Alexandersmap

    Tag: Mary Oliver

    • Attention to Detail

      The funny thing about the first few days of a New Year is that I catch myself looking forward quite often.  There’s nothing wrong with looking forward, just as there’s nothing wrong with looking back towards where you’ve been, as long as you’re grounded in the present.  One of the things I love about Mary Oliver poems is her focus on the things in daily life that you might miss if you’re not paying attention.  Shell fragments on the beach become a story in a poem that makes me think of a walk on the beach in a different way.  The poet, teaching us how to see:

      “I go down to the edge of the sea.
      How everything shines in the morning light!
      The cusp of the whelk,
      the broken cupboard of the clam,
      the opened, blue mussels,
      moon snails, pale pink and barnacle scarred—
      and nothing at all whole or shut, but tattered, split,
      dropped by the gulls onto the gray rocks and all the
       moisture gone.
      It’s like a schoolhouse
      of little words,
      thousands of words.
      First you figure out what each one means by itself,
      the jingle, the periwinkle, the scallop
      full of moonlight.

      Then you begin, slowly, to read the whole story.”
      – Mary Oliver, Breakage

      The other day while leaving Cape Cod I was so caught up in getting things packed up to get to work that I missed an opportunity to go to the dump.  Now don’t get me wrong, going to the dump in and of itself is not my favorite activity.  But going to the dump with my favorite Navy pilot, well, that’s a different story.  But I was so focused on checking boxes and getting tasks done that I let him go off to bring the trash to the transfer station on his own, missing the chance to spend 30 minutes talking about nothing and everything.  Moments like that are available if you pay attention, and slip away when you don’t.  I’ll regret the lost opportunity, and have already forgotten what was so important for me to get done that I passed it up.

      We’re all a work in progress, sometimes things just fall into place and we’re focused on the things that matter most, and sometimes we’re looking the wrong way when the magic moment happens.  All we can do is keep chipping away at it, one small bit at a time.  I know I’m a much better human than I was ten years ago, and better still than I was twenty years ago.  Incremental progress isn’t as stunning as immediate transformation, but the Ebenezer Scrooge kind of overnight transformation isn’t the way most change happens.

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

      So I keep taking action, one step forward and sometimes two steps back.  But in general I see incremental improvement.  Learn from the mistakes, change our action next time if lucky enough to be offered a similar opportunity in the future.  Do those things now that matter most.  That starts with getting out of your own head and paying attention.  Begin, slowly, to read the whole story.

    • Get To It

      Standing out on the jetty thirty feet out in Buzzards Bay earlier this morning looking for that familiar glimmer of sunrise, I realized that the show was going to be too far into the trees over land. It seems Earth’s obliquity, or axial tilt, is so far along that the sunrise is 30 degrees past where I’m used to seeing it. According to timeanddate.com, we’re at 23.43668° or 23°26’12.0″ today. Numbers really, until you see how far over the sunrise is or how short the days are. And let’s face it, the days are short in the Northern Hemisphere on January 1.

      All of this axial tilt stuff aside, it’s a new day, a new year, and a new decade. What will we make of it? Improvement seems to be the objective. Better choices in how we spend our time. What we eat, how much we move, where we go and what we produce. In short, who we become. That makes this morning like every other morning in the question that comes to mind, the question Mary Oliver asked so eloquently:

      “Tell me, what is it you plan to do

      With your one wild and precious life?”

      We think of New Year’s Day as a beginning, but it’s really a continuation of our journey. A bit like that crest on the trail where you pause for a rest and some water, to take a look around and a glance at the map to see where you are and where you’re going next. So where are you? Where are you going next? There’s no telling the future, really, but we can get back up and start climbing again. And that’s my plan. To get back at it working on the person I want to become, one step at a time on this journey; this one wild and precious life. So let’s get to it.

