Alexandersmap

    Tag: Henry David Thoreau

    • In the Ripple

      “Men see God in the ripple but not in miles of still water. Of all the two-thousand miles that the St. Lawrence flows—pilgrims go only to Niagara.” — Henry David Thoreau, The Journal of Henry David Thoreau

      As a pilgrim to many a waterfall, including Niagara, I know the call of white water. Isn’t it thrilling to experience the power of water channeled into a plummet? Yet Niagara herself is only a fraction of what she was before most of her water was redirected to hydroelectric power. It turns out that I’m keen on productivity too, and appreciate the clean energy even as I wonder what those falls felt like before they were diminished.

      We focus so much on the ripple we’re making that we forget that a pond was beautiful before the splash is made at all. Deep down we know that those still waters may still be here for what feels like eternity, but humans don’t have that kind of timeline. We feel a compulsion to do something in our time. If it any wonder we’re attracted to the ripple?

      Action is thus our call. Sometimes it’s in service of the harvest; productive and purposeful. Often it’s merely busyness for its own sake, as if churning the waters enough will make up for direction. The thing is, it’s no secret that water that’s been churned up is often murky. To bring clarity we must also have stillness. All this busyness in our lives doesn’t lend itself to insight or revelation.

      I grew up in New England, where great mill cities were built with the power of channeled water. In the spring when the waters are flowing quickly it’s not difficult to maintain momentum in the mills. But after the waters recede, the mills have difficulty getting enough power. So the mill engineers built giant reservoirs to help regulate the flow of water for optimal performance.

      We run ourselves dry if we don’t pause now and then and gather ourselves. We must learn to settle into our stillness and see what it brings. We may find our creativity flows far better when we fill our own reservoir. Seeking out balance in this way brings us to sustained productivity and the ripple we wish to make, and also to revelation and purpose, that we may find the right channel for our power.

    • Dismantling Our Walls

      “Change is freedom, change is life. It’s always easier not to think for oneself. Find a nice safe hierarchy and settle in. Don’t make changes, don’t risk disapproval, don’t upset your syndics. It’s always easiest to let yourself be governed. There’s a point, around age twenty, when you have to choose whether to be like everybody else the rest of your life, or to make a virtue of your peculiarities. Those who build walls are their own prisoners. I’m going to go fulfil my proper function in the social organism. I’m going to go unbuild walls.” — Ursula K. Le Guin

      I used part of this quote a few months ago, but wanted to revisit it using Le Guin’s entire challenge. And it is a challenge, isn’t it? We must decide what to be and go be it, or fall in line with all the rest of the compliant souls marching to their ends with their hopes and dreams and potential to make a dent in the universe unfulfilled.

      We’re a few days into the new year now, so how are those resolutions going? Are we moving in the right direction? Walls take time to build, but once built they’re equally hard to unbuild. We know that what brought us here won’t get us there, so we must get busy building or dismantling our walls.

      Change is rarely a leap to the summit but a steady climb built today upon the work of yesterday. Our lifetime is a story written over thousands of days. We must remember this and focus on the direction we’re going and not the failings encountered as we close out any given day. Turn the page and start writing the next.

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

      What is identity but a series of days built around behavior and habits? Each reinforces who we are, or corrodes our set beliefs over time. Our lifetime work is to embrace our peculiarities and make something special out of them. The alternative is to fall in line with everyone else, marching through time to their inevitable end, living the lives of quiet desperation that Thoreau warned us of. That’s not us, friend. When we find that our walls are blocking us from any direction but the one in front of us, we’d better like that direction or we must get busy dismantling walls.

    • All This Scribbling

      “But what does all this scribbling amount to? What is now scribbled in the heat of the moment one can contemplate with somewhat of satisfaction, but alas! to-morrow—aye, to-night—it is stale, flat, and unprofitable,—in fine, is not, only its shell remains, like some red parboiled lobster-shell which, kicked aside never so often, still stares at you in the path.
      What may a man do and not be ashamed of it? He may not do nothing surely, for straightway he is dubbed Dolittle—aye! christens himself first—and reasonably, for he was first to duck. But let him do something, is he the less a Dolittle? Is it actually something done, or not rather something undone?”
      — Henry David Thoreau, The Journal of Henry David Thoreau

      We aren’t the only ones who wonder at our writing. Thoreau telegraphed his own doubts in his journal, but kept writing nonetheless. And what of us? A friend asked me today if I would keep the blog going in the new year. Which raises the question of why. Why keep this going at all? Well, why not?

