Category: Happiness & Health

The merits of happiness and staying healthy.

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Suggested Song: With a Little Help From My Friends (as performed by Joe Cocker)
Suggested Drink: Charleston 75: Bourbon, St. Germain, Citrus, Sparkling Rosé.

“A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for adversity.”
Proverbs 17:17

Birthdays are fun milestones to celebrate when younger; pesky reminders to commiserate when older. Family and close friends are welcome allies in both cases.

Friends

We gathered in Charleston this past weekend to celebrate a friend’s 60th. We, being a collection of good friends who’ve fêted this man through the decades. I wrote about his 50th ten years ago in an essay titled All The Fishes in the Sea, and looking forward to the next happening in 2035. He pulls in a crowd.

Decade birthdays offer a nice span for reconnecting. Enough time passes for real change, but not so much as to trigger amnesia. Who are you again? I have a high school reunion this fall and doubt I’ll recognize anyone. With my hippy days long faded, they’ll be stumped by this bald pate as well. It’s been 40 years since I last communed with the high school coterie. A lot of water under that home-town bridge.

Mike’s circle hales from a kaleidoscope of fascinating backgrounds and beautiful locales, which eases the decision to book the flight and join. Creatives, entrepreneurs, business types of every stripe, lawyers, bar owners and restaurateurs, dreamers, all coming from across the pond, around the country, and up from the Caribbean. A lively gang of rapscallions and bon vivants. Damn good fun.

Birthday boy Mike Sottak in the center chair.

A lot has been published about the harmful effects of alcohol recently, and a few at the birthday bash were running on no-octane, 0.0. The rest of us were imbibing along a spectrum of one-and-done to mumble-and-stumble. I’m trying to be more conscious about my intake this year and considering longer-term options. But this celebration didn’t seem like the time to hazard sobriety. Madness prevailed as we slow rolled through Charleston’s assortment of rooftop lounges and back street bars over the weekend. Moments like these are best spent with those allergic to incriminating photos and judicious with camera phones. Delete, delete, oh definitely delete.

Family

I stayed with my two sisters in Charlotte during this trip, and one was having a decade birthday of her own. (We’ll not discuss which particular decade.) It’s an easy drive from there to the coast for a weekend bash. A heavy dose of billboard porn keeps you awake on Interstate 26 across South Carolina. Displays for personal injury lawyers (just dial 999-9999!) and soul saving dominate. God bless America and ambulance chasers. My soul was ripe for revival after the weekend bacchanalia, but no legal services were required (somewhat amazingly).

My sisters have beautiful homes in charming towns north of Charlotte. Restaurants and cafes abound, people are friendly in that uniquely Southern way (what will it be, darling?), and the brothers-in-law enjoy their wine. All this to say, I feel spoiled when visiting.

I don’t see Joanie and Sue nearly enough and I appreciate them even more when together. Despite the distance we are a close clan, those 2 and my brother and me. If your life is filled with trusted, engaging friends and loving family, you are blessed. I am blessed. I never take this for granted. Ma vie est belle.

Fools

I can be a fool. I procrastinate, navel gaze, spread gossip, go hermit, waste money, inflate achievements, drink too much, and … what am I missing? Perhaps billboard Jesus will consider a pardon (they’re the rage these days), but that’s a mighty ask. Mercifully, I have friends and family who not only embrace my virtues but forgive my sins, and what more can one celebrate in life than that? Amen.

Bill Magill
Aix-en-Provence

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Suggested Song: Hard Candy Christmas, Carol Hall (and sung by Reba McEntire).
Suggested Drink: Chateau LaCoste NOOH sparkling rosé, non-alcohol.

Big resolution pledges.
Big travel plans.
Big work ambitions.
Big fitness commitments.
Big hobby launches.

My cat never made big plans, and she seemed to enjoy life just fine.

Chloé at my bedroom window, making absolutely no plans at all.

The new year is about to break over the horizon. I’ve got big plans for 2025; I’m sure you do as well. It’s fun to imagine where we will be in another 12 months if these campaigns find achievement. Some may, some will not, but experience tells me it’s not the big things from the coming 12 months that I’ll remember most fondly. Ten favorite memories of 2024 are a collection of small moments shared with family or friends. They include, in no certain order:

  1. Placing a small vase of tulips on my daughter’s bedside table, just ahead of her visit home (well, her old home in Aix-en-Provence).
  2. Hearing the cork pop from a first bottle of Prosecco, opened by our waitress late morning at seaside in Italy, with a couple of close friends.
  3. Surveying endless rows of sun-splashed lavender bushes folding up and over the rolling Provence hills in hot, sunny July.
  4. Sharing thoughts about life with a young woman from Hong Kong, while in a 30-minute line for a paper plate of fried kway teow mee from Outram Park in Singapore’s Chinatown.
  5. An impromptu sharing of my umbrella with an Italian teenager, in a sudden heavy downpour in Ospedaletti, then talking about his travels to the US. Signore, per favore!
  6. Staring up at a large, original Banksy (The Mild Mild West), painted high on a wall and just around the corner from a friend’s home in Bristol.
  7. Comforting my cat Chloé last month with strokes and memories before the vet returned with the final, deciding injection. She survived 3 kids, frisky dogs, and a torrent of late-night dinner parties through the years, but couldn’t beat old age.
  8. Singing “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” with my 3 kids in the bleachers at Oracle Park, and watching the SF Giants lose on a beautiful June afternoon. (Not a good year for the boys in orange and black.)
  9. Listening to Ermonela Jaho sing Puccini’s heart-tugging “Un Bel Di Vedremo” from Madame Butterfly, during the summer opera festival in Aix. No tears, damn it, no tears!
  10. Leafing through a photo album of memories with my 89 year-old Uncle John in Quebec, hearing tales of prized cars, old flames, and a perilous romance with a spicy mafia doll in Montreal. What a life.
The Mild Mild West, by Banksy. In Bristol, England.

I sit here now, in late December, plotting a 2025 of stretch goals and travel destinations. Some might even happen, and won’t that be amazing? I’ll be equally alert to the everyday little things that keep the joy ballast topped up. Unexpected moments with friends and family, and the beauty of nature. I’m blessed to live in the sun dappled south of France, with god’s greatest hits at every turn.

I’m wishing you hope and happiness for the year ahead. May your big plans come through, and those small joys provide a scrapbook of great memories for year end.

Bill Magill
Aix-en-Provence

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Suggested Song: Weird Fishes/Arpeggi, Radio Head.
Suggested Drink: Weird & Wonderful cocktail: vodka, Saint-Germain liqueur, lemon juice, tonic water (ChatGPT vows for its authenticity, drinker beware!)

Listen to this essay:

“I am not eccentric. It’s just that I am more alive than most people.
I am an unpopular electric eel set in a pond of goldfish.”
– Edith Sitwell

I was listening to an interview on NPR’s Fresh Air with the actor Aunjanue Ellis-Taylor today (click here to go there). I’ll pass on that, I initially thought, but so happy I didn’t. She comes from a fascinating Mississippi upbringing and shares that she felt weird as a child, just knew that somehow, in some ways, she was different than others; really different. I got that.

The term “weird” has suddenly taken on cultural significance in the current election. Tim Walz pegged JD Vance and his handmaiden take on family policy as just plain weird. Pundits from the right huffed back that Walz’s son was the truly weird one, for tearing up while his dad accepted the VP nomination.  While these attempts to own the term reveal a lot about each party’s identity, I’d prefer that it not be hijacked at all by 2024’s political, … weirdness.

A very proud Gus Walz embracing his father at the 2024 Democratic Convention.

Weird (adjective): of strange or extraordinary character.
– Merriam-Webster Dictionary

I like weird people of the Merriam-Webster sort; the odd and the unconventional. A few of my most treasured friends fit that tag to a tee. The uncomfortably unfiltered, the guardedly mysterious, the unmoored pirate, the avid hedonist, the ever evolving. Some are my close pals, and some are their spouses or even kids (the Bill Magill family plan for friends). All thrive along uniquely colorful spectrums that defy measure and metric. All can drive one a bit mad with their eccentricities and bluntness. But none are boring, and there is inestimable value in that entertaining quality.

Friends will attest to my nuttiness and it’s differing manifestations. I’ve always been introspective and easily distracted, a navel gazer, which can be a healthy thing, and then not so much. My dad would tell the story of 12 year-old Bill sent to our lower field on a summer day to weed the potato patch. An hour later, on his tractor, Dad passed me cross-legged in a pasture of wildflowers, spellbound by the nature all around: the colorful flowers and buzzing bees and crawling beetles and soaring birds above, the warm breeze and smell of Central Pennsylvania farm country. I remember that moment well, waving to my dad and him nodding back, high up on his red International Harvester. He just shook his head and drove on. We all had a good laugh over dinner that evening.

Boredom was a common affliction for kids in small town America, pre-internet and cell phones. I would look for distraction through creativity. I had no talent for painting but found a groove in the graphic arts. Specifically, projecting images onto tee shirts, tracing the outlines with a charcoal pencil, then acrylic painting in the details. Album covers offered great inspiration. One of the cool jocks in high school once commented that my tee shirts were kind of crazy and would I do one for him. Later that day we passed in the hall and he cancelled. Magill, your shirts are pretty weird actually. YOU are pretty weird actually. My tribe of teenage friends didn’t mind being considered weird. We did hate being considered boring. That would have been a rusty shiv to the teenage heart.

