“A Buddhist friend taught me a trick about savoring the moment; pop a single M&M in your mouth and savor it for as long as you can. Suddenly a tiny piece of candy has tremendously more volume than a handful of the stuff.”

As I hopped in my car and put on my seat belt, she leaned down and said, “You know, your 21st is the last birthday you’re going to look forward to. After this, they come faster and faster every year.” She had a wistful shimmer in her eyes, and my enthusiasm for the evening was dialed back a notch.

I don’t remember that evening, but I remember the advice she gave me. It’s been a phrase I’ve had in the back of my head, here and there, since I first heard it ten years ago.

A few days ago I watched a clip from an interview with Bill Murray. He answers the question, “What do you want that you don’t have yet?”in a candid, honest way. To summarize his response in a few words he replies, “To be more aware of where I am right now.” Or take Garth Algar’s succinct advice from Wayne’s World.

Murray’s answer had no mystical hogwash. It was not a reply tinged in regret or soaked in overly sentimental wishing. His aspiration is a full awareness of the moment, as many moments as possible. But how do achieve this kind of awareness?

There’s an old trick a Buddhist friend taught me on learning how to savor the moment; pop a single M&M in your mouth and savor it for as long as you can. Reflect on the tastes, the composition, and the interaction it has on your tongue and your teeth.

Suddenly a single piece of candy thoughtfully eaten has tremendously more volume than a scarfed-down handful of the stuff. A clear comparison to observing a single moment in your life is implied here, but I’ll let you draw those lines yourself.

My own method for practicing awareness is spending time in my garden. Attentive readers on F24 will probably recognize me as “that plant guy” (a distinction I hold with pride, thank you), so there’s no surprise that my own bit of wisdom here involves growing a garden of any scale.

It’s impossible to spend time among the plants I’ve grown and fostered and not be aware of the moment. The cool feeling of an emerald-green leaf on my finger tips draws me wholly to that moment. Appreciating the delicate flowers on my impatiens contrasting with the burgundy hues of a heuchera shuts out pestering thoughts and anxious anticipation of the future.

Gardening a small window box offers the same level of focus and awareness, a sort of surrender to the moment. A few minutes of gardening offers us a chance to step away from the craziness of our lives and catch our god damn breath.

After the Bill Murray interview finished I thought back to that time my boss offered her bit of wisdom on aging. I’d always taken her input as a hard truth, sort of a tough love measure of sagacity. It wasn’t a cruel thing, but it wasn’t kind.

For the record, she was correct; the years do go by faster the older you get. Our goal is to be aware of every moment we have, because we only have so many.

Spend some time thinking on the ruminations of Mister Bill Murray and the lesson from an old Italian tree farmer. And if you’re feeling adventurous, start a little garden while you’re at it; there’s no better way for practicing awareness.

Except eating a single M&M.

The post How a Single M&M Can Help You Live in Each Moment appeared first on FactoryTwoFour.

“Why are we less than happy? What about a reliable income, food in the fridge, and enough free time to practically meld with the new Tom Clancy’s Ghost Recon game guarantees that we have so much trouble sleeping? The cure is some honest labor, and some euphoria-inducing long runs.”

Humans won a contest we weren’t supposed to win. Our food is comfortably at grocery stores (at least in the developed world), our movement from A to B is almost entirely mechanical, and we are free to sit around and enjoy massive amounts of ass-fattening free time. And yet most people, when asked how they’re doing, shrug and say the ubiquitous “Eh, not bad.”

Why are we less than happy? What about a reliable income, food in the fridge, and enough free time to practically meld with the new Tom Clancy’s Ghost Recon game guarantees that we have so much trouble sleeping?

The cure is some honest labor, and some euphoria-inducing long runs. Hitting the gym and the treadmill are alternatives, but they fall short in the satisfaction department. After all, when we’re finished with our squats, we put the plates back and walk away from the rack, leaving it just the way we found it. Running for thirty-minutes on a treadmill is an exercise in tedium, unless you watch TV to take your mind off of the boredom.

