I love opinion, even those I don’t agree with.
A good opinion shows character; and I mean a ‘good’ opinion not by right or wrong (or whether I agree with it) but by how it is expressed.
If a point of view is presented succinctly, mindfully, with conviction and personal belief, I can respect it (even if I don’t like it).
It is the wishy-washy opinions — those peppered with anecdote, references to assorted documents and dogma, quoting the views of others or reading off the script — that I have problems with. They are disingenuous, often cluttered, or conveniently slip off-topic by introducing argument and unrelated angles, as if they are not entirely certain.
I would prefer someone express no opinion than one that is half-assed or not fully thought out.
Say what YOU mean, but mean what YOU say: that is opinion.
It says what you stand for.
I’m of the opinion that if you listen to the opinions of others you will learn something.
If you listen to others, your personal point of view will be expanded, maybe even altered, or you will become more certain of your stance than ever before.

© 2019 j.g. lewis

So much is worth less now than it was even last week, or last year. Do we consciously recall interest rates, the power of the buck, or the sliding scale of humanity? Here we are collecting silence without interest or any semblance of knowledge. Our truth seldom realized, we mainly struggle individually, collectively, anonymously, hoping there is room for prayer in the dialogue we create, the stories we tell, and memories we count on to provide some sort of satisfaction to our give-and-take existence. Emotionally depleted, morally depreciated, we learn (or we have learnt) not to count on politicians, talk show hosts, or even your daily horoscope for answers or admonishment. Do we call this survival or another attempt?

© 2023 j.g. lewis

I grew up listening to music. It wasn’t really a choice.
   My mother always had the radio turned on, or a record on the turntable. In our home it was her soundtrack that would set the mood of the day. Often I would hear her wonderful voice singing along; she could really belt it out. She was a mother who knew that music was best played at a decent volume.
   Most of the time it was the big band music of her youth, and she was especially fond of Sinatra, but Mom would continually pick up popular records of the day and keep up with the times. The copies of The Beatles Blue and Red albums, that I now own, both have her signature boldly written on the front cover as if she was staking claim to the music.
   Her tastes were wide and wonderful. I enjoyed some of the sounds, others took me years (or decades) to fully appreciate.
   The point is, my mother exposed me to music, encouraged me to listen, to learn, and even to perform (she actually allowed a set of drums into the house). Heck, she even bought me a few albums (of my choice) before I had a job to support my habit.
   A love of music was something we shared. It is a hobby/passion/obsession that continues today, long after my mother has passed on.
   Mothers do this, and not just with music. It’s your mother who will probably notice your interest in something when you were a kid. It is a mother who will encourage you to take it further. It could be dance, or drama, reading, or hockey, but chances are the hobbies you enjoyed when you were young were supported by your mother.
   It really doesn’t matter what that hobby was, what mattered was that your mother gave you a chance to discover, and to explore, an interest. In that way, it did matter.
   Thanks Mom, I’ve still got the music in me.

© 2018 j.g. lewis

About a month back, some cutting words were tacked up on the community bulletin board on the side of a bus shelter in my neighbourhood.
   This City Sucks read the small sign with a big message that hundreds or thousands of people walked by every day.
   I glanced at it daily.
   The bus shelter itself, even without the sign, is a prime example of what the sign was talking about. Too often street refuse, takeaway coffee cups, empty liquor bottles, used syringes or condoms, dog shit (or human feces) littered the space.
   It is unsightly and unsanitary to say the least.
   The sign remained tacked up on the side of the shelter for more than a week, but not quite two.
   People walked by, as did I.
   Nobody immediately felt a pang of civic pride and thought to remove the message (I know that I didn’t). No city employee was moved to tear the thing off the board on one of the irregular service visits (I, perhaps, mistakenly imply that there are, in fact, service visits of any regularity).
   The bus shelter is a representation of how the entire city looks and feels right now: tired, dirty and hazardous.
   Toronto is broken and only slightly functional, much like the trash and recycling bin not far from the bus shelter at this, or any of, Toronto’s street corners.
   Abject neglect is everywhere.
   In late June Toronto is holding an election for mayor only as, this past February, Mayor John Tory resigned after admitting he had an inappropriate affair with a city staffer half is age.
   Nominations have not yet closed but there are, so far, 73 or 75 candidates running for the position (the number goes up daily, and will, until nominations close this Friday).
   It is a crowded field.
   Among the contenders are three sitting city councilors, four former city councilors, a former police chief, a previous provincial representative, and an outspoken journalist, each of them spouting promises as empty as the next candidate.
   None of the current and former city councilors who have chosen to run for the office now even bothered to contend last fall, believing the former and now-disgraced mayor was either doing a great job or was unbeatable in his third (successful) campaign. So, we are mainly seeing politicians who sided with the mayor’s actions and attitude or harshly opposed his representation.
   Tory was popular, yes, but it was mostly after his resignation that city residents began to see his sins, secrets, and shortfalls.
   Right now we need a mayor more than we need a mascot.
   This election campaign will accelerate over the next six weeks. In the meantime, the city’s problems continue to stack up. Toronto is dealing with more than a deficit and budget shortfall, a provincial government not doing what it is supposed to, and a Federal government doing as little as it can.
   This country’s largest city has a lot of big problems.
   Toronto is a violent, deadly city with shootings or stabbings daily (or nightly), increased automobile theft and carjacking, ever-increasing homelessness and an opiate and street drug crisis. With soaring record-high rents and an apparent affordable housing shortage, an infrastructure implosion and traffic gridlock that results in some of North America’s longest commute times, and the public transit system is both dangerous and unreliable.
   On top of everything, Toronto is as messy as it is dirty. The biggest mess might be political.
   This city, right now, sucks. It’s going to take a whole lot more than a new mayor to reverse its fortune.
   It will take a civic pride which, obviously, is lacking.

© 2023 j.g. lewis

Really, what is the future?
   Tomorrow seems close enough, while next month or next year is days and
months away. Years surpass my time on this planet, as if that makes a
difference.
   I am such a small speck in the big picture.
   I am what I believe myself to be.
   I am not insignificant.
   I am my own future, or; I am for a time.
   It is what I do today that will determine the future for many days to
come…or hours,
   ‘As far as we know it, today only happens once’: words on a sign I recently read. These words are as inspiring today as they were at the time, as meaningful today as they were last week, and as purposeful as they may well be in the unknown future.
   I did not realize that the future was as close as it was, but it is.
   It is now…ooops; it has already passed. That is what time does, whether in the present — in the now — or it was yesterday or last week. Time passes.
   Now was, at one time, the future.
   And, then there is today.
   It only happens once.

© 2021 j.g. lewis