Graceful Electric Eel in Deep Ocean | Colorful Corals & Fish
Electric eel, by unknown artist in Easy-Peasy.ai

Gus Walz’s unrestrained emotional display during the Democratic Convention reminded me of the beauty of weirdness and the singular splendor alive in us all. Edith Sitwell’s electric eel. Each other’s unique kookiness. Suppress that? Oh hell no. Lean into that. Show us your colors, paint that shirt with a palette only you posses. Get weird.

remember me in blazing shades
of indigo and vivid red, not grey
I never want to fade to grey
(From Strange, off my 2018 album Last Night at the Ha-Ra.)

Bill Magill
Aix-en-Provence

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Suggested Song: Smells Like Teen Spirit, Nirvana.
Suggested Drink: Sea Breeze cocktail: vodka, cranberry juice, grapefruit juice.

Listen to this essay.

“Smells are the fallen angels of the senses.”
Helen Keller

Then

US 50 runs the width of America, from Sacramento to Ocean City, Maryland. Every July my family would join this historic highway near Annapolis to make our summer sojourn to the sea. The towering Chesapeake Bay Bridge was a prominent midway point, and from there we’d pass south through Maryland’s Eastern Shore to Cambridge, and then due east. “One hour to Ocean City” my mom would say, and we’d all light up with the tingle of holiday anticipation.

What I remember most about these drives are the smells, in particular the briny aroma of the Atlantic Ocean that would tease us over those final 30 miles into OC. Our provenance was Central Pennsylvania farm country, with a July bouquet of shucked corn, cow manure, and farm machinery. I was a lucky child to have this upbringing, but eager to leave it behind for a week of waves and boardwalk adventure. On the long approach to OC we’d start passing a stream billboards advertising beachside hotels and restaurants (Philips Crab House: the Best Jimmies in OC!), the sky would assume a blue shimmering haze, and then the first waves of salty air would work through the vents of my dad’s 1960s blue Buick wagon.  All thoughts of home, gone.

Now

My days in Provence are also marked by a broad palette of smells, particularly rich through the summer months. The August stalls at the daily markets are full of ripe local peaches, apricots, and plums. It was strawberries in June and mountains of cherries in July. The figs and Cavaillon cantaloupes are so full of sugar now their skins crack and honeybees hover. Bunches of bright green mint sit among the fresh coriander and parsley at every stall, and lavender, harvested last month, is arranged in bouquets wrapped in twine or offered in small cloth sacks perfect for winter closets or dresser drawers. It can be sensorially overpowering.

Cavaillon melons at the local market.

This rich symphony of perfumes will fade in the fall, yielding to the more subtle scents of Mediterranean herbs – thyme, rosemary, bay leaves – and gourds halved or quartered for your Sunday soup. But it will be a fade, not a fold. I swear the blind can navigate Provence, at least the markets, on scent alone year around.

If I leave Provence someday it’s the smells that will most linger in memory. I don’t take them for granted, but I also don’t grant them enough significance in my calculus of happiness and place. The sight of lavender fields in June; the sound of cigale hordes (cicadas) in the hot summer countryside; the tang of local olives and chilled rosé at apéro hour, and the laughter of friends sharing said apéro; these things are unique to Provence and core to its charm. But it’s the fragrance of life here that I find most enchanting.

You

Are there scents that bring back your favorite memories? Are there smells uniquely symbolic to the region in which you live now? I ask you not to take these for granted. You may want to seek them out for a quick trip down memory lane. My dad (of the big blue Buick) lost his sense of smell around retirement age. He was not one to complain, but the enjoyment of my mom’s delicious casseroles was forever dimmed, as was his savoring of a ripe, juicy tomato picked from the family vine in July and sampled between the rows. Wow, that is a tomato!  Now, go out and have a good sniff!

Bill Magill
Aix-en-Provence

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Suggested Song: Impromptu #3, Franz Schubert. (Performed by an 84 year-old Vladimir Horowitz.)
Suggested Drink: Peroni Nastro Azzurro, a light Italian lager.

Listen to this essay.

Impromptu (adjective): made, done, or formed on or as if on the spur of the moment.
– Merriam Webster Dictionary

The weather was fowl but we set off nonetheless. Our weekend in Italy wouldn’t be framed in the usual routine – eat, drink, swim, doze, and repeat through the day – but there were no doubts about fun and finding lots of it. We always do. As per custom, Ospedaletti was the destination, the Petit Royal our hotel, and Playa79 our favored bistro upon the beach. Or plans would change en route. The only plan was no committed plan, and that was also per custom. We may end up in Cannes or Genoa. Will this old gimpy Fiat even get us across the border? It was all very impromptu.

