Alexandersmap

    Tag: Philosophy

    • Beginning with !

      Yesterday I took the plunge into a brisk Buzzards Bay. Temperatures were well above “numbing” but not quite “refreshing“. It was more in the “you get used to it” range. I find that more than acceptable, if a bit lonely. It seems most still have it in the numbing category and there was a lot of elbow room in the water. I’m still a bit of an outlier it seems. And as memorable as the brisk swim was, it wasn’t the highlight. That came later when my son made us an amazing dinner from scratch. I’ll remember both, and isn’t that the point? Make life memorable through experiences.

      Today I find myself back in New Hampshire and got straight back to plunging into the deep end of the pool to start the day. Water temperature in the pool is firmly in the refreshing stage. So it was just me and those bubbles, once again rising to the surface. These are days you’ll remember in January, or someday when you aren’t able to do this, so take advantage of them now. That statement applies to so much more than jumping into water. Today’s plunge wasn’t as memorable as yesterday’s, but its early yet and I’ll look for that next magic moment as the day progresses. I’m planning a long row at lunchtime, and another plunge with a few laps would be a nice reset before the afternoon stretch of work.

      I’ve long believed that you need to add an exclamation point on every day. Have you done one of those one line per day journals? An exclamation point might be that one line you’d write about. It would certainly be the thing you’d most like remember about the day. Of course every moment can’t be an exclamation point moment. You’d be exhausted. Its the equivalent of shouting all the time, but taking the highlighter out and marking this particular moment, well, why not? What are we saving exclamation points for anyway? There’s only today. Get to it already.

    • The Moon, Pluto, Jupiter and Saturn

      The deep orange sky at 4 AM was largely faded by 5 AM. What kind of world is this that 5 AM is too late in the day for the show? It’s the price of the longer days of June. You want the full show? Get up earlier. And I’ve learned another lesson in my time with the sky; You really want the full show? Look around. For there directly behind me was the Moon, Jupiter and Saturn in a dance with a faded Pluto. It seems 4 AM wasn’t quite early enough to find Pluto, even with binoculars. But now that I know you’re out there I’ll look more closely tonight.

      A sunrise marks the beginning, a sunset announces the end. Nothing revolutionary in that observation. Here’s the thing about sunrises and sunsets that really strikes me: there’s far more of them that we miss than we can ever possibly see. I’ve missed thousands of stunning sunrises simply by being in the wrong place. Or, as with Pluto this morning, sometimes you just don’t get there in time. And sometimes you’re busy with other things. Or sometimes Mother Nature makes the decision for you. Then again, sometimes it’s on you. And I figure if I’m blessed with another day I ought to at least make the effort. There are only so many sometimes, aren’t there?

      Monday is upon us. And with it a new beginning. Work to do, people to help, life to live. A chance to put a dent in the universe. A handful of sunrises and sunsets there for the viewing should you choose to put your eyes in front of them. And a planet dancing with two other planets by the glow of the moon. Now tell me, who would want to miss that?

    • The Highest Alchemy

      “The process of life should be the birth of a soul. This is the highest alchemy, and this justifies our presence on earth. This is our calling and our virtue.” – Henri Amiel

      I’ve managed to finish three books this year, a disappointing total to be sure.  But I’m actively reading every day, and balance a stack of virtual books on the Kindle app that I read through often with an actual stack of books that I return to now and then.  I’m reading a lot, and yet I’m not finishing a lot of books.  Go figure.

      I’ll often read a quote like the Henri Amiel quote above and immediately research the author’s work on Wikipedia, scroll through highlights of their publicly available work and if inspired I go on Amazon and add to the stack.  I added to the stack with Amiel’s Journal, widely declared his master work (free on Kindle)… and published posthumously.  Which brings me back to the quote that inspired the search, and emphasis on the quote that wasn’t there previously.  Quotes are funny things, we pull out a set of words that seem especially powerful, tag the author and leave it out there like a neon sign on a dark night.   Knowing something of the author brings context and resonance.  It’s something that Maria Popova is masterful at with Brain Pickings, and you’ll see my own attempts at it here now and then.

