Estival Solstice, the longest day of our year, is a time when the sun stands still. Like the sun (if only for a moment) we should also simply be present.

Whether counting clouds by day and stargazing at night, be mindful of the space between each; our space. This is time not for thinking of goals or objectives, but to consciously be in the now.

The mid-point of the year, with so much brightness on the horizon, should not be when we look back on what has happened during the dark cooler months. Look forward, instead, through the summer heat. We know, all too well, that the cold and the darkness will return. We know we should, perhaps, be encouraged to savour this time.

There is a certain equilibrium to this solstice. While we are each guided by certain stars — our place in the astrological jungle — this period is common to us all. In fact, it is a gift. This is the big picture.

We share the same Sun. We all share the same sky. Our views may be different, but we all call this amazing planet our home.

Summer solstice gives us a brief, but needed, period of gentle inspiration. Here we have the opportunity to find balance. There is no rush. Take your time.

Make what you will of the longer days, the intricacies of each season are reflected in how we adapt to an ever-changing society. It is not to ignore the difficulties or struggles we have encountered, or have been living through, but to take in what we have learned. Perhaps you will find the freedom to make the decisions you have been avoiding, or those which offered no resolution.

This period of balance is further emphasized should you be fortunate to take a break on either side of the solstice and reflect on where you are physically. emotionally, and realistically. Travel away from your usual day-to-day will allow you to look at your situation from a different angle. Always helpful. Always appreciated.

This is where we will find our determination to continue through the remainder of the year, and to do what we must to maintain balance.

Time is neither relative or subjective, but an element that enters each equation and becomes a part of every decision. We cannot hold back time, nor can we rush ahead.

There is a rhythm to each minute.

Count the seconds as you count your blessings; separately they are a treasure, cumulatively they make up our true wealth.

©2017 j.g. lewis

Call it learned behaviour — something imprinted on the psyche — as you grow up watching your dad reaching for his back pocket. His wallet was always there; always in the right hip pocket.

I had a pretty good dad (one who always seemed to be reaching for his wallet) and I suppose I wanted to emulate him as I, even as a left hander, began tucking my wallet in my back right pocket.

Ever since I was 13, just like my father, my wallet has stayed in the same place.

Men’s wallets tend to be ugly things. Even those that begin as beautiful calf-skin or alligator leather, eventually turn into misshaped blobs of stuff. You see, a man has few options for carrying important things around, unlike women who have purses or handbags.

Even I who carries, daily, a backpack or messenger bag, cannot find a more secure place to store my wallet and its contents. The manly thing to do is stuff it in your back pocket.

A lot of stuff accumulates as you make your way through the daily grind: credit cards, loyalty cards, family photographs, receipts, tickets stubs, and . . . you know, stuff. There might be a little bit of cash, but mostly it’s stuff that has less of a purpose than more of a reason.

Eventually this brick-shaped bulge you sit on for most of the day affects your posture and your mood. It become uncomfortable. Your back and spine are forced into an unnatural curve, the sciatic nerve and even the sacroiliac are tested or stressed. You learn to accommodate, taking the wallet out of your pocket as you drive in your car, or sit at your desk.

But when you stand up, the wallet goes right back where you feel it belongs. When it is there you are aware of it being there, conscious particularly on crowded streets where potential pickpockets lurk.

It is just what you do, and have always done

Years ago I saw an advertisement for a front pocket wallet, a novel idea, but I never pursued it further. I did, for a short time, try wearing the regular wallet up front, but it just created a bulge in an awkward place.

I never thought much more about it until I recently saw the ad for these wallets in the New York Times. I’m not really an impulse shopper (unless it’s, like, music or paisley shirts) but I went ahead an ordered. Everything about the concept made sense.

The slimmer wallet was specially designed, and shaped, to fit the inner curve of a front pocket. Yes, it appears a bit awkward, at first, but it is unnoticeably comfortable.

This is not my father’s wallet.

Everything the company advertised was true. I purged my old wallet, and transferred over only what I believe I need. The front pocket wallet seems to hold the essentials. I believe. I could always use more cash, but this wallet works well and is hardly noticeable.

Except in the days following my adaptation to my wallet’s new location; you cannot believe how many times I’ve reached around back to pay for something.

We humans are, if nothing else, creatures of habit. We tend to do what we have always done. Face it, after more than 40 years I had become accustomed to the appendage in my back pocket. So much so that, even now, I will take the wallet out of the front pocket and place it in my desk drawer, just because that is what I do. Or have always done.

It is that much of a habit

This is not intended as an endorsement for a particular band of wallet (though given the quality of the product, and the lickety-split delivery, Rogue Industries is worthy of a nod) but is more about how we need to adapt to change as our lives evolve.