The weekend came together spontaneously, as the best often do. One of us in from the States for a bit of work, the other 2 changing plans last minute to accommodate the opening. A room at the Petit Royal? Yes, it was confirmed available, yet ambiguous in true Italian fashion. No Signore, no full name, credit card number, nor contact information required; the room for Party of Bill will be ready. If arriving after 8 pm (we would be) the desk will be closed (it was), but you can call this number (we did) and a desk clerk will show up (jolly and drunk). Beautifully impromptu.

The charming (and cheap) Petit Royal in yellow.

The village of Ospedaletti was 2 steps below its usual sleepy pace. It was the final ski weekend in the Italian Alps and the grey drizzle along the sea sealed the choice for many. By 9 pm most trattorias in town were lowering the curtains, but we did manage a late table at a quiet family bistro. Stunning in all respects: the food, the wine, the prices, and our charming cameriera, who informed us, apologetically, that we wouldn’t find any places open for after-dinner drinks in town that evening. With a dramatic pull of her index finger across the throat, she emphasized the fact: Ospedaletti è morto. Could we order a bottle to go? Naturalmente. And she volunteered 3 glasses from behind the bar, plus corkscrew. All were placed on loan in a travel bag, with an additional bottle as backup, and off we went. Impromptu.

The next morning was cloudy but dry. We took that as a win. The day would be spent in time-honored Mediterranean fashion: beachside table, ice bucket on autofill, revolving plates of fresh things from the sea, and endless chat about fascinating things of no real significance. Except one thing: a manuscript lifted from a beach bag, with reading proffered.

The mixed seafood plate at Playa79.

We are all creatives in this group; one of us famously, the other 2 aspiringly. We share our prototypes, listening to this song or hearing that chapter or getting a look at a painting in work. Opinions are given with kindness but honesty. Changes are made or not. It’s a process of mutual critique based on years of friendship and trust.

“Only write the book you can’t avoid writing. There are plenty of books already.”
– Salman Rushdie (to his students at Emory College)

The surprise draft was a mesmeric read. The easy cadence paired with the cycle of waves lapping gently at the sand, just 30 feet or so away. Add in the sea air and sparkling prosecco, and an intoxicating gestalt of late morning Mediterranean indulgence floated over the table, blissfully. Signora, another plate of fritto misto per favore. No, he won’t avoid writing this novel, our prosaist most impromptu.

The fritto misto plate at Playa79.

And the weekend continued on much in that fashion. Sun, then sudden downpours, and sharing umbrellas with local teenagers. Dodging the rain with impromptu piccolo beers here and nibbles there. Varying states of hedonistic consciousness: epicurean; bacchanalian; Mediterranean. And a final impulsive decision to pack up early to share a final meal in Nice’s Old Town.

The moral of this story? I’m wrestling with that. (Opinions welcome.) Perhaps, it’s my belief in the value of embracing impulsiveness and spontaneity in life. In the pursuit of greater creativity, inquisitiveness, and discovery, reacting to events as they unfold in unpredictable ways can push us beyond comfort zones, and that’s a healthy thing. Of course, when embarking on unplanned adventures, in 3rd languages, with gimpy cars, to sleepy seaside villages, traveling with trusted company equally adept at the unexpected and impromptu is essential.

So what great adventures are you un-planning?

Bill Magill
Aix-en-Provence

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Suggested Song: Chapel of Love. Barry, Greenwich, Spector. (I love this Bette Midler version.)
Suggested Drink: French Connection cocktail. Cognac (for a friendship’s strength and depth) and Amaretto (for its warmth and affection).

Listen to this essay.

“The secret to happiness, Billy Boy? Marry well.”
– Mike Sottak

I moved to Aix-en-Provence in 2010, after splitting from Alexandra and a 20-year marriage. We had 3 kids; I brought 1. We had a nest egg and a home; we divvied them up amiably. We spent 2 decades building something infinitely more valuable than a legal union; we honored it. In short, we still loved each other, but in a different universe of needs and partnering. And we still do.

Escaping to Provence would have been impossible without Alexandra’s clearance and support. That escape was key to rediscovering myself at midlife; a period of growing tension around who I was and why I mattered. The happiness and welfare of our 3 little Magills was paramount, and we ran that priority through every move to which we agreed, married or not. It was all a bit unplanned, beautifully. Some years with their French mom in San Francisco, some years with the American dad in France, and often in different combinations. It was an unconventional upbringing that formed 3 tested, confident, and soulful young adults. Somehow, they still love us.

Banksy

When I’m in San Francisco, I stay at the old home. When Alexandra is in Provence, she stays with me, along with her partner when traveling together. It saves each of us a lot of hassle and money; me in particular. SF is expensive. We spent a long weekend as a family unit last fall, just mom and dad and the 3 kids, while her partner volunteered to stay home with the ailing mother-in-law. The definition of selflessness and generosity.

