Alexandersmap

    Tag: Philosophy

    • Scarcity and Abundance

      We live in a world of scarcity and abundance. I see it in nature, where wildlife adjusts to a world of dwindling food, scrapping together something to eat in the dormant forest. A newly-filled birdfeeder sets off an alarm in the woods, and no sooner do I walk away from it that it’s filled with the boldest of foragers — black-capped chickadees and such. Soon the turkey, squirrels and blue jays will appear. In a world of scarcity this gift of food quickly garners attention.

      A pair of deer walked slowly through the mud and runoff from the recent rains. They know they’re relatively safe in these woods, for hunters can’t reach them so close to houses. I inch closer to try to get a decent picture and eventually spook them. They splash away a hundred yards or so and reassess the danger I present to them. Armed with an iPhone, the most dangerous thing I can do to them is spook them into the deeper forests in town, where the hunters are. I walk slowly back towards the house and leave them be.

      The only thing that’s abundant now are the millions of brown leaves blanketing the ground, mocking me for my excuses. I chose to pay someone to remove the leaves this year, a nod to the extensive time away but a bit frivolous for an otherwise active adult. I could have done it, the leaves taunt, and I silently agree. Yardwork is a favorite workout, and I’ve deprived myself of it this year. I find myself hoping the landscaper comes soon so I don’t have to hear the leafy voices anymore.

      In New Hampshire, we look towards Thanksgiving as a time to celebrate the abundance of the harvest and the time to share it with others. All this extra downtime waiting for someone else to pick up the leaves offers too much time to think. It’s not the same anymore, Thanksgiving, and yet we have so much to be thankful for. I can’t help but think of what’s missing this year, but remind myself to focus on what you do have. Life is a balancing act between scarcity and abundance. We must plan for the former and not overindulge in the latter. And in those moments when things seem a little out of balance it helps to pause and catch your breath.

      The world dances all around us in a blur of motion and stillness. Wildlife scrapping life together one day at a time and the leaves returning to the earth after their season in the sun. Who are we to refuse this gift of the present dwelling on what’s missing? Focus on what’s here, friend. And be thankful.

    • Add a Question Mark

      Don’t accept the false stories people tell.
      Things are neither good nor bad — they’re as neutral as a rock.
      When people give opinions, add a question mark.
      If they say, “Immigration is bad,” change it to, “Immigration is bad?”
      Let the questions drift away, unanswered.
      – Derek Sivers, How To Live

      There’s a hidden message in this Sivers book that comes to you as you read it. Don’t take it all at face value. Question everything. Especially the very things you’re reading in his book. The advice feels both right on point and at other times the completely opposite of what you believe in your core. And that’s the point of it all. There’s no set way to live your life, question all advice and find what works for you.

      I wish more people would add a question mark instead of just blindly believing what they hear from people with accumulated connections, titles and degrees. They may be absolutely correct about a position they take, but it’s just a story until we validate it ourselves. The old expression, “Trust, but verify” comes to mind. Add the question mark to those statements and watch them transform:

      Vaccinations are meant to control people?

      Government serves people?

      There is only one true god?

      You must stick with one company to grow your career?

      You aren’t “qualified”?

      Tom Brady is the greatest quarterback of all time?

      See? Most people throw their beliefs at us to try to make it stick in our own mind. Adding the question mark is like spraying teflon on our skull, making us immune to questionable stories, and making us assess the validity of the feasible. Every statement above could be true, or complete bullshit, but we don’t really know which at face value. We must add the question mark, and in doing so, pause and assess the original statement. Or, for the truly outlandish, let it drift away.

      But Brady is definitely the GOAT. Right?

    • Returning to November Stillness

      Walking along the edge of the woods through a thick blanket of fallen leaves, I noted the changes in the landscape since I was last home. New Hampshire is well past peak now, and recent wind and heavy rain coaxed some holdouts down in my absence. The hardscape is glaringly obvious now. November in New Hampshire offers a cold stillness that can be jarring for the uninitiated. But I love it for all that it offers.

      No doubt the pandemic made everything different for all of us. Collectively we might never be the same, but this is the natural state of the world, isn’t it? The one thing the pandemic did, aside from all the horrific stuff, was alter our perception of the world. For if there’s one benefit to what we’ve collectively gone through, it’s acquiring a heightened sense of change. We were forced to slow down and look around at the circle we placed ourselves in. And reflect on whether that was where we wanted to be.

      Bouncing across the country these last two months, I’ve savored some incredible regional food that’s as much a part of the uniqueness of a place as the language and landmarks. I’ve had sourdough bread in San Francisco, popovers in Vermont and biscuits in the Carolinas. Breaking bread offers lessons. The food tastes amazing whether you lean to the right or the left. We’re all human, we just forget that sometimes in our race to categorize others. There’s nothing like a face-to-face conversation to define the common ground between us. And this is one of the primary benefits of travel — getting out of your circle of influence into something wholly new. And seeing that we’re not all that much different from each other after all.