Imagine instead the sense of satisfaction and accomplishment when you’re swinging an ax through a log; you start with a pile of big logs and finish with a stack of small ones. Grab a sledge hammer and destroy that old cement panel in the back yard that’s been driving you nuts. Pick up a shovel and spade and dig out that garden bed in the bed, turning over useless sod and replacing the patch with some vegetables. Hell, buy twenty-five cinder blocks and carry them from side of the yard to the other. A wheelbarrow and a project list beats any gym routine.

And running? Get off the treadmill and head outside. Yes, even when it’s hot. When you’re outside, don’t worry about pace or capping your distance at a predetermined number. Just run, explore the neighborhood, push yourself past your limits and don’t return until you feel like you’ve earned it.

Something magic happens when you embrace the misery of long running. As exhaustion sets in, and you’ve depleted your store of mental tricks to keep moving, you can find yourself suddenly reinvigorated. Your body becomes weightless, your lungs and heart are working at peak efficiency, and your brain releases an endorphin surge; you just experienced a running high. Nothing else in the world of fitness compares to this sensation, and you’re a Hell of a lot more likely to get there when you’re long running outside rather than on a treadmill.

The cure to modern maladies like a daily malaise is honest work, and endurance-straining running. Invest in some basic yard tools and make some backyard gardening and patio improvements your new exercise, even if its just for a while. If you can’t afford to do this, or don’t have the space, consider volunteering with a group of people who maintain trails in parks. It’s free, and you still have that “Look what I did!” satisfaction. More importantly you develop that nigh-mythical thing known as “functional strength”, the kind of strength our forefathers possessed.

Take a break from the treadmill and take your runs outside, if only a few times a week. The fresh air, sunshine, and (I dare say) spiritual satisfaction is unparalleled. Before long the idea of a long winter run isn’t a terror. You’ve grown accustomed to the outdoors again and welcome the unknown into that long run.

Maybe I’m wrong, maybe I’m right. This kind of advice is based on each individual.

There’s only one way to find out.

You’ll sweat away from the inside, and have something more to show for it.

The post Get Garden Strong: Drop the Weights and Grab the Shovel appeared first on FactoryTwoFour.

I admire plants. They are tenacious, hardy, and constantly seek to grow. Plants are unable to pick themselves up and step away from the scorching heat.

“Plants are unable to pick themselves up and step away from the scorching heat. They can’t run to the tap and get a drink of water. Plants work toward their growth with a steadfast, plodding approach.”

They can’t run to the tap and get a drink of water when thirsty.

Even when faced with parasites, predators, and predation, they simply endure. Plants work toward their growth with a steadfast plodding approach.

Examine the Saguaro Cactus of the Sonoran Desert, an iconic image of the American southwest. Although these spiny survivors can reach heights of seventy feet tall, it takes them ten years to grow their first inch. They are the plant-based inspiration for building a solid foundation inch by inch.

Mullein only grows in areas of compacted and unhealthy soil. It is a biennial, a plant completing its life cycle over a period of two years. The first year of growth establishes the velvet-leaved plant in an area, but the second year of growth allows it to reach towering heights of six feet or more. And when this plant dies, its massive volume biodegrades and replenishes minerals in the soil allowing other plants to take a firm footing. Talk about inspiration for making the most of a bad situation.

The Bristlecone Pine is the oldest living tree on the planet, and it thrives in harsh alpine environments. It favors poor soil and tends to develop a gnarled appearance because of the strong, constant winds it encounters on the tops of mountains. Bristlecone pines grow above the timber line; that is to say, they grow above an area where almost any other tree and shrub finds conditions to be inhospitable. These trees survive constant onslaughts from top-of-the-world conditions, but it’s a climate where only the strongest can survive.

