Views

 

From Ryan Holiday, "This is Always Worth All The Trouble (Or so I tell myself)

 

​This Is Always Worth All The Trouble (Or So I Tell Myself)​ There are a million good reasons not to travel. I woke up with a bunch of them this morning. I was exhausted. My kids were fighting. My wife has been sick. It was ungodly hot—literally the hottest Europe has ever been. My routine is out the window. So is any sense of a budget. Our suitcases are already full of knick-nacks and crap we don’t need and there’s quite a bit of trip left. The car that was supposed to pick us up for our tour is late. But we’re in Rome. It’s all worth it…or so I tell myself. Even though travel can be expensive, stressful, and frustrating. Even though it tests your patience. Even though things go wrong. Even though you know that when you get home, you’ll be behind on everything. Still, it’s worth it. It has always been worth it. For all their warnings against escapism, the Stoics traveled widely—in an age when travel was far slower, harder, and more dangerous. Unlike his stepfather Antoninus, who never left Italy, Marcus Aurelius was on the road a lot as emperor. It wasn’t always pleasant. But it undoubtedly influenced his philosophy and his view of the world. He could have sent someone else to inspect the troops on his behalf, but he chose to go. When the calls of duty and the road converged, he went. Seneca was born in Corduba, Spain (modern Córdoba), moved to Rome, and in addition to his exile in Corsica, lived for nearly a decade in Egypt. Posidonius (a key figure in Middle Stoicism) worked and lived in many places throughout his long life—Syria, Athens, Rome, and Rhodes—and traveled almost the entirety of the known world. After completing his studies under Posidonius, Athenodorus traveled widely as a lecturer, reaching Petra, Egypt, and other major Mediterranean cities before becoming young Octavian’s teacher in Apollonia, on the coast of modern Albania. These were critical experiences for them. Then, and now, hitting the road was a source of wisdom. It shaped their philosophy. It enlarged their view of the world. It opened their eyes to new lands, new customs, new perspectives. “Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness,” Mark Twain famously wrote, “and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts.” This was true of America in the 19th and 20th centuries, and it was true in Rome in the first century. Marcus Aurelius’ passages in Meditations which reference being a citizen of the world were almost certainly shaped by the people he met in Athens and Tarsus and Alexandria (and of course the people he met in Rome who had traveled there from far away). Every culture thinks its norms are, well, normal. One of my favorite examples of this is the criticism I get that by talking about politics I am “upsetting half my audience.” It’s the most American thing in the world to assume that the world is as evenly divided as America is. (Shocker, it’s not!) Only travel can shake us from this ethnocentrism, awakening us to the plain fact that our way of life is but one of many. In our travels, we meet people who care about different things, wear different clothes, tell different stories, eat different foods, speak different languages. When he traveled, Montaigne sucked up everything he saw like a vacuum, avoiding much in the way of plans, leaving himself open to chance encounters and experiences. Like the time he came across men leading two ostriches on leashes as a present for a duke. He stopped in at every church he could find, taking in their various practices like an anthropologist. When the New World was discovered—basically in his lifetime—Montaigne did not think the people who lived there were savages. From his travels, he understood that every distant land has its own culture and beliefs—and that our customs would seem just as barbaric to them. Not that he defended the “horrible barbarity” of cannibalism. What struck him was that “while judging correctly of their wrong-doings we should be so blind to our own.” Did the cannibals draw and quarter each other? Commit atrocities? Accuse each other of black magic? Who was actually the barbarian? Perhaps it was a lesson he first absorbed from his extensive reading