      When my son was two months old I went away for ten days on a white water rafting trip through the Grand Canyon I’d had booked for well over a year. As funny as it seems, I felt in that time away that I’d missed a lot of him growing up. But in going away, I learned to pay more attention to the moment-to-moment changes when I was back home. Sometimes you don’t know what you’ve got until you’re gone. Returning to the stark woods of New Hampshire this November, I’m aware of the changes I’ve missed here. And the changes that have taken place within me while I’ve been away. In the stillness of November, I celebrate both.

    • The Hidden Giant

      “A fox looked at his shadow at sunrise and said, “I will have a camel for lunch today.” And all morning he went about looking for camels. But at noon he saw his shadow again—and he said, “A mouse will do.” – Kahlil Gibran, The Fox

      Walking on a beach at sunset earlier this week, shadow revealing the giant hidden within me, reminded me of this fable by Gibran. The beginning of the day is an opportunity to dream big dreams, with the freshness of the morning suggesting we might just be capable of anything. The long day might temper this enthusiasm, full as it is with ebbs and flows, accomplishments and setbacks, but the end of the day offers a chance once again to look at ourselves differently. To see what we’ve achieved and what we might yet do.

      There’s something about seeing yourself from a new perspective that reminds you that you’re not done just yet. You’ve still got that potential for bigger and better things; for greatness. The world is bigger than this day, and that long shadow is a reminder that you can be too.

    • Into My Arms

      And I don’t believe in the existence of angels
      But looking at you I wonder if that’s true
      But if I did I would summon them together
      And ask them to watch over you
      To each burn a candle for you
      To make bright and clear your path
      And to walk, like Christ, in grace and love
      And guide you into my arms
      – Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds, Into My Arms

      Some songs you hear take time to enter your rotation as “favorites”, but others grab you the first time you hear them. Nick Cave’s Into My Arms is the latter kind of song for me. And it’s one of those songs you don’t exactly play at parties, so I have no idea how other people feel about it, but for me it’s on that playlist I play for myself. I know I’m not the only one, you just need to look at the number of views on YouTube for this song in the many performances he’s put out there over the years to see it hits a cord for a lot of people.

      I heard an interview with Bono recently where he mentioned that Nick Cave played this song at the memorial service for Michael Hutchence in a darkened room. Bono was so deeply moved by this that the song stays close to his heart to this day. Listen to the song and imagine that moment, and you might never think of it the same way again either. It’s changed how I think of it now, hearing Bono’s story. Elevating it to a new place than before. Maybe my sharing it will change how you think of it too.

      This is a love song, first and foremost, but you know it’s more than that. This is a song about questioning it all, these stories that we all tell ourselves. And maybe acknowledging that there’s something special in the universe to have put a kindred spirit in this world and pointed us towards each other at just the right moment. Serendipity? Or something more? To say you know the answer to that only means you’ve embraced one story over another. The only story I trust in the story of today, just you and me and this crazy world we live in for now.

      Just another song on my Memento Mori playlist, as I march through this one brief life. You might think that’s a morbid thing, remembering that we all must die. I think of it as a reminder to live with grace and love in these days of light. And to celebrate our time together while it’s here. To remember, really, that we all must love.

    • The Random Gift of Injury

      Stoicism is accepting whatever the world throws at you. Not to be bullied by the universe, but to accept fate and manage the moment. This, of course, is an oversimplification, but for our purposes we’ll run with this definition. There are bookshelves full of stoic philosophy at the ready should you wish to dive deeper.

      With this in mind, what were the odds that I’d bruise my right heel stepping on a small log tossed underfoot by a rogue wave I was running to avoid on a beach in Marin, California on the one morning I happened to be walking in that place in my lifetime? Not quite as random as hitting the birth lottery, but pretty damned remote. One step of thousands of steps, landing on the exact spot to create a bruise that’s irritated me for a couple of weeks now.

      Maybe irritate is the wrong word. Maybe fascinate is better, because of the randomness of that bruise. Semantics aside, it’s a classic test of stoicism, one I ought to embrace for the gift it is. A bit of pain in the heel is a small tradeoff for the celebration of random events that brought us together. And sure, it could have been a lot worse. Rogue waves aren’t to be trifled with.

      Accepting whatever is thrown at you doesn’t mean you don’t deal with the problem at hand. You don’t have to like getting hurt. To do so would be a clear signal of another problem in your life. A bit of motrin, some heel inserts, and other efforts to heal the heel are ongoing. Some long walks I’d planned have been postponed. To press on would aggravate the injury, extending it, and from a stoic point of view, it would mean not accepting this fate.

      Who am I to ignore this random gift?