    • Favorites From a Year of Reading

      This might go down as my favorite year of reading.  I made it a goal to read more the last two years, and the momentum from 2018 definitely carried over into 2019.  Reading inspired my travel to new places and offered side trips of meaning in places I’ve been many times before.  It kicked me in the backside with work, writing, exercise and diet, and it inspired me to be a better version of myself than I previously had been.  I’m still a work in progress, but aren’t we all?  In all I read 23 books cover-to-cover in 2019, and dabbled in chapters of a few more.  Here are my ten favorite books this year:

      Atomic Habits by James Clear was by far the most impactful book on self-improvement that I’ve read in many years.  Strongly recommend this if you’re looking to make meaningful changes in your life.  I’m going to re-read it again in January to get a jump-start on 2020.  Habits that are now part of my identity include reading, writing, walking and drinking water.  Habits that went by the wayside include daily burpees and drinking less.  2020 (every day really) offers a chance to reset on habits, with new possibilities with learning language(s) and a few notable work goals.

      The Gift by Hafiz is a stunningly beautiful collection of poems.  Why it took me until 2019 to find Hafiz I don’t know…  but I’m glad I got here.

      Dream Work by Mary Oliver is another collection of brilliant poetry that it took me way too long in life to discover.  Maybe Oliver’s passing this year put a spotlight on her work, or maybe the student was finally ready.  Either way I’m glad I’ve immersed myself in the world of Mary Oliver.

      To Shake the Sleeping Self: A Journey from Oregon to Patagonia by Jedidiah Jenkins is a travel book on the one hand, and a journey of self-discovery one the other as Jenkins wrestles with his religious upbringing and his sexual identity during an epic biking trip across North and South America.  The book reinforces my belief that most people are good while acknowledging some good fortune along the way.  As a bonus, Jenkins pointed me towards one Hafiz poem, Tim Ferriss pointed me towards another, and soon I was reading The Gift (above).

      Awareness by Anthony De Mello is not the kind of book I ever would have picked up, as it feels self-helpy and overly religious at first glance.  And it does have a healthy dose of both things, but this books is an incredible call to action for the self, and backed up with tremendous insight into human nature.  Another book I wish I’d read years ago that I’m glad I got to in 2019.

      How the Scots Invented the Modern World by Arthur Herman is a book I’ve had on the shelf for years that I finally got to in 2019.  Perhaps inspired by my then upcoming trip to Scotland, I burned through the book quickly, learning a lot about the Scottish people who made a massive impact on the world we live in today.  It also prompted me to add a few places to my trip that I might not otherwise have gone to.

      The Map Thief by Michael Blanding poured gasoline on my burning fascination with old maps, and fired me up in another way; as someone who is passionate about historical artifacts like maps and old books, and also in a career based on securing people and assets from criminals like Forbes Smiley, this book was highly relevant for me.

      The French and Indian War: Deciding the Fate of North America by Walter R. Borneman offered me more insight into the place I live than any history book in a long time.  The Northeast corner of North America is where most of this fighting took place, and I took the opportunity to visit many historically important sites in my travels that were inspired by this book.

      Benedict Arnold’s Navy: The Ragtag Fleet That Lost the Battle of Lake Champlain But Won the American Revolution by James L. Nelson is a look at the complex individual that is Benedict Arnold.  And it goes well beyond the Battle of Lake Champlain, with a detailed account of Arnold’s epic raid of Quebec through the wilderness of Maine.  The retreat from Quebec opened up the St Lawrence River to the British, which put Lake Champlain and Lake George in their sites as the critical water route to the Hudson River. Arnold’s fleet delayed the British just long enough to set up the victory at Saratoga (where Arnold played a critical role as well).  I followed this book by reading Valiant Ambition by Nathanial Philbrick, another excellent book with even more detail on complicated life of Benedict Arnold.  Benedict Arnold’s Navy inspired that read, so it gets the nod here in the top ten.