I need to start thinking about a will one of these days. If I’m still uncoupled, I may put the ex in executor. It’s a reflection of the trust and confidence I have in her, that we share in each other. She’s not much impressed by lavish displays of superfluous possessions, so any assets I don’t burn through will flow to the kids anyhow. It’s one less thing I need to worry about. She’s solid. I married well.

If you win, then I lose. NFW!

Game Theory (noun): the analysis of a situation involving conflicting interests in terms of gains and losses among opposing players.
– Merriam-Webster Dictionary

I’m imagining the contractual framework of a Trumpian marriage. The Donald runs every relationship through a transactional prism, with no apparent awareness that the most rewarding transactions (financial, relational, or other) are win-win, not zero sum. This is not some pollyanna Bill Magill happiness babble (I have plenty of that if interested). This is basic business school 101 stuff, which explains much about his underwhelming record of returns (4,000 cash-burning lawsuits, 6 corporate bankruptcies, 2 equally cash-burning divorces, and 1 failed insurrection, with the incarceration of 378 “Trump Patriots”). But I digress.

Divorce need not be a blood sport, a zero-sum game. The win/lose maxim only pulls down the happiness average for both, and for the entire clan when kids are involved. It’s a calculus of mutually assured disgruntlement. Life is challenging enough. Why lose your closest ally over self-destructive bragging rights? The vows may have ended, but the alliance can remain unbroken.

Trust and intimacy are fundamental to a healthy marriage. Trust and loyalty are the elements of a happy post-marriage alliance. For the ring-buying young and hopeful, the key question is not only, will this person be a loving, supportive spouse throughout our blissful years together? It is also, will this person be a loving, trusted ally (and possible co-parent) throughout the rest of our lives, spent together or not.

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Suggested Song: Country Home, Bill Magill
Suggested Drink: Beer Nektar Blonde Ale, Sunset Reservoir Brewing Company (from my SF neighborhood, the Sunset)

Listen to this essay.

Where I live, that place I call home, plays a critical role in my algebra of happiness. When making plans for life after midlife we often concentrate on what we do, and less so on where we live (or even whom we love). Perhaps we regard both as immutable. For this reason I can’t leave here, (and for that reason I can’t leave him).  You can change these things, actually, if ownership over self is a priority. The better question is not can I, but should I.

I was in Singapore last week for work. It offers much to admire. The city is modern, clean, and safe. The street food tradition is celebrated, with delicious specialties from every corner of Asia, and cheap. The MRT public transport runs regularly and on time. Singapore is veiled in a warm and verdant environment, and not hard to imagine as a former rainforest. It is an immigrant enclave (as an American I love cultural diversity) and offers a variety of fascinating ethnic neighborhoods to explore.

So, I feel lucky to have work in Singapore on occasion. It’s a great place to visit, but do I want to live there? Well, at the right age and for ridiculous pay I could have been tempted. But that’s not now. And it would never be True Home.

https://cdn.vox-cdn.com/thumbor/tm5rU1MDnoScl86i9ZMTRGwRWKU=/0x0:920x613/1200x800/filters:focal(387x234:533x380)/cdn.vox-cdn.com/uploads/chorus_image/image/58141195/04.0.0.jpg
Just another beautiful home in San Francisco.

One advantage of getting older: we have fewer obligations to force compromise. The early adult years are marked by a series of concessions to location for studies, work, and family (at both ends). I think we’ve all yielded to these priorities without complaint, to optimize the career trajectory and keep the household happy. In my case that location was always San Francisco, so not much of a sacrifice and definitely no complaints.

At post career we are liberated from most such obligations. That doesn’t mean we want to move – most of us love where we’ve landed – but it becomes an option. Options are good. I think it’s a healthy exercise to remind ourselves of why we don’t move, … or perhaps plant a whispering seed to the contrary.

English friends of mine living in Provence repeat a family ritual each Christmas. They pose the question: do we want to stay in Aix for another year? The 3 of them – dad, mom, and daughter – each write their responses on small slips of paper and place them in a hat. For the past 10 years now the response has always been a unanimous YES. I love the ceremony that gives them each a vote, and an opportunity to reflect on how moving back to Bristol would impact their lives.

https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lxdjV_kDBZo/VPH9_2fHjzI/AAAAAAAAANk/Ln9TbCtW5fs/s1600/barbara-jaskiewicz-4B.jpg
A morning in Aix-en-Provence, by Barbara Jaskiewicz

Writing this piece has prompted me to consider the same question (practice what you preach!). I moved to Aix-en-Provence in 2010 seeking my True post-50 Home. For these past 14 years it has overdelivered on that promise, filling me with creative inspiration, providing calm and restoration, offering a stage to meet fascinating new friends and lovers. Do I stay another year, or 2 years, or the rest of my days? It has always beenan easy yes, but suddenly I’m not sure; an unexpected and baffling feeling.  I’ve been a most enthusiastic cheerleader of this locale since arriving. But life is not static; friends leave, children grow up, and our fonts of happiness evolve in importance. And so I’m running the experiment.