of Herodotus, our first great historian and travel writer, who traveled thousands over the course of his life—from Persia to Athens to Italy, Libya, Babylonia, Byzantium, and the Black Sea. Above all, he delighted in getting inside the nomos of each place—the people’s customs, and the ways they differed from his own. He loved to tell the story about a small sect in India that ate a small piece of their dead as part of a religious ritual. Obscene! Disgusting! But how did these people react when told that Greeks burned their dead at the funeral pyre? An outrage! A sacrilege! Me and Herodotus in the Palazzo Massimo The world is very big. The place you call home is only one small corner of it. There is wisdom on the other side of the hill, wisdom in the experiences that only the road can give you, wisdom in learning how other people live and why they live that way. It’s easy to be comfortable where you are. To tell yourself that travel isn’t worth all the hassle. To think of it as a luxury, an indulgence, a needless extravagance. But it isn’t. It’s essential. “I was never a fan of people who don’t leave home,” the well-traveled Joan Didion once wrote. “It just seems like part of your duty in life.” But leaving home doesn’t have to mean going far. It doesn’t have to mean spending lots of money on some exotic trip to the other side of the world. I remember talking to a waitress in Natchez, Mississippi once who told me she had never been to Vicksburg (a little over an hour away!). Growing up in the suburbs of Sacramento, I was lucky my parents took us on trips to Europe and China and Canada and Mexico, but I BARELY ever went to downtown Sacramento. Or even San Francisco. I only discovered the fullness of those cities as an adult. Don’t tell yourself you’ll do it later. When you’re older. When the kids are older. When things settle down. When you have more money. When it’s more convenient. That misses the point. You don’t need the benefits of travel someday, when your life is perfectly arranged for it. You need them now. So hit the road! Travel to the well-known places and the little seen. Travel by boat and by car and by train and by plane and by foot. Read the signs. Struggle with the language barrier. See things from the other side of the road. Eat the food. Go to the museums. Sit at sidewalk cafes. See the ancient hieroglyphs and notice graffiti on city streets. See the cemeteries. Visit the battlefields. Listen to people chatter. Learn. Explore. Be curious. Ask questions. Carry a notebook. Write down everything you see and feel and think. See your own country as a tourist. Live abroad like a local. Every building, every person has a story. Think of what they witnessed. Think of who stood where you are standing. Think of what was here before any of this was here. Think of what people used to think here, what they were afraid of, what they hoped for, what they believed. Let things go wrong (and they will!). These experiences teach as much as anything else. Last summer, I spent 27 days in Greece with my family, covering some 3,000 kilometers between Athens, Olympia, Ithaca, Delphi, Thermopylae, Mount Olympus, Marathon, and Cape Sounio. We were in a Chinese rental car that was far too big for tiny ancient streets. We got a flat tire at the top of Mount Olympus. I was stung by a jellyfish near Thermopylae. We bumped into friends I hadn’t seen since high school. We got ripped off. On the last day, a bee stung me in the back of the throat and I almost died. Oh, and somewhere in between there, I got myself a bad case of sunstroke. But that’s what travel is supposed to be. Travel is an adventure. Travel is pushing your limits. Travel is trying new things. Travel is learning that most problems can be solved, most setbacks can be survived, and most of what goes wrong can be figured out. You don’t have to be gone for long. You don’t have to spend a fortune. You don’t have to see the whole world to become a worldly person. But you have to check out what’s on the other side of the hill a couple times. You have to expose yourself to different places, different people, different perspectives. You have to hit the road. It will be disruptive. Your patience will be tested. Things will go wrong. And it will all be worth it.