This is about trying to change, embracing change, and moving forward in spite of what you have done in the past. It is welcoming new concepts, or a new way of doing things.

Indeed there are many things worth keeping, but some things in our past are simply a pain in the ass.

©2017 j.g. lewis

The Rogue Wallet      www.rogue-industries.com

It is intimidating, at first.

It’s there, resting on the countertop, all shiny and new, the cover in pristine condition with those elegant floral images, tribal designs, photograph of Paris, or embossed with that fabulous life-altering quote. All those pages are waiting; all crisp, new and clean.

You’ve wanted to journal many times. You’ve even started three, or five, or a dozen times before. You were enthusiastic at first, yet. after a while, or in a week or two, you forgot or couldn’t find the time.

Your mind went to other places and the journal eventually got left on the bus with the almost-new yoga mat, or tucked in that catchall drawer full of good intentions and bad ideas. We all have that sort of drawer, or a box in the basement or storage locker.

You know you have got things to say, you remind yourself daily of that quote you’ve been meaning to write down, or that life-lesson learned from a two-year-old. You realize you should take note of the conversation you had with grandma at dinner last Sunday; she is getting on, and becoming more forgetful, but that was an awesome memory she shared.

Life is like that: as full of moments and dreams and occasions as it is words, and sentences, and paragraphs.

So you bought this journal, a month back, and it is still sitting there. You had the courage to take it out of the bag. You even sat, held it, and admired it the other night while watching that TV series that started out good, and may get better if you watch a little longer.

Then Sunday, when you had the whole house to yourself, you made a pot of tea and put on that perfect CD (you know the one; it’s light, and inspiring) and the mood was perfect, but you just sat there.

Do you use pencil or pen? Is it printing or cursive? You used to have really, really nice handwriting (at least you did in high school), but then somehow it got a little messier. You use the computer more and more (at home and at work), and your thumbs are pretty damn good at texting those short bursts of brilliance, but your fingers get tired if you write too long.

Maybe your thoughts are more perfect, or more presentable (and correctable) if you use the laptop. And then, just as you decide you’ll write, and have decided you will use a pencil (correctable, if required), the kids come home from wherever they were, and they are hungry. Or your sister calls, or Beth (is there anything more mood-shattering than a phone call from Beth?), and you put the journal back on the counter, just until later.

Later comes and goes; days pass, weeks pass, and you even move the journal a couple of times to dust, or make room for a grade school science project. You even laugh at a few of the comments your daughter made while working on the project, and you remind yourself to write them down, in your journal, when you get the chance. When you find the time.

Thing is, you never find the time.

There is always something else that has to be done, whether it’s the report for the office, or historical group, or planning Evan’s 40th birthday. . . or, or, or, or. . .

Days are full of ors. This or that, now or then; damn it, there are just too many choices, and often they are made for you, or you don’t like the choices but go along with it anyway, or you make the wrong choice.

So this is the time you need to choose something for your self. You need to make the choice to give yourself the time to do what you’ve been meaning to do, and to do it for yourself.

This is what a journal is for. It’s time for all that, time for just you and your thoughts. It is writing from your heart and writing it out loud.

You need not worry about pen (ball-point or fountain), or pencil, or crayon, or how you write, or what time of the day you will find those stolen moments; you only need to concern yourself with making the time, and letting the journal do what it needs to do.

You will find a purpose for your journal if you give yourself nothing more than a reason to write. You do not have to worry about sentence structure, punctuation, dangling participles, or format; you only need to let your thoughts out.

Yes, the moment you put pen to paper you will begin to stain those crisp pages, but that is the purpose, and it may get messy as your mood changes, at the days go on, or as you find yourself either struggling with or containing certain thoughts.

Indeed, life sometimes is messy, and that alone should be enough of a reason to write. You know you’ve got something to say.

Say it. Write now.

©2017 j.g. lewis

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Old soul, that of a poet, voice
drenched in whiskey, melancholy
and grief. A long time to bleed the blues;
they don’t happen by themselves.
You won’t fully understand
until you suffer.

Long shadow of the darkest day
reaches out, a reminder always of
the brother you cannot forget.
Nothing and nobody will let you,
when the band
carries your name.

Decades of harsh addiction, criticism,
celebrity gossip and half-truths. A
survivor. More than a relic, more
than a footnote, not a turning point
but a sign on the
rock and roll highway.

Playing for yesterday, like he
meant it, heritage fills time with
old emotion and the truth. Resolution
comes only when allowed. Tomorrow
is no longer his, but
the voice rings out forever.

©2017 j.g. lewis

R.I.P
Gregg Allman
1947-2017