      I’ve learned over the years to dig a bit deeper in my own process of life.  To linger on something that others might skim over.  And most of all to learn, and to hopefully add a bit of value to the rest of the souls walking this earth now, and maybe some future then too.  To pursue the highest alchemy, if you will.  And I’m seeing some return on investment with my two adult children.  Both are deeply empathetic, thoughtful observers with strong leadership traits.  If nothing else comes of my time on this earth, the ripples from these two might be enough.  But that shorts my own time here, doesn’t it?  We’re all a work in progress in our time, from day one to the final day, and there’s still plenty of time to add more.  Today anyway.

      Alexandersmap started out as a blog about the places I was visiting, digging deeper into the history of the place, occasional insight into the best fish and chips or whatever.  And I surely will dabble in these observations again when travel isn’t limited.  But the blog evolves as I read more, think more, observe more….  and write more.  It turns out I’m digging deeper into myself, and putting it all out there for the world to see (thanks) or not see (yet).  That’s writing for you: taking you places you didn’t expect to go.  Then again, maybe deep down I did expect to get here, I just needed to write about fish and chips enough to reach this point.

      “You get better at the craft of writing the more you do it, and that’s the beauty of non-fiction writing being a craft rather than an art. You can practice it, you can get better, whereas with an art, you’re either a genius or you’re not.” – Alex Perry (via Rolf Potts interview)

      Writing, like life itself, is a process.  We’re all just birthing our souls here.  Some remain soulless (I’m not naming names) while some illuminate the darkness for all to see.  Personally, I’m on the journey and marking the trail as I go.  I’m not sure I’m illuminating darkness for anyone, but I’m lighting the way for myself one post at a time.

       

       

    • Rejoice In This Moment

      “Rejoice in the things that are present; all else is beyond thee.” – Michel de Montaigne

      “My formula for greatness in a human being is amor fati: that one wants nothing to be different, not forward, not backward, not in all eternity. Not merely bear what is necessary, still less conceal it . . . but love it.” – Friedrich Nietzsche (borrowed from Ryan Holiday)

      “Be still my heart; thou hast known worse than this.” – Homer, The Odyssey

      One thing that’s impressed me over the last three months is the resilience and grace of so many people facing adversity.  Is the world unfair?  Yes, of course it is, but that doesn’t mean we have to be bitter about where we are in this moment.  Embrace the suck, love the moment and learn from it.  And really, it doesn’t all suck, does it?  There’s so much good happening in every moment – change the focus of your internal lens and you’ll see it more clearly.

      The Homer quote above has stuck in my head since I read The Odyssey at the age of 19.  It’s sitting on a shelf waiting patiently for me to come back to read again like Penelope waiting for Odysseus to stop pissing off the gods and get home already.  Anyway, it’s come in handy over the years, right up there with “this too shall pass” on my list of phrases I say to myself when things get challenging.  And let’s face it, things are challenging at the moment.  But how we react to it is more important than what we’re reacting to.  Amor fati: love of fate, seems to have worked for the stoics, for George Washington, Friedrich Nietzsche and countless others over the centuries, and it will work for us too.

      I’ve been guilty of complaining about things a bit too much, and I’m working to change that little character flaw.  If I’ve learned anything, it’s that complaining just fuels the suck.  It all ends badly for all of us, or it all ends as it should for all of us; it’s all a state of mind either way.  Rejoice in what you can control, forget what is beyond you, and love the moment you’re in.  For this moment, even if it’s not what we might want, is the only moment we have.  This, and we, too shall pass.  Rejoice in this moment.

    • Drink Up

      “The cup of life’s for him that drinks
           And not for him that sips.” 
       – Robert Louis Stevenson, Away With Funeral Music

      I read through several poems this morning, finding them all falling flat for me.  Same with the books I’m reading.  I know I have a few stand-byes I can call up, but I resist the urge to tap into Henry and Mary and Hafiz this morning.  I welcome them all, but today I want to explore new places.  And then Robert Louis Stevenson tapped on my shoulder.  Here was a fascinating guy; Scottish (good start), prolific writer and adventurous soul who suffered from respiratory issues but pushed through them anyway to travel the world.  Look at a picture of Stevenson towards the end of his life, while he was living in Samoa, and you see a twinkle in his eyes.  This was a guy who was drinking from the cup of life right to his abrupt departure at the age of 44.