 

Before You Buy, Ask: What Is This Inviting Into My Life? Editor’s Note: This is a guest post from Jyoti Yadav of Jyoti Simple Life. When we go shopping, we carry a list in our mind or on paper of what we need to buy. But it rarely happens that we bring home exactly what we planned. If something attractive catches our eye, something we feel we simply cannot resist, we often can’t stop ourselves. Something similar happened to me. I had gone to the market for grocery shopping, but my eyes fell on a very beautiful and captivating bouquet of flowers. No matter how many times I tried to look away, I couldn’t. It was drawing me in so strongly that I felt compelled to buy it. Without thinking, swept away by emotion, I bought that bouquet in addition to my groceries. I sat in the car with great excitement, bouquet in hand. While I was sitting there, a reel from Joshua Becker appeared on my screen. In the video he asked, “Have you ever thought about what else you invite into your life when you buy something?” When I truly understood what he was saying, I realized there is a very important point we overlook. While buying something, we usually only focus on its price. Or maybe we read reviews, check quality, or compare prices across websites so we feel clever for having done such thorough research. Mostly, we have been trained to focus on price and quality when shopping. But that video raised a crucial point we often miss: We are not just bringing an item into our home. We are bringing in much more along with it. We would be wise to ask: What else is this item bringing home with it? When I got home with the bouquet, I looked around and the first problem was that I had no vase to put it in. So that was an added expense. Then came the next problem: finding a spot for the vase in my living room. The only corner I could find was next to the sofa, occupied by a small side table we used for phones, cups, and such things. I realized that to make space for one item, I would have to adjust another. And to adjust that, perhaps a third. And maybe even remove something from the house entirely. One purchase. One unasked question. And the ripples had already spread through my entire home. And perhaps that’s when I began to understand the question for the first time: What else are you bringing into your home with that one purchase? Every item has two price tags. The first is the one we see in the store. The second is the one we pay later: the space it takes, the time it asks for, the maintenance it requires, and the attention it keeps demanding from us. That evening, while preparing to end the day, I opened my wardrobe and immediately the clothes sparked the same thoughts inside me. I began looking closer. I found so many clothes I had bought on sale to save money. Clothes I have never worn to this day. Their price tags are still attached. I didn’t need them, but the temptation of a sale was such that, trying to save a little money, I had given space in my home to unnecessary things. I also understood that big companies know exactly how to tempt people. In the hope of saving a few dollars, we buy off-season clothes. But by the time that season arrives, new designs are already in the market, and what we bought six months ago may already feel boring or out of trend. I’ve adopted a new habit now. Before any purchase, I try to ask the question: What are you inviting in along with this one item? And not just while shopping. In any decision in life, we need to stop and ask ourselves: Do I really need this right now? If I buy it, where will it go? Will it be easy to maintain? Will it increase my expenses? Will it bring peace into my life, or only more to manage? When you develop this awareness within yourself, you begin to shop differently. You begin to see that not every beautiful thing needs to come home with you. Not every sale saves you money. Not every desire needs to be followed. Sometimes the wiser choice is simply to leave the item where it is. No matter how pretty the flowers might be. *** Jyoti Yadav is the founder of Jyoti Simple Life where she writes about simple living, mindful habits, and finding peace in everyday life. After a financial crisis turned her world upside down, she chose simplicity—and never looked back.

Early Spring

 

Today, by Mary Oliver

 

Look and see!

 

It can be an ugly world. It can be a boring world. It can be a world full of distraction. Which is why the artist and the philosopher must learn how to cultivate their eyes. In 1940, the writer James Baldwin was walking in New York City with the painter Beauford Delaney, his friend and mentor. As they crossed the street, Delaney stopped the young Baldwin. “Look,” he said, as he pointed down into the gutter. “What do you see?” All Baldwin saw was a puddle. Delaney told him to look again. This time Baldwin saw, as Nicholas Boggs recounts in Baldwin: A Love Story, “a reflection of buildings moving like mercury in the gutter’s black water, distorted and radiant.” It is clear in Meditations that someone did this for Marcus Aurelius. How else can you explain his beautiful observations of seemingly ordinary or even unpleasant things—from the way an olive rots on the ground or the foam flecked on a boar’s mouth? What else could explain not just his turns of phrase but his ability to find philosophical truths in his own struggles as a human being? Perhaps it was Rusticus, his philosophy teacher, who taught him this, or Fronto, his rhetoric teacher, or some poet or writer he met, but in any case, as Baldwin said of Delaney, “The reality of his seeing caused me to begin to see.” And so it goes for us. We must cultivate the ability to see—to see beauty and poetry everywhere—because it is everywhere. We must look into the gutter. We must change our aperture and perspective so that amidst the muddle and puddles of life, we can see what the artist and the philosopher sees. Reading Marcus Aurelius’s Meditations can change the way you see the world

Easter Day

 