But you don’t need to breach the deserts and climb up mountains to learn that plants are hardy survivors.

That jalapeno in my backyard is a perfect example. A few weeks ago I was harvesting peppers from the plant for my jambalaya. Maybe one day I’ll share the recipe with you guys.

When I reached one particular plant I was shocked to discover that the great majority of its leaves were missing. I was dumbfounded because earlier that morning I watered these plants and didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary.

A fast inspection revealed this bastard; the tomato hornworm.

This guy ate about 80% of an entire jalapeno plant in one day. After a bout of swearing and incredulous foot stomping (I exaggerate only slightly) I removed the caterpillar from its meal ticket. I was doubly frustrated because I grew these plants from seed.

Flash forward a few weeks. That pepper plant has recovered entirely. Not only are there new leaves sprouting from every once-nibbled stalk, it’s producing fruit again. A too-wet spring, scorching summer, and an insatiable predator couldn’t stop this guy from pushing new growth.

Plants, like people, have a way of bouncing back. My jalapeno plant suffered from the hornworm. When the problem was removed and the plant given a chance it continued growing and producing. It’s the same story if people remove a toxic element from their life and continue soldiering on.

If my jalapeno can suffer massive die-back and still bounce back to its full vigor, why can’t I?

Take a breath and repeat after me: “People can learn from plants.”

It may be a model of patience taught by the saguaro, of capitalization taught by mullein, or fortitude at the top of the world by the bristlecone pine, plants are an inspiration to the person willing to appreciate it.

The jalapeno plant pushing out new growth after devastating damage is inspiring. Here is a plant chomped down in its prime, and it continues to push forward with gusto. It’s not hard to draw parallels to more conventional sources of inspiration (Robert Downey Jr. and Bruce Lee come immediately to mind).

Give it some thought, and if you need more proof to why plants are badass and inspiring, grow a few of your own.

If there’s one takeaway from everything you’ve read it’s this; you can keep moving forward even when things are at their bleakest. Saguaro cacti, mullein, bristlecone pine, and jalapeno only know how to keep moving forward. Now that’s a lesson worth remembering.

The post Get Plant Tough: What the Jalapeno Taught Me appeared first on FactoryTwoFour.

“In the age of the smart phone, writing is essential to social image, career, and relationships. So you might as well improve your capabilities. Whether you want to write the great American novel, compose a kick-ass cover letter, or just impress on social media, these rules will set you on the path to good writing.”

In the age of the smart phone, writing is essential to social image, career, and relationships. So you might as well improve your capabilities. Whether you want to write the great American novel, compose a kick-ass cover letter, or just impress on social media, these rules will set you on the path to good writing.

1. Before you start writing, pinpoint your primary goal. What is your desired tone? Are you writing to inform, to entertain, to impress? All of the above? Who is your audience? As you write, keep your audience and goal in mind. When you’re finished with a draft, remove  sentences or paragraphs that aren’t congruent with your purpose.
2. Write topic sentences. Does that mandate give you  flashbacks of elementary school? Sorry, but your fifth grade teacher had good reason for belaboring this point. Paragraphs with topic sentences (and coherent supporting details) send a calming message to readers: Yes, this is an organized piece of writing. You want to read it. Carry on.

3. Get specific. A specific noun will transform a sentence. Did you buy her flowers? No, you bought her a bouquet of carnations. Or maybe you brought her an orchid. The sentences convey different impressions—a specific noun or verb can change the significance of an interaction, and add a layer of nuance. Did you see a grove of trees or a grove of spruce? So you ate breakfast? Was it oatmeal or eggs Benedict? Instead of using verbs like “went,” tell us how you got there. Did you drive, peddle, run, or wander? The difference between “went” and “drive” may seem paltry, but the latter offers a picture, a whiff of exhaust.

4. Avoid beginning sentences with “there.” You’ll find exceptions to this rule, but leading with “there” is typically a sign of weak and lazy syntax. There were two plates on the table? The table was set for two. There are three things I’m afraid of? I have three fears.