What is the experiment, you ask?

The True Home Experiment

First, note that there is a kaleidoscope of factors we each consider when imagining that perfect place we call True Home. No two kaleidoscopes are the same and no single place on earth perfect to everyone. My list of top 10 criteria will likely differ from yours, and how they are weighted in importance will also be unique.

To run the experiment, grab a pencil and paper, then:

  1. Create a table with 4 columns.
  2. In the left column list the 10 most important criteria against which you evaluate your happiness in location. Things like proximity to family, near a surfable sea or skiable mountain, access to world-class museums, etc. It’s your list.
  3. In the next column, rate each of these criteria from 1 to 5; 5 being that it’s indispensable in defining your perfect location and 1 meaning it’s a consideration, but definitely not critical. Every criteria in your top 10 list should at a minimum be a consideration.
  4. In the third column assign a rating to each criteria on how your current location is faring, again from 1 to 5.
  5. Now, subtract the ratings in column 2 (level of importance) from column 3 (current location). Where the differences are 0 or positive you’re doing well. Variances of negative 2 or more merit attention.

I’m including my most recent True Home experiment as an example. Mostly good, but one area of work: proximity to my kids. That’s a big consideration. It has me thinking. Action may be needed.

What can you do about a location misalignment? Pick up and move to a more perfect location? Take a one-year sabbatical there? Arrange a periodic home exchange (there are numerous platforms that support these arrangements)? The reality may be that you can’t do anything, at the moment. Still, there’s great value in thinking through what that fix would require, and what you would gain and give up in pursuing it. Making plans now, even the smallest steps, can release a wave of those I’m planting one foot forward on a new grand adventure endorphins. I can tell you want an amazing, liberating feeling that is.

A humble acknowledgement

There are billions of people on this planet with no possibility of choosing where they live. Worse, many have been forced from their homes, never to return. What they would give to see that old familiar front door again. In Gaza, Israel, the Ukraine, Haiti, and way too many other flash points on the globe this is the rule, not the exception. I write this essay with great humility in the face of these injustices. Never take our extreme good fortunes for granted.

Bill Magill
Aix-en-Provence

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Suggested Song: A Quiet Place, Garnett Mimms & The Enchanters
Suggested Drink: The Unnecessary Noise cocktail. Bourbon, Aperol, Absinthe, Bitters, Vermouth.

Listen to this essay.

“It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.”
Henry David Thoreau

Prepare for a turbulent 2024, for we are entering a period of radical uncertainty along numerous angles: an ominous election and wannabe dictator; the promise and peril of AI off leash; weather extremes and rising tides; ruinous wars and unstable alliances; a tenuous economy and skittish market; the rosé grape harvest.

This maelstrom of continuous news and noise can distract and befuddle the most focused among us. How do we stay on course when the winds are howling? We find our true North Star.

If you’ve spent time in snow country you know that driving in a blizzard at night is daunting. A riot of flakes swirl up from the road and in from the sides. The white-out visibility and gusting winds are disorienting in the extreme. Staying on the road, much less in your lane, is an unnerving challenge. Where is my lane? In fact, where the hell is the road?

Hi beams are not the solution to low visibility in heavy snow or fog. They simply throw more light out onto the very thing obstructing our view. No, greater illumination of that wall of white doesn’t help, what helps is a guiding star, a beacon ahead that is revealing our destination and points to avoid.  That’s why lighthouses were built.

I wrote about North Stars last March, in Experiment #3 (Your Mission Definition) of my 2023 series on the art of defining and pursuing grand life ambitions. 2024 will be the tumultuous time for a bright guiding star ahead. Focusing on an inspiring legacy project will be particularly helpful in a year of mega (MAGA?) uncertainty and dread. You may be unable to insulate from the swirling storm, but you can keep the beams low and focus on what really matters: what you have to offer, not what we all have to lose.  Good luck.

Note that the series of 2023 experiments mentioned above are published in my Substack stream as well as the compilation “Where Now & How,” available for free download here.

Bill Magill
Aix-en-Provence

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Suggested Song: Strawberry Fields Forever, The Beatles
Suggested Drink: Cherub’s Cup Cocktail: Strawberries, lemon juice, vodka, elderflower liqueur, sparkling rosé.

It’s springtime in Provence. The colors and smells of local markets have shifted notably with the sudden onset of warmer weather. Local strawberries, asparagus, and artichokes fill the market stalls with their vivid reds and greens. The sweet fragrance of the berries mixes with the earthy scent of fresh basil and mint, bunched in bouquets and piled in leafy mounds. The seductive mix tugs on my senses from a distance. So very unfair. Well now it’s impossible to leave without a purchase.

