What is it now that has you questioning the why and how?
We can, and we should, question our thoughts or plans, even our direction. It is only natural to wonder if our path is moving the right way, or if we should be choosing some other route.
There is a lot to absorb along the way, there always was. Do we pay enough attention now, or did we ever? What have we ignored or looked over?
What didn’t we see?
What needs to be revisited?
We can’t always take it in stride.
10/28/2024 j.g.l.
You catch yourself wanting to say,
to ask, to cry out for help, for attention
or for effect. Even if only to see
if anybody is listening. Yet you don’t.
Anger ignites, anxiety rages, and the
consequences of a handful of
wholly conscious decisions scorch
the fragility of the present. It matters
not what tinder was sacrificed
to the flame, for now it is ash. Now
useless. Consumed. There is nothing
else left. You know, deep down,
what matters is what you ask, or say,
to the one person who has always
been there. See yourself. Be yourself.
© 2016 j.g. lewis
I went out for a walk yesterday afternoon in only my shirtsleeves. The weather of late has been unseasonably mild with decent daily temperatures stretching out over the past week. Yesterday, apparently, was to be the last of it and I was not about to ignore the delightful weather.
It truly hasn’t felt like autumn yet.
Most of the trees in the parks remain a luscious green. There have been few chilly mornings. I keep waiting for the vibrant colours I enjoy each fall. I haven’t yet been inspired to take out my camera to capture the season before we see only the dismal greys of winter.
I eventually settled in at a favorite park, took out my sketchbook and pastels and enjoyed time to myself. St. James Park, over the years, has become a comforting place with the shock of tulips that bloom each spring, its well-maintained flower beds through the summer months, the fountain that doubles as a bird bath, and all the tall respectable trees. Often, I will visit the park and sit with a cup of coffee or become engaged with my camera or sketchbook. Yesterday, unplanned as it was, turned into one of those days.
I did a little thinking about where I am, at times reflecting on the summer that was (and wasn’t). I continue to acknowledge that the relocation I plan with has not yet taken place. My mind has been filled this year with expectations of a move back to a city that brings me familial and familiar comfort. The timeline, now, is not what it was at the beginning of the year, and it looks less and less likely that I will end the year in the place I want to be. There is so much uncertainty right now, but not my resolve to get out of the crowded city I have come to know for, essentially, a decade.
I have become content here, but it does not feel like home.
After a while, yesterday, with the sun occasionally shedding its light I realized I was no longer sketching. I was only sitting and thinking and slowly becoming aware of the sounds that surrounded me. For the longest time I had been oblivious to the continual din of downtown traffic.
It might have been the sound of leaves changing colour that alerted me, or the slight gusts of wind that disturbed the trees and sent the foliage falling to the sidewalk. It was the moment I realized that autumn had finally arrived.
I am still here.
10/24/2024 j.g.l.
It is thought that counts;
endless reflection of past wrongs,
mistakes mistakenly remembered
and deep devious disappointments
always contained within.
We must ever be mindful of
changes that can be made after
all is said and done.
We can do more.
10/27/2024 j.g.l.
more expression
less content
more meaning
less dialogue
more illumination
less obscurity
more movement
less stagnation
more diversity
less discrimination
more peace
less confusion
more love
less ego
more humanity
less evil
10/25/2024 j.g.l.
I'm like a pencil;
sometimes sharp,
most days
well-rounded,
other times
dull or
occasionally
broken.
Still I write.
j.g. lewis
is a writer/photographer in Toronto.
This reality will surely change overnight,
or later. Vibrant colours, as if a miracle,
will appear. Overnight, or later in the day.
Speculation becomes a greater force, as we
wait, counting on seasons to mark years.
Temperature has as much to do with it as
our want or need for something more. We
wait for the visuals to just happen. Naturally.
When it does, and as it does, we cannot help
notice. Any day now, or any night. Or longer.
© 2024 j.g. lewis
Our view of love changes as
we age. What we feel, all we know
to be true, is provided a fresh point of view.
We forget, from time to time, what it was
when it was something else.
Perspective.
