Anchoring (Etc.)

When trying to integrate a new practice into your life - be it something mundane like flossing your teeth or something more substantive like regular exercising or reading more - what strategies have you found effective in helping the practice take hold?

I can't recall either how or when I first heard about the power of anchoring in helping a practice take hold. However, I do remember over thirty-five years ago deciding that integrating a meditation practice into my life was important. I also recall how much trouble I had at the time finding a consistent place and time to sit and pay attention only to my breathing. My daughter had just been born, I had a full time and two part-time jobs, life was pretty hectic. 

But the one thing I did Monday to Friday that I knew would not change anytime soon was driving to my full-time job in the a.m. Somehow (had I read about anchoring somewhere? did someone suggest it as a technique? did I identify it as anchoring after landing on my solution?), I came up with meditating in my car in a remote spot in the parking lot of my full-time work location. I left myself an extra half-hour each morning - which also helped me get up earlier and beat most of the rush hour traffic - and, except for days either too cold or too hot to sit in my car for thirty minutes, that consistent place and time issue was solved.

Rather than sharing other examples of how anchoring has worked for me, I'd prefer now to hear your strategies. Perhaps you've never specifically connected your success at integrating a new practice to anchoring it to something else in your life that is a constant. Even so, try re-creating your success story - as I did above - and then share here how you got there. Anchoring or not, maybe your story will help others who have struggled to find an effective way of getting a new practice to take hold. 

  

Close to a Guarantee

Finishing The Correspondent (2025), my first thought was how could any open soul not like this book? Virginia Evans's debut novel is heartfelt, well-written, and totally engaging. Put aside its readability and humanness; it's also a bibliophile's dream. 

 

The letters sent and received by the protagonist - Sybil Van Antwerp - often refer to literature, one of her passions. In addition, Sybil is in the habit of writing to authors nearly as frequently as she writes to her brother Alex or best friend Rosalie. About halfway through this captivating novel, your favorite blogger - wearing his list making bibliophile hat - began keeping track of all the books and authors cited by Sybil and others, just in case one of you were to later wonder. The final tally? Around thirty-five. (Before you ask, yes, after beginning that list at the halfway point I did then return to the start to ensure the accuracy of the final number. Forgive me father.) 

 

Over the fifteen+ year history of my blog, I've published more than five hundred posts about books. And though every one of those five hundred+ met my sole criteria** - i.e., this book elevated me - for more than a few, I felt it necessary to provide a caveat, about language, subject matter, density, etc. There is no caveat attached to my recommendation of The Correspondent. I'm confident this novel will appeal to almost any reader.

** Over that same period, I've never published a single post about a book that left me cold. And there have been an ample number of those. 

Listening to Myself in Act Three

Although flying back and forth between coasts for years now has had clear downsides, for this film geek, having a wide selection of films to choose from while in the air has almost evened the balance sheet. 

On this trip, I was enthralled end-to-end watching Disclosure Day. The nicest surprise? Stumbling across this engrossing and intelligent Stephen Spielberg film with no pre-knowledge. How can this be the case for an aficionado, you might reasonably ask. Several years ago, I made a resolution to try and bypass reviews and any "buzz" surrounding new books and films. As much as possible in Act Three, I now attempt to arrive at my own unvarnished opinion of the literature and movies I'm exposed to. I've done so with music most of my adult life. Why then the struggle throughout Act Two with my two other abiding passions? 

I've never been fully satisfied answering that question. In Act One of anyone's life, it's predictive - maybe unavoidable - for our opinions to be influenced by many things e.g., parents, peers, mentors, others more educated and experienced than our young selves. As we become actualized adults, those influences begin having less impact. But in my case, although the influence of parents and peers became less of a factor in Act Two, the voices of cultural critics seemed to grow. And the more esteemed the critic - Harold Bloom, John Leonard, James Wood - the more I found myself occasionally parroting their views. Why? Again, I'm still trying to land on a satisfactory answer to that. 

Hence, my Act Three resolve re movies and books. I have no idea what the critics have said about Disclosure Day. Because it's a Stephen Spielberg film, I'm reasonably confident there has been plenty of buzz. My daughter in the film industry certainly knew about it and asked me what I thought soon after we got to her place. My buzz to her? Clearly worth two+ hours, especially to distract myself while in the air, in a cramped seat, having difficulty concentrating on my book. What would John Leonard have had to say about this movie if he was still with us? Not sure. Hope I wouldn't have paid him any mind. 