Strawberries at the Aix-en-Provence market, mid-May, 2023

I was at a friend’s home in the countryside last weekend. The fields by his cottage were flooded in bright red poppies, their delicate petals spread wide to the sun and swaying gently. Larks were whistling in a distant tree line. Wisteria blooms hung in heavy lavender clumps in his garden. His daughter called me over to give them a sniff. It was the peak of the day and we opened a bottle of chilled rosé, put out some Greek olives. Sensation overdose. Healthy hedonism.

The merits of indulgence

I love this time of year; that fresh spring dawn after a long winter night (which has its own merits. Read here.). Rebirth and new plans. Stimulation and inspiration and so many things to smell, taste, hear, see, and share. It fuels a deep sense of revival and limitlessness.

You may want to listen to these larks singing while you read on.

This indulgence of the senses, this spring sensuality is a great equalizer. Fresh-picked strawberries taste no better to the millionaire than the pauper. A hillside full of poppies looks no more stunning. One could argue that those with little appreciate these things more deeply than those with lots, but I won’t argue that. I have plenty of friends from both ends of that spectrum. It has less to do with wealth, more to do with a deep respect for those joys that only nature can conjure, that cannot be improved upon with more money. It brings us all together, to wonder at it all, and indulge.

Wade deeply into your senses, be seduced, swish them around like a good wine, close your eyes and become the sponge, savor, … life will feel richer and you may live longer. This is true actually, and backed up with empirical evidence. Research at Victoria University in New Zealand (by Erica Chadwick) and Harvard (by Jordi Quoidbach) identify the many benefits of savoring, including stronger relationships, improved emotional health, and enhanced creativity. All are known to favor more happy years above the dirt.

Fred Bryant, a social psychologist at Loyola University, has written extensively on this topic, including in his 2006 book Savoring: A New Model of Positive Experience. Bryant offers a variety of tips on training that savoring muscle. I condense it down to 3:

  • Awareness. Be acutely conscious of the moment you engage a sensation; something you smell or taste or hear or see. Go slow, ponder its effect, decipher. Luxuriate in the tingle (go on, you deserve it), immerse wholly, be the sponge.
  • Sharing. Share the moments and joys of sensory entanglement with others. Build bonds through the heady indulgence. There is no single factor more important to living longer, happier lives than close relationships. (Skeptical? Well Harvard say so! Click here.)
  • Gratitude. Simple indulgences shared with close friends are blessings. Respect your good fortune. Epicurus is surely smiling down at you. Embrace the pleasures and never take them for granted. Be humble, be grateful, and invite the happiness.

Protection from temptation

Of course there may be those who find this concept of sense and sensuality a bit too scandalous. Market strawberries dipped in Swiss chocolate, … and hand fed to me while in recline?! Abhorrent!

For those of you in this frightful camp, fear not, there is hope. The best prophylactic against incitement of the senses? That portable portal to all things digital, pixelated, and synthetic. It slips in your pocket and holds neatly in your hand. Never leave home without it. Your phone.

Arousal of the senses requires earthly engagement. Smelling things, tasting things, touching things, hearing things, and all of this done organically. It comes with a bit of dirt under the fingernails, a sunburn on the cheeks, your feet may get wet. For all the marvels of modern technology – and I have built a career around this stuff – it will never hack mother earth and the sensuality she offers.

Edward Cucuel, Woman Reclining by a Lake

The phone is a perfect prophylactic against these primal, libidinous stimulations. For those who prefer digital approximation and virtual isolation to deep and dirty organic engagement. Why talk with the friend at your side when you can text to your friend at a distance. And when those 2 swap places you can text with the former sidekick. Missing you! ❤️ See, no need to actually engage in spontaneous, interactive dialog. We used to call that a conversation. Quant.

Strawberries? Plenty of photos online, and of flowers too. Just google it! You don’t even need to learn their names. I’m sure you can find an influencer or 2 in Provence with plenty of staged and artificially filtered photos. As far as the smell, taste, and touch of something organic and alive, … eww, that might require an antiseptic. Thank god for Apple.

Before I close, an open offer:

The outdoor markets in France are amazing in their variety, respect for all things local and seasonal, and great prices (no middle men!). The markets in Provence are the best in France, … well I’m biased. If you are passing through Aix-en-Provence and interested in a market crawl together get in touch. This is a pleasure for the senses that I love to share.

Bill Magill
Aix-en-Provence

on by

Suggested Song: That Was Me, Paul McCartney
Suggested Drink: Guinness Extra Stout (The Irish have mastered a good sendoff)

This is the second of 12 experiments I’m proposing to readers this year; one per month. If you’re intent on making 2023 a pivot year toward more purposeful ambitions, or perhaps just asking that post-Covid question – okay, what now and how? – these experiments will help draw maps, uncover truths, enhance motivation, strengthen resilience, and be fun. All are part of the Life Leap Workshops we run in Provence (more about those here). Please give them a try and let me know what you learn and how they can be improved. Comments and critiques are encouraged.