1. Type cylinder from Munsen typewriter, circa 1890-1912.

1. 5. Use concrete language. In other words, avoid vague phrases. A period of time? How about a week, a month, or a season? The job offers good compensation? The job pays well.
2. 6. Eradicate details that don’t support your point. Sounds like a no-brainer? Maybe, but many a blog post is weighed down by gratuitous rambling. As E.B. White wrote, “The breezy style is often the work of an egocentric, the person who imagines that everything that pops into his head is of general interest and that uninhibited prose creates high spirits and carries the day.” (I’m no doubt a repeat offender.)
3. 7. Replace the word “not” with direct, positive structure. “She was not very happy” is weak phrasing. Replace with “She was miserable” or “She was disconsolate.” Did not like? Detested. Did not remember? Forgot. Not tired? Awake. Not on time? Late. Did not pay much attention to? Ignored. Not important? Trifling.
4. 8. Eliminate empty words and phrases: the fact that, the fact is, the truth is, in terms of, one of the most…
5. 9. Minimize your use of qualifiers. Words like “very” clutter up a sentence. Were you very angry? Why not furious? Are you pretty tired? Why not exhausted? Do you like her very much or do you adore her? Avoid using “some.” She drank some coffee? No. She drank the last of the coffee. She sipped her coffee. She finished her mug of coffee. I have some ideas? No. I have ideas.

   

6. 10. Remember you are not Ernest Hemingway or William Faulkner. Certain writers can get away with leaning into a style. Hemingway is famous for his clipped syntax, while Faulkner was prone to writing page-long sentences, consecutively. These styles worked for Hemingway and Faulkner, but most writing will benefit from mixing it up. Avoid writing a succession of long, loose sentences or a succession of clipped blunt sentences. Instead, establish a rhythm by alternating long and short syntax.
7. 11. Vary your first words or phrases. Avoid writing consecutive sentences that begin with the same word. On a similar note, don’t write consecutive sentences that begin with an introductory clause.
9. 12. Do you want to give your reader the impression that you are a hyperactive child? No? Minimize your use of exclamation points. While we’re on this topic…multiple consecutive exclamation points are not a valid form of punctuation!!!
10. 13. Edit. Unless you are preternaturally talented, good writing is not the result of mystical blasts of inspiration, but of craftsmanship. Good writers sand and polish their work.

The post 13 Simple Steps to Becoming a Better Writer appeared first on FactoryTwoFour.

For somebody like myself, whose professional and personal life is tied into the outdoors (and especially with trees), the threat of such overwhelming devastation is heart wrenching. As I’ve reflected on the fallout of this looming loss, I began to wonder, “What can I personally learn from this?”

Dutch Elm disease and chestnut blight have effectively destroyed two great American trees. Like the ash tree, elms and chestnuts once dominated the American tree canopy. They were well-recognized and beneficial trees found on every street in America, until these diseases wiped out the chestnut in the 1940s and devastated the elm in the 1970s. The reason these diseases were so damaging to our canopy cover is because the chestnut, elm, and ash were the result of a monoculture; that is, the cultivation of a single crop. Another way of understanding this is to imagine a farmer who only grows tomatoes. It is his sole source of income. An excessively wet spring causes all of his plants to succumb to blight, leaving him with nothing but dead plants.

With only one variety of tree covering huge swaths of the forest and cities, a single illness can wipe out an overwhelming area of growth. Hopefully urban planners in the future will learn from a triply-repeated mistake, but I think we can all learn something from it that can be applied to our own lives. If a tiny green beetle can destroy a huge portion of the American forest, what does that say about the dangers of overspecialization in ourselves?

