing about death. I remind them that Memento mori is not a morbid fixation, it’s a call to action. We must acknowledge our ending in order to begin living fully, with urgency and focus.

      John Kenney’s book is delightfully funny with an underlying sadness that washes over you in alternating waves. It’s a lot like life in this way. We fully savor joie de vivre precisely because we experience darker moments in our lives. How can we know the good if we never experience the bad?

      If I repeat myself, it’s simply a reminder to do more of the things that honor life. We are each blessed to be alive for this brief window of time. Optimizing that which makes us most alive seems prudent given the certainty of our eventual expiration. Dance with life, even as we accept the reality that the music will end.

    • Raising Standards

      I saw some old friends at the farm stand. We used to see a lot of each other, back in the days before, well, you know… Anyway, I still adore them as people. They may or may not think well of me, charming as I believe myself to be. But who’s to say? The only way to know what someone really thinks about you is how often they reach out to be a part of your life. Otherwise, what are they but apart from your life? We all get busy. It turns out we’re busy becoming less attached to one another.

      The most profoundly tragic thing about the world today is the amount of people walking the earth who are largely alone with no capacity to do anything about it. Too many people walk through life without the skillset to talk to other people (which really means being able to listen to other people). I get some grief in the family for talking to strangers, but what is a stranger but a person we haven’t talked to yet? I believe the world needs fewer strangers.

      Six years ago we lost a real character in our family. Since it was in the middle of a pandemic, the opportunity to say goodbye wasn’t available for most people, so that character didn’t have the sendoff he would have had otherwise. We honor him by working to meet the standard he set for us as citizens of the world. We dishonor him by drifting into a lesser version of ourselves than we would be if he were still around. To me, that’s a measure of the person he was, that you wanted to be a better person because he wanted that for you.

      I write a lot about personal excellence (arete) in this blog. I’m under no illusion that I’ve reached it yet. We’re all works in progress, and that goes for the inner self as much or more than the outer self we show to the world. Those old friends at the farm stand are still friends, even if we don’t talk all that much anymore. The least I can do is be the kind of person that they would want to be around more often. To not only hold the standard, but raise it. Isn’t that the proper way to honor those we’ve lost, or those we’ve lost touch with?