      So what of us?  Why take little sips when you don’t know which will be your last.  Drink with gusto, maybe with a little dribbling out the corner of your mouth.  Get out there when the world opens up and experience all that’s available to us.  I’m not talking about debauchery here, but living larger.  Doing more with the time you have.  Now.

      “Good is the enemy of great. And that is one of the key reasons why we have so little that becomes great. We don’t have great schools, principally because we have good schools. We don’t have great government, principally because we have good government. Few people attain great lives, in large part because it is just so easy to settle for a good life.” – Jim Collins, Good To Great

      It’s so easy to settle for a good life…  because it’s pretty good.  But Stevenson had a good life in Edinburgh too, and he still got up and got out there to see the world.  And to write timeless work.  And live with a twinkle in his eye right to the end.  So drink up.  We’ve got work to do.

       

       

    • Consider The Hummingbird

      “Consider the hummingbird for a long moment…. Each one visits a thousand flowers a day. They can dive at sixty miles an hour. They can fly backward. They can fly more than five hundred miles without pausing to rest. But when they rest they come close to death: on frigid nights, or when they are starving, they retreat into torpor, their metabolic rate slowing to a fifteenth of their normal sleep rate, their hearts sludging nearly to a halt, barely beating, and if they are not soon warmed, if they do not soon find that which is sweet, their hearts grow cold, and they cease to be… The price of their ambition is a life closer to death; they suffer more heart attacks and aneurysms and ruptures than any other living creature.”

      “Every creature on earth has approximately two billion heartbeats to spend in a lifetime. You can spend them slowly, like a tortoise, and live to be two hundred years old, or you can spend them fast, like a hummingbird, and live to be two years old.”

      “No living being is without interior liquid motion. We all churn inside.” – Brian Doyle, Joyas Voladoras

      I get a bit breathless when I read something as stunning as Joyas Voladoras, and perhaps I share too much of it here.  It’s from a collection of essays by Brian Doyle in One Long River Of Song.  I’ve been saving it until I saw my first hummingbird of the season, figuring it would be a nice way to mark the occasion.  Well, that happened over two days ago, and I’m happy to share the sparkling light of Joyas Voladoras with you now.  Welcome back, hummingbirds, I’m glad to see you return to the garden.

      I play my part in keeping them from retreating to tupor with as many hummingbird-friendly plants and flowers as I can justify cramming into the sunniest corners of my backyard.  And in return they keep me from returning to tupor, if only for this short season.  For that I’m grateful, and I keep finding more excuses to add maybe just one more plant.  The bees return first, followed by the hummingbirds, and soon the butterflies will return too and the garden will be complete.  Or maybe it’s me that will be, or maybe all of us, in this together with our collection of heartbeats thumping to the song of today.

      Reading an essay like Joyas Voladoras swings the spotlight onto my own work, and I recognize that I have a ways to go in the writing.  But the blog serves as my apprenticeship and I keep putting it out there even if it misses the mark or is welcomed with grateful indifference.  I’m silently plotting an escape for my ambitions, one post at a time.  Words and structure of sentences are one thing, but weaving sparkling light and magic into those words is another.  What makes you breathless as a reader?  We all churn inside, don’t we?  How do we share that with the world?  Bird by bird, today and tomorrow too.  There’s enough tupor in the world, we all need a bit more warmth.

    • The Forest For The Trees

      “Nothing is holier, nothing is more exemplary than a beautiful, strong tree. When a tree is cut down and reveals its naked death-wound to the sun, one can read its whole history in the luminous, inscribed disk of its trunk: in the rings of its years, its scars, all the struggle, all the suffering, all the sickness, all the happiness and prosperity stand truly written, the narrow years and the luxurious years, the attacks withstood, the storms endured. And every young farmboy knows that the hardest and noblest wood has the narrowest rings, that high on the mountains and in continuing danger the most indestructible, the strongest, the ideal trees grow.” – Hermann Hess

      This is the time of year when I slightly resent the trees around me.  I recognize the love/hate relationship I have and let it be.  The trees that surround me offer shade and shelter and song.  For these things I’m most grateful.  But they also offer a level of constant maintenance that wears me down at times.  The trees want to reproduce, and so they cast thousands of seeds and clouds of pollen at the time when I’m most eager to just be at ease for awhile.  And then just when I grow fond of them again we do it all over again in the fall with leaves and acorns and hickory tree nuts.  Nobody said it would be easy.  But I’ve chosen this place by the edge of the woods to live.  The trees were here first and I learn from them while they tolerate me.