      The Daily Stoic: 366 Meditations on Wisdom, Perseverance, and the Art of Living by Ryan Holiday is, as the title indicates, meant to be read daily, one quick dose of stoic medicine at a time.  After immersing myself in Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations in 2018, I felt that The Daily Stoic would be a great way to add a little daily stoicism to my life.  And it became part of my morning routine, where I’d read this before other books.  I’ll continue this habit by re-reading The Daily Stoic one day at a time in 2020 and on into the future.

      So there you go, my top ten favorite reads in 2019.  I’m a better person for having read them all, and look forward to revisiting several of them again and again in the years to come.  I’m a better writer for having read them all (still a work in progress).  And there’s a big stack of exciting books to tackle waiting patiently beside them.  So here’s to some great reading in the year ahead!

    • Every Morning, So Far, I’m Alive

      “Every morning I walk like this around
      the pond, thinking: if the doors of my heart
      ever close, I am as good as dead

      Every morning, so far, I’m alive.  And now
      the crows break off from the rest of the darkness
      and burst up into the sky – as though

      all night they had thought of what they would like
      their lives to be, and imagined
      their strong, thick wings.”
       – Mary Oliver, Landscape

      I’m doing Mary Oliver an injustice not putting the entire poem here, for the full meaning of a poem comes from reading the entirety, but then again I’m pointing emphatically towards all of her work, imploring you to read more.  When I first read this poem, Landscape, it was a gut punch for me.  I’ve returned to it a few times and these lines still grab me, for they perfectly capture the frame of mind I’m in in my own life.  It’s not lost on me that Mary Oliver passed away in 2019, and somewhere along the way that may have been how I found and keep returning to her work.

      2019 has been a profound year of growth and change for me, from stoicism to spirituality to poetry, immersive trips to some places close to home and some bucket list travel to places further away.  There’s friction in me that the writing has revealed, whether that’s mid-life nonsense or creeping unfinished business that gnaws at me, disrupting my day-to-day thoughts.  I’ve become a better person this year, but know there’s a long way to go still.  For as much as there is to be grateful for, Memento mori whispers in the wind, and I can hear it more than ever.  Remember, we all must die…  but every morning, so far, I’m alive.  What shall you do with this gift?  More, I say to myself, and this De Mello challenge comes to mind:

      “People don’t live, most of you, you don’t live, you’re just keeping the body alive.  That’s not life.” – Anthony De Mello

      This isn’t a call to leave all that you’ve built, but instead to be fully alive and aware of the world around you.  Break off from the rest of the darkness and be fully alive.  Thoreau didn’t leave Concord, he immersed himself in the world at Walden Pond but still maintained contact with the people in his life.  But his awareness grew in the stillness.

      “Be it life or death, we crave only reality.  If we are really dying, let us hear the rattle in our throats and feel cold in the extremities; if we are alive, let us go about our business…  Time is but the stream I go a-fishing in.  I drink at it; but while I drink I see the sandy bottom and detect how shallow it is.  Its thin current slides away, but eternity remains.” – Henry David Thoreau, Walden

      So I’m doing better at this awareness thing, and this making the most of the time you have thing, and I keep flapping the wings and fly when I can.  Life isn’t just stacking one adventure upon another one, real living is immersion and awareness.  Mary Oliver joined De Mello and Thoreau on the other side of life this year, this very year that I’ve made a few leaps forward in being more alive.  Maybe adding her voice to the chorus of whispers from those who have left us was the tipping point, or maybe I was already there.  But I’m grateful for her contribution nonetheless.

    • The Vivacious Many

      There’s more to do, surely, before we go. But enough is enough. Lists are checked and then confirmed again. Having set one bird to fly it’s time to fly again myself. And I’m ready.