Possessing an expert knowledge or skill in one area is what many of us are working towards in our lives. It’s not dangerous to cultivate this kind of specialization, but it is hazardous to rely entirely on it. When one area of our lives begins to take over and asserts itself as the defining element of an identity, the fallout of its loss is staggering. Consider an athlete suffering a career-ending injury, or a person hyper specialized with a computer system that becomes suddenly obsolete.

People can bounce back, but they must start over from scratch with something different, all the while wondering “What if it happens again?”

Like everything else in life, a solution can be found in the garden.

The solution we use when designing and building gardens is not to eliminate the ash tree but instead to increase diversity. If our gardens feature a dozen varieties of plants, it becomes more resistant to disease and damage than when we feature only two or three plants. Instead of a row of ash trees that come crashing down at once, we have a single ash tree that is highlighted by a combination of perennial flowers and attractive shrubs. The garden works to create a whole that is not reliant on any one specific plant.

There is no need to eliminate specialization, but it is critical to our health and our futures that we allow ourselves the opportunity and time to pursue other interests to cultivate different skills.

The ash tree is going the way of the elm and the chestnut. But there’s no reason we can’t learn a lesson from the loss of our trees, and thus endeavor to protect ourselves from the dangers of personal monocultures.

Plant that ash — but don’t forget the forsythia and the daisy too.

The post If Men Were Trees: Life Lessons From Failed Monocultures appeared first on FactoryTwoFour.

My garden hose is another man’s bug-ridden software, and it is the coffee machine that leaks grounds into your drink, and it is the morning commute. The source of these frustrations and annoyances is a lack of patience. It’s the little things in our day that interrupt the flow of efforts and intents, and those tiny interruptions take the greatest toll on our patience.

In my journey it has become apparent that as long as I spend time in the garden, professionally or at home, I will be around a hose. And that means I’ll be untangling these bastards for the rest of my life. It’s the thorn in my lion’s paw, and I want it gone. For years I have been searching in vain for the ultimate hose to solve this dilemma, looking for a fix that will remove this stubborn stabbing thing from my foot.

But what if I don’t need to remove it?

The warm weather this spring has forced me to bust that hose out of retirement. That means solving the equivalent of a rubber Rubik’s cube at least a few times a season, except this one sprays water at you and soaks your shoes when you least expect it. I opened the shed door and groaned a grunt of dejection when laying eyes on that hideous thing. It seems to get heavier every year, and the amount of wear and tear I put into it has no impact on its rigidity or likelihood to coil back into a Gordian knot. But this time…

Well, this time I took the hose out, and I dropped it on the ground in front of me, and I picked up one end. I started untangling it. And that was it. I simply untangled the thing. The exercise became a meditation, and I was intent on accomplishing this task with the least amount of thought possible.

Well, this time I took the hose out, and I dropped it on the ground in front of me, and I picked up one end. I started untangling it. And that was it. I simply untangled the thing. The exercise became a meditation, and I was intent on accomplishing this task with the least amount of thought possible.

Before long I was hooking it up to the spigot and watering my tomatoes and peppers. I didn’t even mind the wet socks.

It was a point of clarity that the hose wore out my patience because I allowed it to. That opened up something even deeper; what if patience isn’t a finite pool of tolerance, but is instead a quality to make ironclad through daily testing? This epiphany made the thorn in my foot seem more like a boon than an annoyance. Suddenly the tangled hose I unravel isn’t an excuse to vent frustration, it’s an opportunity to strengthen my patience.

I gave up on my search for the ultimate hose because I don’t need it anymore. Unraveling these things will always be a pain in the ass, but it’s something I’m grateful for now. Practicing patience is a regular opportunity to forge myself into a better person.

Patience is a virtue, but we aren’t born with it. As a final thought, take a moment to think about the words of the entrepreneur and visionary Elon Musk, who said, “Patience is a virtue, and I’m learning patience. It’s a tough lesson.”

Just remember you heard it from me first.

The post Wranglin’ Up a Knotty Hose: Or, “How I Came to Find Patience” appeared first on FactoryTwoFour.