All the mental aspects of affection and
emotions will overwhelm if given a chance,
but for the longest time
we did not allow ourselves to know
the certain realm, or definite destination
of love and all it is capable of.
It is more than physical,
stronger than it has ever been, and
strengthened
over the years and beyond.
Empathy finds its place amidst
individual passions. Understanding becomes
the strongest sense of a relationship.
As we age, we are capable
of something greater, or have we just
realized, now, what love can truly be?
© 2024 j.g. lewis
If it is now, then
too long I have waited. Shadows of moments past
blur
one into the next
and I remained confounded
by all that has happened since.
This time I take for granted
can no longer be shared. I have already experienced
the ripeness of the moment, the cool breeze
that arrives with autumn, knowing
there is still so much ahead of me.
© 2024 j.g. lewis
About a month ago I signed up for a program looking into mobility and healthy aging, anchored by weekly two-hour sessions at a local community center focusing on exercise, nutrition and information with a physiotherapist, dietitian and public nurse.
The group-based sessions are “focused on increasing knowledge, skills, and behaviors related to activity, healthy eating and available community supports for older adults.”
I am, after all, an older adult. I knew that when I signed up for the program — administered by McMaster University — that were looking for study participants aged 55+.
It was only after I arrived at the first session and was waiting for the program to begin that the term “older adult” had an impact on me.
As I browed through the information brochures in front of me, I read, over and over, references to this age group: “Physical activity for older adults”, “24-hour movement guidelines for older adults”, “Active Aging Canada”, and “Canada Food Guide Tips for Seniors” with a thorough collection of tasty recipes enhanced with key ingredients for “older adults”
Then there was the newsletter with a headline that really affected me: “Looking to make the most of your Golden Years”
Really?
Is this the “stage of life” that I have entered?
Now, I have not officially retired, I do not yet receive my pensions (government or career-related). I am almost hallway through my 63rd year and less than a few years away from receiving those lifetime benefits so, in my government’s eyes, I am close to being a true “senior citizen”.
But I am not sure I feel like it.
I am indeed at the lower end of the “baby boomer” classification, a demographic I have belonged to my entire life (and totally dislike the recent negative connotations of the term “boomer”). This group has aged, grown up with me, and is commonly accepted now as “seniors”. It is a sliding scale that begins at age 55 or 60 is, in fact, the age group I am now in.
The decades have blurred one into another.
But “Golden Years”?
How can that be?
I admitted, long ago, to being middle-aged. I think that started half a lifetime ago when my father retired and joined the ranks of a senior.
But am I now what he was then?
You are what you admit.
I’m older. I have never really been accused of being mature, and since I was a kid was told, many times, to act my age.
How can I be nostalgic about my youth when, most of the time, I still feel youthful?
Is it time to accept the obvious?
I guess, if I am going to accept the seniors rate at the cinema, gladly take advantage of the discounts and special “seniors” offers from many retailers, and reduced rate on public transportation, then I must start admitting I am in fact a senior . . . or an “older adult”.
I am.
This week, perhaps at this “seniors” session, I started to believe it.
It’s a lot to think about.
This week’s session included a cooking demonstration, exercise class and a lot of discussion about living and aging. Each of the program participants are at different stages of “adulthood”. Outside of a couple of the presenters, I was, I think, the youngest person in this group of older adults (I still have difficulty writing that phrase).
That itself is thought provoking.
I am truly looking forward to retirement and have been mentally preparing myself for a couple of years. I’ve got plans and so many things I want to do at this age and stage of life. Most of my plans revolve around the sort of things that a regular work week gets in the way of.
Whether or not these are, in fact, the golden years, or that I am entering the “Autumn of my life” hasn’t really been something I’ve though a lot about.
But I am now.
When did that happen?
How long will it keep happening.?
© 2024 j.g. lewis
Each line speaks in ever-present tense, past
shadows whispering still, amidst perpetual
foresight. Memories commence for a stanza
or two, if you are prepared to listen.
© 2024 j.g. lewis
I’m like a pencil;
sometimes sharp,
most days
well-rounded,
other times
dull or
occasionally
broken.
Still I write.
j.g. lewis
is a writer/photographer in Toronto.