      “Who can guess the impatience of stone longing to be ground down, to be part again of something livelier?” – Mary Oliver, The Moth, The Mountains, The Rivers

      I understand…  As much as I embrace the daily ritual of routine; the obligations of family and work and making sure the recycling is put neatly into a rolling bin on the edge of the road, I’m ready.  I’m ready for the speed dating bucket list items knocked off in succession, of conceding to wait in line for the obligatory went-there but then rewarding myself by lingering a bit longer in a few remote corners I’d never heard of before stumbling upon them. Shifting a car with my left hand.  Reflecting on alchemy in a distillery or two along the way.  Feeling the pulse of London and the weight of Edinburgh. The remote chance of an Aurora Borealis sighting in Skye or Speyside.  A pilgrimage to Abbey Road and Quiraing and Pennan. These precious few have been unchecked for way too long.

      “And I suggest them to you also, that your spirit grow in curiosity, that your life be richer than it is, that you bow to the earth as you feel how it actually is, that we—so clever, and ambitious, and selfish, and unrestrained—are only one design of the moving, the vivacious many.” – Mary Oliver, The Moth, The Mountains, The Rivers

      The world calls.  Let other voices try to shout it down.  Tonight we fly.

    • Bury the Bright Edge Deep

      “The cold smell of potato mould, the

      squelch and slap

      Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge

      Through living roots awaken in my head.

      But I’ve no spade to follow men like them.

      Between my finger and my thumb

      The squat pen rests.

      I’ll dig with it.” – Seamus Heaney, Digging

      Jim Rohn said that we are the average of the five people we associate with the most. I tend to agree with that, not just in people but in authors, media, podcasters… etc. Influencers on our outlook should be scrutinized regularly at minimum, and wholly changed over now and then just to keep your mind sharp. There’s nothing like a different perspective to floss the brain. And lately I’ve been sprinkling in more Seamus Heaney, Mary Oliver and Robert Frost. When life throws political chaos, war and social media trolls at you, turn to the poets to re-set the sail.

      The garden is done for the year, other than a few mums and asters and one lone fuchsia blossom that stubbornly holds out hope for company. But harder frosts are coming, and with it the growing season ends. Heaney’s words sprinkle memories of planting in my mind, of burying the bright edge of a spade deep to turn the soil, and I smile at the thought. There’ll be no planting for six months to come. But Seamus points to another digging tool in writing, and that seems a good place to spend my time as well. Pull out the weeds that work to root in your mind, turn over the fertile ground to aerate it, and plant some new ideas to grow and ripen.

    • On Foliage and the Passing of Time

      “Who made the world?
      Who made the swan, and the black bear?
      Who made the grasshopper?
      This grasshopper, I mean-
      the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
      the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
      who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
      who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
      Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
      Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
      I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
      I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
      into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
      how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
      which is what I have been doing all day.
      Tell me, what else should I have done?
      Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
      Tell me, what is it you plan to do
      with your one wild and precious life?”
      —Mary Oliver, ‘The Summer Day’

      Mary Oliver passed away in January this year, at the age of 83.  If I may say it, too soon.  With her passing, her question commands even more urgency than before:

      Tell me, what else should I have done?
      Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
      Tell me, what is it you plan to do
      with your one wild and precious life?”

      This afternoon I drove back from meetings in Boston, flipped open my laptop and diligently followed up on the list of items that demanded my time.  All save one, which required closing the laptop, stepping outside and finding foliage.  New Hampshire glows in orange, yellow and red in October, and I’ve spent entirely too much of the first eleven days of the month indoors or behind the wheel of my car.  So a walk down to a local pond on a gusty day felt more like living than crafting another email for somebody’s spam filter.

      Foliage stirs up memories of autumns past, and I try to push those aside.  Not because the memories aren’t mostly pleasant, but because there’s more than enough living now to occupy my limited brain cells.  And there’s only today; words we all know but seem to push aside for the distraction of the moment.  “What else should I have done?”  Indeed.  Take “what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” and replace “life” with “day”.  For really, that’s all we have, isn’t it?  The foliage illuminates the cold black water of a small pond nearby, and soon those leaves will float down onto the water, drift along the surface for awhile and then slowly slip quietly under the surface to return to the earth.  The briefness of this life exemplified in a single leaf.  Had I not gone to witness the foliage would the opportunity have been there tomorrow?  Surely that’s a trick question.