    • Do That

      “Ask yourself: What is the best I can do? And then do that.” – Cheryl Strayed

      “The unifying theme is resilience and faith. The unifying theme is being a warrior and a motherfucker. It is not fragility. It’s strength. It’s nerve. And ‘if your Nerve deny you—,’ as Emily Dickinson wrote, ‘Go above your Nerve.’” – Cheryl Strayed

      Borrowing a couple of Cheryl Strayed quotes for this post. This ten hours late in the day post. This can’t get my head back into Eastern Standard Time post. This too busy and distracted to ship the work in the time you promised yourself you’d ship it in post. But perhaps I’m being too hard on myself. Despite it all, I publish every single day that I wake up on this planet with my head screwed on tight. Today will be no exception.

      I’ve recognized that I’m not doing enough, and I’m taking corrective action. Not just with this blog, but in a lot of things. Sometimes you need a bit of a kick in the ass from afar, and I’m grateful to the two ladies quoted above for providing that. I’ve used this Dickinson poem before, and delighted in Strayed quoting it in her own straight-to-the-point way. Her quote above was exactly what I needed to read to get my head out of the clouds and get the damned blog posted already. Save the excuses for another day, thank you.

      We all hear the call in their challenge, don’t we? It’s about the rest of the things we promise ourselves that we’ll do. Writing promises. Fitness promises. Work promises. Project promises. Relationship promises. Things deferred and neglected for too long. Be a warrior and grow beyond your fragility. Do what must be done. Have some nerve, or go above it.

      What’s the best you can do? It’s more than this. So do that.

    • Towards Empty Spaces

      “Hiking is not for everyone. Notice the wilderness is mostly empty.” – Sonja Yoerg

      It seems counterintuitive that an otherwise social being would be so quick to seek out solitude and empty spaces. But that’s generally where you’ll find me when the opportunity arises. Let the record show that I love interacting with people. I just don’t want to have them encroaching on me all the time. And so it is that you’ll find me in places others might think of as desolate and wild.

      My favorite destinations have the fewest people in them. You can have your hippest restaurants and trendy neighborhoods, I’ll stick with wide open places, thank you. I’m happy to visit the world’s big cities, I just don’t want to live in them.

      I think nothing of it when I lose cellular coverage. In fact, I celebrate it! To be off the grid is increasingly difficult, and it may one day be impossible. But for now, I dance with my zero bars when I get ‘em.

      If all of this seems like a diatribe against population growth or humanity in general, well, that’s not the point at all. No, this is a celebration of elbow room and quiet hikes in hard to reach places. May we always have them, for I surely can’t be the only one seeking them out.

    • Live It Properly

      “Think of yourself as dead. You have lived your life. Now take what’s left and live it properly.”
      — Marcus Aurelius

      There’s something about an extended vacation that makes you hyper-aware of the world you return to. You gain new perspective on the world, you break free of the stories you’ve been telling yourself, the routines you’ve established, and you come back a different person than the one who left. At moments like this the quote above reverberates in my head. Take what’s left and live it properly.

      We have once vibrant people all around us falling by the wayside as their own time comes to an end, but we don’t embrace this truth enough in ourselves. Be it 50 years or 50 more minutes, shouldn’t we make the most of it? Or do we go right back to our previous life of falling in line and doing what’s expected of us? There’s only now, friends.

      What we once were was wonderful, or maybe it wasn’t all that great at all, but it’s gone now. Roll up your sleeves and get to work on who you are now. Who you’ll become, based on what you do next. It’s always been about this next step on the path. For what does “properly” mean to you anyway? Get to it already.

    • Look at That Sky, Life’s Begun

      Don’t let me hear you say life’s taking you nowhere
      Angel
      Come get up, my baby
      Look at that sky, life’s begun
      Nights are warm and the days are young
      Come get up, my baby
      — David Bowie, Golden Years

      Attitude is everything in life, and at some point you’ve got to shake yourself loose from whatever holds you back and get going already. Even during the pandemic, a dark time for modern humanity, we hear of plenty of people who got out in the world and did something amazing. So why not now?

      If you believe the stories, David Bowie wrote Golden Years for Elvis to sing. Admittedly, that would have been a fascinating take on the song. There’s an element of sadness in the lyrics, and I can see Bowie having someone like Elvis in mind when he wrote it. I think about the Elvis of 1975, only a couple of years before he died. He felt like old news and a bit used up in the world, but he was only 42 when he died. He was dragged down by drugs and distraction, not by age.

      There’s a lesson there. Don’t get bogged down in the muck life throws at you. Focus intensely on the things you want to do in your life. For all the celebration of those who rise up, this world would rather have you consume than produce. Consumption will be the death of us all. Instead, get up and produce something of consequence.

      Lean into your dreams. Look up at that sky. Life’s just begun, Angel.