I need to start this essay by highlighting the good fortune we all have, those of us in a position to think about passion pursuits and life purpose. Close to a billion people on this planet are too damn hungry to think about self-actualization. Double that number when including conflict and war zones. Where do I find my next meal and how do I keep my children alive? There are a few Ukrainian families here in Aix – mostly moms and their kids – trying scrape together some way of paying rent while avoiding bad news from the front. What would the hungry and harassed give to be at the peak of Maslow’s pyramid? So, with much humility and respect, onward.

Eulogies

Damn it all, plunked in.
On the gravestone of Andy Loy
(A colorful character from Bill’s childhood)

The January Experiment (Missed it? Click here.) dealt with the Wheel of Life. It’s a helpful tool to examine how well your current life aligns with the ideal life you imagine. For February we fast forward the reel and talk about, …. death. I don’t mean to be darkly provocative. After the final pulse, there will be a day for others to a cast warm light on your life. Your eulogy, the Cliff Notes version of greatest hits; if you die tomorrow will it recount the legacy you want to leave? What does this say about the life you’re living now?

She started a soup kitchen that fed 100s of homeless and hopeless a day.

His films made viewers rethink the black experience in America.

They restored by hand an old, dilapidated French farmhouse into a world-class BnB.

You will have a eulogy, a moment for friends and family to have a final say on your final day. Maybe even an obit! If there’s one thing we all agree on: no one gets out alive. The question then is, do you want some influence over said commemoration? Specifically, do you care about how you will be memorialised by those at the pulpit for them in the pews?

http://www.memorialpaintings.com/uploads/1/0/9/8/10983253/fullsizerender-3_1.jpg
Artist unknown

The only option for that input is the legacy of material you leave behind. How you lived your life, whom you touched, and what you created: that’s what will be so fondly recalled, not necessarily the same how’s, who’s, and what’s you hoped for. Others – family and close friends – will be climbing the sanctuary to sing your praises. They’ll want to spin some magic. So give them your magic. Make their job fun.

This experiment, then, is a valuable tool for considering purpose, potential, and progress (gotta love the 3 ps). Why you’re here, why you want to be here, why you mattered. And we all want to have mattered.

How is your eulogy lining up? Here’s a quick, back-of-the-envelope experiment for a quick gauge.

The My Eulogy Experiment

Step 1: Your ideal eulogy.

1.     Calmed with a warm cup of tea (or chilled glass of rosé) imagine the contented end. Slipping peacefully into eternal slumber, your purpose has been realized, deepest passions fed, your legacy secured. Yes, that WAS a life lived richly, with little left on the plate. And you’re confident that those things that mattered most will be mentioned at your funeral as a true reflection of who you were, how you served, and why a glass raised in your honor is well earned. (If you practice mindfulness this step is a perfect meditation for that zen state.)

2.     On a piece of paper list 10 highlights that most merit mention. This is your ideal life list, so include endeavors and achievements from the past for which you are proud and ambitions for the future to which you are committed. Rank them from 1 (essential and non-negotiable) to 10 (important but less critical).

3.     Look at the list. Are these truly the 10 highlights to include? Are they authentic and possible (your memorializers will sympathizers, not fabricators)? Ranked properly? Come back to the list later in the day and then again tomorrow, and each time check for correctness. As with the Wheel of Life, don’t consider the ideal eulogy highlights finished until you’ve had a chance to review them over a couple of days, at different times of the day, in different moods.

Step 2: Your current eulogy.

1.     In a similarly calm state take a second piece of paper. Rank the high points of your life to-date most likely to be mentioned should you die tomorrow, from 1 (almost surely) to 10 (possibly).

2.     Review the list a few times over a couple of days to make sure you’re not forgetting something and have a proper ranking.

Step 3: Compare the lists.

1.     For highlights that are on both lists and at similar levels, bravo, your attention and energy are being directed appropriately to those things most important for your life legacy.

2.     For highlights on both lists but at notably different rankings, what can you do now to start a correction?

3.     For highlights included on your ideal list but missing from current, what’s the plan to get something launched? (That’s our specialty at the Interprize Group, you should ping us!).

https://i.pinimg.com/originals/86/d2/f2/86d2f28f5454328d7855abd379bb53a6.jpg
Hachiro Kanno

The toughest part of this experiment will be coming up with your list. At first you may think that 10 things about you don’t need to be mentioned, and then you may feel that 10 isn’t nearly enough. Grand passions and life purpose and big achievements are all amazing to pursue, to have on our final resumé. But in the end we just want our lives to have mattered. Helpful grandmother, acclaimed author, much-loved and trusted kindergarten teacher, national champion, …. How did you matter?

Bill Magill
Aix-en-Provence