      Does our daily routine lead us somewhere or are we going in circles? It’s a new year and a new day. These are the times that stir the imagination. Where will we go with it? What might we do that we may be proud of?

      When it comes to the blog, and maybe some other writing of consequence, the journey is worthy of the time investment. It feels to me that all this scribbling leads somewhere very much worth going to. Onward then, into the great unknown that is the new year. Let’s see where it all takes us.

    • Domino Days

      “I shall live badly if I do not write, and I shall write badly if I do not live.” — Françoise Sagan

      At some point in our lives we must turn our best intentions into action and do the things we claim we want to do. Otherwise we are adding our voice to the choir of quiet desperation Thoreau warned us about. Playing a bigger part in the play of life naturally leads to more things to talk about, which is nice in conversation, but it also leads us to a string of ever-larger dominos disguised as days. The thrill is in seeing how big we can grow our days, simply built upon the one before.

      There’s nothing wrong with lining up a row of our days of like size, one after the other, for a time that suits us. When we raise children, every day feels like the same-sized day of changing diapers, making lunches, helping with homework, driving them to practice, teaching them how to drive and suddenly(!) moving them to college. We’re simply helping them line up their own domino days, along with our own. It turns out those days are growing in scope too, we were just to busy to realize it at the time.

      There are days when it feels like we’ll never topple those larger dominos, but each incremental day builds towards something more substantial still. Our unbroken string of days pays off with an ever-bigger life. It’s the gaps that force us to start all over again. Mind the gap, as the Brits say, and step into the next thing. Soon we’re really going somewhere.

      The blog you’re reading now (thank you) is a string of dominos disguised as daily posts taking both of us somewhere bigger than where we started. When we view our writing and our lives in this way, we begin to see that it’s all about building and sustaining momentum, thus increasing our contribution for the days beyond this one. Growth is inevitable in both our writing and our lives when we just keep pushing a little further along.

    • A Dusting of Adventure

      If the goal is to heed Henry David Thoreau’s call to rise free from care before the dawn and seek adventures, then we must remember to embrace the adventures when we come across them. It’s snowing as I write this, and the walk outside with the pup was a thrill for her, and a departure from the norm for me too. We haven’t had a snowy morning in a long time, and even if it doesn’t amount to much, it’s a dusting of adventure to start the day. The paw tracks are already accumulating.

      Snow changes the landscape immediately, and our expectations with it, by changing the rules of the game. Things like traction and cleanup and commute time come into play. These temper the thrill of the snow globe this morning, but what if instead we simply enjoyed the spark of different the dusting brings to the day? Oh, the delight that offers.

      Henry looked at every day as an adventure, he most definitely delighted in each encounter the universe presented to him, and depending on what you feel a productive day looks like, he was either wildly successful or underachieved in his lifetime. I think he got out of life what he wanted from it, achieved a level of infamy with his work and did it all the way his way. Isn’t that success?

      I’m not sure what the rest of the day will bring, but I do what I can to make the first few hours shine. We can’t very well expect every hour of our days to be magical, but we ought to influence the course of events that unfold as best we can with a proper setting. How can we possibly top a delightful start to the day? Isn’t it a thrill to try? In this way we are leaning forward into life, and making adventure more than just a dusting.

      The Morning Paws

    • Saunter to the Craft

      “The really efficient laborer will be found not to crowd his day with work, but will saunter to his task surrounded by a wide halo of ease and leisure. There will be a wide margin for relaxation to his day. He is only earnest to secure the kernels of time, and does not exaggerate the value of the husk. Why should the hen set all day? She can lay but one egg, and besides she will not have picked up materials for a new one. Those who work much do not work hard.”
      — Henry David Thoreau, The Journal of Henry David Thoreau 1837 – 1861

      Thoreau was a famous saunterer, but he was also a prolific writer. Leisure, mediation, exercise and hard work all have their time. We know when we’ve reached balance and when we’ve stumbled off the line between chaos and order.

      It’s not just work, it’s inspired work that is the ultimate goal for all of us, and it’s out there waiting for us to grab hold of it and take it as far as we can. It’s just hidden amongst all the other tedious, uninspired labor that passes for work. We owe it to ourselves to do work that carries us towards personal excellence, whatever that is for us. Any work that isn’t bringing us somewhere is dragging us sideways down the cliff. We ought to choose our work accordingly.