      Those farmboys Hess writes about were cutting down that hardest and noblest wood to build sturdy ships and homes and barns and furniture.  Walk into an old Colonial-era home built three hundred years ago and look at the wood that makes up the structure of that building.  Look at the floors.  This was old growth lumber, not the young fir and pine forested today.  Today’s lumber is from relative teenagers by comparison.  And we know how teenagers can be: mind of their own, and they appear strong but are a bit fragile inside.  Nothing toughens you like enduring time and hardship, as Hess points out.  And we’re all enduring a bit of that now, aren’t we?  But it’s nothing compared to what our ancestors went through, and its good to look back on history and the hardships that our grandparents and grandparent’s grandparents endured.

      Still, we’re being tested nonetheless.  And like the tight rings that mark challenges that tree endured, we’ve slowed down in 2020, turned inward and are weathering the storm as best we can.  The collective memory of this will mark a generation, just as those trees clustered on a mountaintop somewhere collectively endured.  But when you’re in the middle of it its hard to see the forest for the trees, isn’t it?  Those tree rings offer another lesson though, for after enduring hardship for a season or several seasons the trees experience a period of rapid growth and the rings widen again.  This too shall pass, and we’ll once again begin a period of sustained growth and recovery.  Everything has its season.

       

    • Something Ethereal

      When this is all over with I’m going to a favorite breakfast place and settle into a deep conversation with my table mates, offering artful-disguised-as-clumsy banter to the waitress who’s heard it all before but plays along anyway, and savor eggs cooked by an unseen savior who hides just on the other side of a small window. When this is over that’s what I’ll do.

      Last night we watched the crescent moon reluctantly drop down in the western sky, coaxed along in a slow dance of wonder by the stunning beauty of Venus. I burned an entire wheelbarrow of split wood in a pagan tribute to the dancers, sending sparkling tributes upwards to the heavens. My breathing raspy from the wood smoke and my mind calculating the cure for one too many gin and tonics before I turned in for the night. The pandemic hasn’t robbed us of this ritual just yet. May these nights last forever (maybe with less gin – sneaky spirit that it is).

      The morning after such celebrations is a great time to go out for breakfast and make new memories over super-heated coffee. Perhaps that’s why I miss it so right now, or maybe I’m just ready for close banter with the outer circle again. We make our splash in this world and our ripples ring outward, intersecting with other rings from other splashes and others still, all bouncing off one another in a continuous dance across the surface of our lives. Social isolation removes the bounces, and we just ring across the surface touching nothing. Offering deeper moments with our immediate circle to be sure, but we need the interaction with others to influence our concentric circles. There’s only so much introspection you can tolerate without testing out ideas on the rest of the world.

      On their own the crescent moon and brilliant Venus are striking, but when they dance together it becomes something breathtaking, something… ethereal. So too we might offer our own mark on the world as individuals, but need others around us to truly illuminate our place in the universe. So there you are; two analogies in one blog post, blended together and served piping hot, like that coffee would be. Cue the waitress rolling her eyes.

    • On Seizing the Day

      “Let us therefore set out whole-heartedly, leaving aside our many distractions and exert ourselves in this single purpose, before we realize too late the swift and unstoppable flight of time and are left behind. As each day arises, welcome it as the very best day of all, and make it your own possession. We must seize what flees.” Seneca, Moral Letters

      If nothing else comes of this time, I’ve had significantly more time with 2/3 of the family. Sure, I’ve knocked off many of the nagging renovation projects this house I live in needed, but more importantly the family time has been a net positive. Tim Ferriss throws out a statistic that says 90% of the time you spend with your parents is used by the time you finish high school. My experience is that he’s half right in that one. One parent has been an active participant, one has accumulated other priorities and drifted away. Such is life. And now as a parent yourself you fully understand the reality of parenthood. So how much of that math do you apply to your own children? They don’t fly if you hold them tight, but they may flounder if you don’t give them the time they need. Balance is the key, Grasshopper.