  

A Friday Sermon

Holding myself accountable for consistently blogging for over fifteen years has given me a newfound respect for many things, including a few professions. Given my longtime agnosticism, perhaps the biggest surprise to me has been how much I've grown to appreciate members of the clergy.

Have you ever thought carefully about the amount of effort it takes to develop and deliver a sermon or homily every single week? I ask you to consider the following: 

* You're often speaking to many of the same people each week. So, how soon can you recycle stuff?
* You're drawing your material from the same - admittedly rich - source material each time. 

* You're speaking in a very quiet space, which means that aside from an occasional crying baby, nothing ever interrupts you. Net result: Every mispronounced or misused word is heard, every lapse in logic or flow is noticeable. 
* You're the center of attention for 10-15 minutes non-stop AND you have to draw a compelling conclusion.

Look at that list. How consistently well do you think you could do this? I've been in front of people as a musician, teacher, and speaker most of my professional life. But when I think about meeting all the requirements on that list, it gives me real pause. There are additional parallels with blogging - staying fresh, remaining relevant, keeping people interested/awake. Thank goodness I don't rely on people regularly tithing to keep this gig.

My Journey with Julian Barnes

Because Julian Barnes has indicated Departure(s) (2026) will be the last book of his career, soon after finishing it, I began reflecting on my twenty-year journey with this modern-day master. 

That journey started upon receiving Arthur and George (2005) as a gift from a member of my reading posse, in this case, my oldest niece. I've lost count how many new-to-me authors have later been added to my unmanageable "must return to" list after one of my posse have turned me onto them. That novel - Barnes's 10th as it turns out - ensured him a spot on that list.

I got my second taste of Barnes's undeniable gift when the first book club I ever joined selected The Sense of an Ending (2011). This was not long after I'd left the full-time work world and started my blog. I've since re-read that jewel three times, recommending it to every discerning reader I know. Additionally, I've mentioned it here at least a dozen times, in varying contexts. In my opinion, it is a nearly perfect novel.

Reflections from the Bell Curve: The Sense Of An Ending

Barnes's second memoir - Levels of Life (2013) - made it three for three. Then Elizabeth Finch (2022) marked the first time in my reading life to that point that an author hit four home runs in a row. I knew right then that Barnes's back catalog was in my reading future.

Reflections from the Bell Curve: Brain Food

Most recently, another trusted member of my reading posse - this time the moderator of that same book club, now a good friend for fifteen years - suggested Departure(s) for the book club of two we kicked off twelve years back. As soon as she mentioned Barnes, I lunged at the opportunity to return to him. I didn't know when I started Departure(s) about this being his last book. But after he knocked me out, again, my resolve to return to his back catalog was fortified as this reflection began taking shape.

 

I'd welcome hearing about a journey you've taken with an author. How and when did it begin? Which events from your life coincided with the literary landmarks on that journey? Where are you headed next with that revered author?               

 

The Plan: 10/03/2040

Little man; Tomorrow you'll be two years young. You've already brought boundless joy to the lives of your mother and father and all four of your grandparents.

Reflections from the Bell Curve: Goal for Year 77

Several weeks after your first birthday last year, as pledged in the post above, I began a project for you - modeled after one I started for your mother when she turned eight - recounting my most cherished memories of some things we'd shared in the year that had just passed. My current plan - on your 16th birthday in 2040 - is to present you with a book much like the one I gave to your mother on her 21st birthday. Along with pictures from each year of your precious life will be all the hand-written letters I wrote to you, beginning with the one finished late last year. I'll begin my second letter sometime over the next week, i.e., what we've shared in the year between your first and second birthdays. 

On October 3, 2040, I'll be seven weeks away from my ninety first birthday. Here's what I hope will happen that day:  

* With your grandmother by my side, the three of us will take a walk to a local ice cream store, your book in hand. 

* The three of us (or five if Mom and Dad join us) will enjoy our ice cream while reading parts of the letters and looking at the pictures of you as you grew up.