      Efficiency is the trick. When we focus on the essential work in its time, not only do we get so much more done—it’s done so much better. Take writing for example; I can either turn off the world and write this blog post within this hour, or I can succumb to the distraction of the text messages buzzing me, wonder about the weather today, get up to feed the cats, check the news and watch some video on social media curated especially for me based on previous views. The hour will slip away in any case, but what will we show for it?

      The thing is, most of us love a job well done. We want to bring something meaningful to the world for our efforts, and not look back on the day like we laid an egg. In order to reach our potential, a bit of focused productivity goes a long way. Go ahead and saunter, but when we meet our task we must do it wholeheartedly, that we may rise to our potential. That isn’t tedium, it’s craftsmanship, and isn’t that a far more interesting expression of our time?

    • Going From, Toward

      “A traveller! I love his title. A traveller is to be reverenced as such. His profession is the best symbol of our life. Going from —— toward ——; it is the history of every one of us. It takes but little distance to make the hills and even the meadows look blue to-day. That principle which gives the air an azure color is more abundant.”― Henry David Thoreau, The Journal, 1837-1861

      Any hiker is familiar with Thoreau’s description, so too any sailor. Those who venture out into the world are bound to find it. It takes but little distance to make where we’ve been take on a bluish hue. The same can be said for where we’re going, if we look far enough ahead anyway. Life is only abundantly clear when we live in the present. ’tis this day that we must seize.

      Just as Thoreau documented his life through his journal entries and the books he wrote, so we may document our own journey from, toward. These breadcrumbs show where we are as much as where we’ve been. The act of writing every day, then publishing a bit of it, has changed each of us that travel this path. The lingering question isn’t when we’ll stop writing, but why it took us so long to begin? So much of our pre-writing lives will remain entombed within us when we pass one day—isn’t that a pity? The world doesn’t need to know all the details, but there are some tasty breadcrumbs growing stale back there on the trail.

      It’s essential to ask ourselves where we’ve come from to bring us here. So too to look at where we’re going. The act of writing about such things is contemplative and enlightening, states the world ought to linger in more than it currently does. I often get caught up in the excitement of tomorrow, and were it not for the daily ritual of writing I might miss now altogether. Life isn’t meant to be shaded in blue, but lived forthwith—with all the immediacy and urgency that word conveys. What would we write about tomorrow that reflects where we’ve been today? Steer towards that.

    • The Like of This

      “There is a season for everything, and we do not notice a given phenomenon except at that season, if, indeed, it can be called the same phenomenon at any other season. There is a time to watch the ripples on Ripple Lake, to look for arrowheads, to study the rocks and lichens, a time to walk on sandy deserts; and the observer of nature must improve these seasons as much as the farmer his. So boys fly kites and play ball or hawkie at particular times all over the State. A wise man will know what game to play to-day, and play it. We must not be governed by rigid rules, as by the almanac, but let the season rule us. The moods and thoughts of man are revolving just as steadily and incessantly as nature’s. Nothing must be postponed. Take time by the forelock. Now or never! You must live in the present, launch yourself on every wave, find your eternity in each moment. Fools stand on their island opportunities and look toward another land. There is no other land; there is no other life but this, or the like of this. Where the good husbandman is, there is the good soil. Take any other course, and life will be a succession of regrets. Let us see vessels sailing prosperously before the wind, and not simply stranded barks. There is no world for the penitent and regretful.” — Henry David Thoreau, from Thoreau’s Journal

      A long quote to start the blog today, and not really a quote at all but Thoreau’s entire entry from April 24, 1959. He wrote this for himself, of course, but like Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations we’re left with his words as guideposts for our own lives. Thoreau reminds us to up our game. Henry never had a 401(k) to consider, this is true, but consider this: He’d be dead three years after writing this journal entry at the shockingly young age of forty-four. What’s a 401(k) to someone who would never live to realize the savings? Today is our day of reckoning, Thoreau implores to himself and now us.

      Lately the world is reminding me that we all have an expiration date. People come and go from our lives all the time, and phases of our lives are merely seasons we scarcely pay attention to until they’re slipping away. To live a long life is to find ourselves navigating many such seasons, and if we pay attention, learning a thing or two from each. Our greatest lesson is the one we’ve been hearing all our lives: There is no postponing life, we must do what calls to us now.

