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.
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.
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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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.