* We'll laugh a lot. Then we'll walk home.     

I'm excited. 

Jeeps

#78: The Mt. Rushmore Series

Fresh on the heels of reprising my course on the Beatles - entitled The Magical Musical Mystery Tour - I decided the time was right to finally go on record with my Mt. Rushmore of Beatles songs. Without exaggeration, landing on just four songs from the Fab Four's catalog has taken me months of serious reflection. And I can hear your snark from here. Get a life, Pat. Sometimes - with respect to my veneration of the Beatles - I feel a bit like those Trekkies that William Shatner famously made fun of in that classic Saturday Night Live sketch many years back. 

Still, denying what the Beatles music has meant to me for over sixty years would be dishonest. So here they are, the four Beatles songs that have consistently meant the most to me, in alphabetical order. I don't claim these are the best Beatles songs; that's a fool's errand. Their catalog is too impossibly rich. Construct your Mt. Rushmore any way you wish. My only request: Please give me a rationale for your choices, i.e., what specifically moves you when listening to your Mt. Rushmore of Beatles songs? Because even writing about these four makes me vibrate. Honest. 

1.) And Your Bird Can Sing: Without question, the least well-known song on my monument, released in England on Revolver. Truth be told, not the best lyric John & Paul ever wrote. But put that aside and revel in the guitar harmonies - way before their time in popular music - and the way those three voices blend like blood. My goosebumps-guaranteed moment? The last verse ("You tell me that you've heard every sound there is ...") with that unmistakable Beatles-disguised-as-the-Everly Brothers descending harmony line. Musical alchemy.       

2.) If I Fell: The world would be an unquestionably smaller place without this jewel, a perfect pop song, if ever there was one. An eight-bar intro that nods toward Broadway, a unique musical ending for three of the four verses - including that exquisite tag - and two-part harmony from heaven.   

3.) In My Life: Where do I begin? With the lyric, indisputably one of the best end-to-end from the Beatles oeuvre? Ringo's subtle cymbal work? Which part? His syncopated hi-hat hits or the chiming quarter notes that ring off the bells of his ride cymbal? George Martin's elegant Baroque-style solo? Again, maybe those harmonies? The two-part stuff, i.e., John with Paul, or in those magical places where George briefly joins in? 

 Reflections from the Bell Curve: On The Record: The Beatles At Their Best

4.) Rain: When my blog was less than a month old, I published the post above, being careful to say at the time that this was the "Beatles at their best", not the "best" Beatles song; there is no such thing. This under-played gem has everything. I wouldn't change a word I wrote over fifteen years ago any more than I would tell the lads to change a single thing they did when they wrote and recorded this timeless treasure sixty years ago.   

I'm waiting. Don't let me down, Beatles geeks. (Get it?) Give me your Mt. Rushmore, please.

Majestic Moments

Reflections from the Bell Curve: #72: The Mt. Rushmore Series

Had I seen Michael Keaton's extraordinary turn in The Whisper Man before publishing the post above, there's no question he would have been one of the four actors I enshrined on iteration #72 in my most enduring series. Keaton's work in this recently released Netflix film is the personification of a well-known actor playing against type. 

Given its creepy premise, The Whisper Man is not for everyone. Robert DeNiro is predictably excellent playing a haunted retired police detective. And both Adam Scott - as DeNiro's estranged son - and Michelle Monaghan, playing a detective investigating a series of brutal crimes, hold their own alongside the master. But Keaton's three scenes - the first with DeNiro and Monaghan, then one with DeNiro alone, and the last, an indescribably perverse scene near the end of the film - feature him at the peak of his craft. I would willingly watch this disturbing movie a second time just to re-experience Keaton's artistry. The closest recent analogues I've had have been after finishing Daniel Woodrell's The Death of Sweet Mister (2001) early this month and re-listening - for perhaps the 1000th time - to If I Fell while preparing to teach a class on the Beatles in August. In these majestic moments, my life is immeasurably enriched. When have you most recently been transported by great art, no matter the medium?     

     

Although I suspect I'll be disappointed, I'm still hoping Keaton gets a best supporting actor nod when next year's Oscars are announced. If you watch The Whisper Man, I'm curious to hear your reaction.