      I’ve visited the Seneca quote a few times before in this blog. It’s a recurring theme, if you will. Carpe Diem! Memento Mori! I should read the Seneca quote every day until it’s burned into my brain, for even though I try to live it, sometimes life stirs the pot enough that you forget that this moment is all we’ve got. How cliché… and how absolutely on point. If COVID-19 isn’t a reminder of that, what is? How many healthcare workers, seeing so much death in such a compressed amount of time, have reminded us to tell our loved ones how much they mean to us now, not tomorrow – as if that’s guaranteed to us? How many listen, I wonder?

      This week marked 50 years since the Apollo 13 mission went from routine to a stunning rescue mission. I watched the Tom Hanks film again to honor the moment. What struck me was how routine the miraculous had become. You’re flying to the moon in a ship made of foil? Who cares? We’ve seen that show already. Until it became a struggle for life and death anyway. Then it became must see TV. How quickly the extraordinary becomes routine. Waking up today was extraordinary. What a gift! Billions before us would give anything for another day above ground. And what do we do with it? Binge watch Netflix? The virus is horrific, the collective pause it offers is a gift. Just as this day is. Take it for granted or embrace the possibilities it offers? There’s our choice.

      Seizing the day means more than trying to create a highlight reel of moments, it’s being present in the moment. Moments as mundane as washing dishes, and feeling the tactile experience and wonder of hot water and soap flowing over your hands and disappearing down a drain. Walking outside barefoot and feeling the coolness or warmth of the earth radiating through your feet. Watching larger birds flap about on the bluebird feeder seeing the worms inside and trying to find a way inside. Noting the incremental progress of the sunrise (or sunset if you will) as the earth tilts. Listening to a loved one as they move about in a quiet house and the gratitude of their presence in your life this day. All miraculous parts of this incredible life we’re given. Don’t let the routine lull you to sleep again. Be awake and alive while you’re here! We must seize what flees. Carpe Diem.

    • Beliefs

      Today I’d planned to open the pool, if only to see water. Instead, it’s snowing again. The world mocks me my intentions once more. Life is a series of checks to our belief that we’re all that matters in the world. Most of us figure this out after a few knocks to the ego but you still feel betrayed at times. I debated putting on boots, but said the heck with it and walked out barefoot into the accumulating snow and lowered the umbrella before it broke under the weight of this latest reality check. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll raise it once again, but for now I need it to live to see another day.

      I mentioned I’d dipped a toe back into Facebook a week ago. It seems that the water is still a bit… funky for my swims into the turbulent waters of social media. I quickly re-discovered all the reasons why I’d left. The one that bothers me most was a post from a man I once worked with who’s one of the nicest people I’ve ever met, who spends his vacation time on missions to build homes for the poor in Haiti, who is deeply religious and strikingly kind. And he firmly believes exactly the opposite position on Trump. Surely I’ve disappointed him with my own beliefs over the years, as he disappoints me. I thought of leaving a comment on his most recent post but instead I’m going to step away. The world needs more unity and I’ll focus on the essence of this kind soul instead. We will surely agree to disagree on the rest. Beliefs are tricky things.

      Back inside, I see my footprints on the deck hold their form well after I’d walked there. The snow steadily falls but the footprints remain. I’ve seen this with thermal imaging where our heat trail remains after we’ve walked through a space. A bit of our heat and energy leaves us and marks where we’ve been, like the swirling wake behind a sailboat, softly marking where you once were for seemingly forever until the sea swallows these final traces long after you’ve sailed over the horizon. It seems we do matter, even if we don’t always believe it.

      I feel a bit less spun up about my friend’s beliefs after seeing the footprints. He’s not insulting me with his post, I’m the one choosing to react to it. I recognize the energy he leaves in his wake sometimes unsettles my own state, but it’s not malice that stirs me, just a different belief. We both stir the water in the way we each move through life, living to see another day and doing the best we can. The world needs more people like him, beliefs be damned.