A Vision, by Wendell Berry

 A Vision, by Wendell Berry

If we will have the wisdom to survive,
to stand like slow-growing trees
on a ruined place, renewing, enriching it,
if we will make our seasons welcome here,
asking not too much of earth or heaven,
then a long time after we are dead
the lives our lives prepare will live
here, their houses strongly placed
upon the valley sides, fields and gardens
rich in the windows. The river will run
clear, as we never know it,
and over it, birdsong like a canopy.
On the levels of the hills will be
green meadows, stock bells in noon shade.
On the steeps where greed and ignorance cut down
the old forest, an old forest will stand,
its rich leaf-fall drifting on its roots.
The veins of forgotten springs will have opened.
Families will be singing in the fields.
In their voices they will hear a music
risen out of the ground. They will take
nothing from the ground they will not return,
whatever the grief at parting. Memory,
native to this valley, will spread over it
like a grove, and memory will grow
into legend, legend into song, song
into sacrament. The abundance of this place,
the songs of its people and its birds,
will be health and wisdom and indwelling
light. This is no paradisal dream.
Its hardship is its possibility.

Charles V. "Chuck" Martin, 1932-2026

 

Charles Martin Obituary

Obituary published on Legacy.com by Stephen C. Gregory and Son Cremation Service on Mar. 14, 2026.

Charles V. "Chuck" Martin, 93, passed away peacefully on Sunday, March 1, 2026 at the McClure Miller respite house in Colchester with his youngest sister lovingly by his side. His departure marked the close of a long, generous and selfless life, lived with devotion and strength.

Born in 1932, in Burlington, to Helen and Francis Martin, Chuck was the third of eight children. He graduated from Burlington High School where he distinguished himself as three-sport athlete, excelling in baseball, football, and basketball. He was a natural competitor, with discipline and heart.

After High School, Chuck spent four years in the US Air Force, climbing to the rank of Staff Seargent, and following his active military duty, he also completed several years in the Air National Guard and in the Marine Corp Reserves. Chuck then continued both his education and his athletic legacy, receiving his Bachelor of Science from Johnson State College where he played basketball and soccer, and a Masters degree from Syracuse University. He also attended both St. Michaels and Villenova for additional coursework.

Beginning in 1962, and for the next 25 years, Chuck poured his heart and soul into Middlebury Junior/Senior High School as a math and science teacher, seventh grade advisor, and coach, shaping generations of students with his steady presence. He had a gift for turning curiosity into confidence and for helping young people see the world a little more clearly. He believed, and taught others, that learning was a lifelong responsibility.

On the athletic front, Chuck served many years as Head Coach of the baseball team, and Assistant Coach for the football and basketball programs. His players fondly remember him for his dedication, drive, direction, and his famously "not-so-quiet" encouragement. In 2019, he was inducted into the Middlebury High School Hall of Fame – a fitting tribute to a man who gave so much of himself to the MUHS Tigers.

Retirement from teaching did little to slow Chuck down. He soon found himself drawn back into the sports community at Middlebury College, dedicating many more as an Equipment Manager. He loved being around the athletes – swapping stories, offering guidance, and chatting about statistics, he never forgot a name, a family, or a face, and he took immense pride in the work he did with the teams.

Chuck never married but lived a life rich in connection. In his younger years, when he wasn't teaching or coaching, he enjoyed retreating to his rustic cabin in the woods of Ripton, living very simply and contentedly. He loved keeping his property neat, chopping and stacking wood, and was especially fond of mowing his several acres of grass. Without a phone, he relied on the Ripton Store to take messages for him when needed. He was always the last one to arrive at family functions, but swept in with a grin, carrying surprises for each of his twenty-one nieces and nephews.

In the later-1980's, Chuck found a true partner in Gail Jette, a fellow MUHS teacher and coach. Together they shared more than thirty years of companionship, laughter, and deep affection. One of the greatest joys of Chuck's life was becoming "Gump" to Gail's five grandchildren, Quinn, James, Willem, Zach and Sadie, who absolutely adored spending time with him.