      The trick is to actually do that, isn’t it? The days fly by fiercely, with no apologies from eternity on its march. We are the only ones who are audacious enough to believe that we have the agency to do something in our time. We either rise to meet our days or regret their passing. There is no other life but this, or the like of this. Indeed, we shall never see the likes of this season again in our own lifetime. Will it be remarkable or fall with all the rest?

    • Beyond the Same Old

      “The measure of success is not whether you have a tough problem to deal with, but whether it’s the same problem you had last year.” — John Foster Dulles

      I first encountered this Dulles quote 25 years ago. I know this because I wrote the date in pencil right next to it. I was a different person then in countless ways, and exactly the same in others. Some positive, transformative growth has happened in that time, and some stubborn habits that hold me back still have a hold of me even now. We all have things that carry us forward or hold us back in our lives, and mostly that’s between our ears.

      If I were to track broken promises to myself over that time, I’d see the same ones appear over and over. We can focus on such things and beat ourselves up, or celebrate the ways in which we’ve grown into a better human. If life has taught me anything, it’s to identify the positive systems, habits and routines that make us incrementally better and do more of those things. There will always be problems and challenges in our lives, the question is whether we’re just repeating ourselves or actually evolving into a person who is more adaptive, resilient and wiser than the person we were before. If so, our problems and challenges will evolve into different ones, indicating progress.

      The alternative to new and greater challenges is having the same ones. That’s as clear an indication of stagnation and being in a rut as any. When we’re in a rut we ought to climb out as soon as possible before it becomes our grave. Countless people go to their graves wishing they’d done something transformative in their lives. We should live our days with Henry David Thoreau’s warning from Walden in mind:

      “Most men, even in this comparatively free country, through mere ignorance and mistake, are so occupied with the factitious cares and superfluously course labors of life that its finer fruits cannot be plucked by them.” Which led to his most famous observation, “The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.”

      So what occupies us? What are our own factitious and superfluous labors distracting us from moving past the problems that have nagged us over and over again? We must live creative, bold lives that we may break from the rut altogether and transform ourselves for the better. To be successful, deep down in our own minds, is to transcend who we once were to become something greater.

      The thing is, we know all of this, and yet we still stall out here and there. Our epitaph ought to be more than “steady but unremarkable”. Progress towards remarkable is measured in the value and contribution we bring to the world; to be useful to others and ourselves, and to move that investment ever higher. What is our verse? What is our dent in the universe? What ripple will carry well after we’ve checked out? Do more of that to move beyond the same old problems.

    • What’s Good For You

      James, do you like your life?
      Can you find release?
      And will you ever change?
      Will you ever write your masterpiece?
      Are you still in school
      Living up to expectations, James?
      You were so relied upon
      Everybody knows how hard you tried
      Hey, just look at what a job you’ve done
      Carrying the weight of family pride
      James, you’ve been well behaved
      You’ve been working hard
      But will you always stay
      Someone else’s dream of who you are?
      Do what’s good for you
      Or you’re not good for anybody, James
      — Billy Joel, James

      Following the dream someone else established for you is the surest path to the quiet desperation that Henry David Thoreau wrote about in Walden. We must eventually break free of those expectations and follow our own path to find ourselves. For some of us, it comes years after school and many rungs up a few too many ladders in a career of figuring out why this thing or that didn’t quite resonate for us the way we thought it would when we stepped onto it. For me, the writing was always the thing I should have done but for the things I thought I had to do.

      Billy Joel has been on a heavy rotation on the playlist lately, and his question to old school friends seems to pop up frequently. Will you ever write your masterpiece? Will you always stay someone else’s dream of who you are? Tough questions, but the thing is, the answer reveals itself over time.

      Most of us grow out of other people’s expectations eventually. Most of us work to master something important to us, even if it’s a hobby. I speak to people who light up when they talk about their garden or hiking the same mountains over and over again or playing pickleball—whatever—and the joyfulness of the pursuit to mastery is obvious.

      Will I ever write my masterpiece? Who knows? But we find the things that work for us and pursue them with a focus that only love of the pursuit derives. At some point, it doesn’t matter what other people’s expectations are, only that we are doing what we love to do in the time that we have. That’s how to live a life.