Chuck is lovingly remembered by two of his siblings, Mary Usher of Middletown, DE, and Colleen Steen of Fairfax, Gail's children, Peter Jette and his wife Victoria of Middlebury, and Brooke Jette also of Middlebury, as well as their children, and many nieces and nephews who cherished his presence in their lives. He was predeceased by his beloved Gail in 2020, by his parents, and by his siblings, Francis "Pepper" Martin of Barton, Patricia Laskowski of Milton, John "Jake" Martin of Bakersfield, James Martin of Georgia, and Robert Martin of Enosburg.

Over 93 years, Chuck touched countless lives with his generosity, humor, and unwavering commitment to others, and leaves behind a legacy of service, love, and the kind of quiet heroism that endures in the memories of those fortunate enough to have known him.

By Chuck's request, there will be no memorial service, but his family warmly welcomes any memories or reflections shared in the guest book, knowing he would have treasured each one.

To plant trees in memory, please visit the Sympathy Store.

from Ryan Holiday of the Daily Stoic, on Love

 

Marcus Aurelius said that if you ever found anything better in life than courage, discipline, justice, and wisdom—the four virtues—it must be an extraordinary thing indeed. Which raises the question: is there anything better? Here’s one pretty extraordinary thing: Love. Sure, you could argue that love fits within the virtue of justice, but it’s notable how much the Stoics speak about it. Hecato said, “I can teach you a love potion made without any drugs, herbs, or special spell—if you would be loved, love.” Marcus himself writes in Meditations (grab our leatherbound edition here) that he learned from his teacher Sextus that the key to life was to be free of passion but full of love. Indeed, there is almost no situation that hatred improves, but love enhances nearly everything. Love transforms us. “Pure love, careless of all other things, kindles the soul,” Seneca said. It makes us selfless. It inspires us to be better. “In the end,” the Beatles wrote, “the love you take is equal to the love you make.” And that love gives our lives meaning. Love emboldens courage. It inspires discipline. It strengthens justice. It gives purpose to wisdom. It is an extraordinary thing indeed. ***

We WILL have in-person church today!

 ​Join us!

If you cannot join us in person, we will broadcast the service on YouTube live.  Go to our church's YouTube channel and you should see the live stream there.

https://www.youtube.com/@stmaryschurchcathedralroad/streams

Prayers

 

“Attentive One,

we come to you as weary people,

laid low by the grinding weight of

federal occupation.

Even before a word is on our lips, O Lord,

you know it completely.

The disappearances, you know.

The cries of those left behind, you know.

The school grounds turned battlefields, you know.

The truth-tellers dragged from their cars, you know.

The grief met with teargas and flashbangs, you know.

If we’re honest,

some days it feels as though

all we are doing

is holding our breath,

and wondering what we are to make of this moment.

Could it be, Holy One,

that even in the face of utter cruelty

something is waiting to be born—

like the moment when the seed,

planted in fertile ground,

is summoned forth—

by sun and water and grit—

to become something no regime can stop?

Could it be that this is the moment,

in the shadow of helicopters that circle day and night,

when compassion and courage,

empathy and wisdom,

understanding and LOOOOVVVVEEEE,

are finally given hospitable conditions

to change, to grow, to live?

Could it be that this is the moment

when that tender green,

that brilliant green,

pushes up through fear and ICE—

as if to signal

that nothing—

no mask, no order, no convoy—

will stand in the way of

abundant life

emerging?

Renewing Spirit,

we want to believe this is the moment.

But we need you to fill the spaces

of our disbelief and doubt.

We need you to bridge the chasm

between peacekeeping and peacemaking.

We need you to uproot the cynicism

that quietly feeds brutality.

And from detention cell to Signal chat,

we need you to bind your people together again.

Living Spirit,

the truth is that you can already see

a new world,

one we have not yet known.

May this be the moment, God of All,

when we catch a glimpse

of that world arising.”

The Reverend Ingrid Arneson Rasmussen