When you purchase a new pair of sneakers you are not only buying the brand, the look, or the comfort. When you buy a new pair of sneakers you are making a commitment to your self.

You are buying hope.

As spring slowly presents itself, it’s only natural that you want to become more active. You want to get outside; you want to shed that winter weight. You want to improve. Is there anything more motivating than a brand new pair of running shoes?

Inspiration right out of the box.

You buy new sneakers at a time of renewal, at a time when you’ve worn down, or worn through, an existing pair. They too were bought on the premise, or promise, of greater fitness. You bought them because you intended to run, or walk, or cross-train, your way to both feeling and looking better.

As with every new pair of running shoes, you use them exactly for what they were intended for. For a time. Yes, we all have our own pace, but exercise is the mandate. For a week or three, or like five days out of seven, you do exactly that. You continually log a few miles, or a few thousand steps, or however you measure your progress.

You may even lace them up on those days when you’re going out shopping or wandering around the city. It’s pretty easy to log four to seven thousand steps while you are out and about.

Comfort is always appreciated. As it is when you’ve got to quickly run out to the bank, or back to the office to catch up on paperwork. Then, after a while, you find yourself wearing the shoes just to saunter down to Starbucks. It becomes a habit.

Soon enough the shoes are not really running shoes, but a pair of convenient casual kicks. You don’t even bother untying the laces, you keep them a little looser and slip them on or off.

Comfort and convenience, what else could you ask for?

During the whole process you’ve maybe become a little less dedicated to that planned fitness goal. You’re still making use of the shoes, but not in the way they were designed, or the way you intended.

In time they become just another pair of sloppy, smelly, dirty old shoes.

When you realize the comfort and novelty has worn off, you decide, again, that it’s time for a new pair and a new plan.

It’s not an easy choice; there are a lot of sneakers on the market in terms of style, and purpose, and function. You might do a little research and read up on the latest models. Certainly any retail salesperson worth their salt is going to ask you your ‘why’ and ‘where’, and (of course) you might exaggerate your fitness level or fitness plans. Considering the cost, you take in the features advantages and benefits of each pair you try on. And you try on many.

You want just the right fit, the right amount of padding, traction, and even the right colour.

Damn, they all feel so good. But for how long?

The pair you select should be able to perform exactly as intended, but will you?

© 2019 j.g. lewis

How do you know when it’s time to let go? When do you know an item’s life cycle is through, and it is time for something new?

It’s too easy to give up. Inhabitants of a disposable society, we all too often go out and buy something new when we tire of it, or when it falls out of fashion.

It’s wasteful.

I’ve got a denim jacket that has served me well. I can’t even remember when I bought it, but it has faded properly in all the right places. This jacket is beyond comfortable; perfect on cool summer nights, and with a collar you can pull up to shield yourself from the miserable winds in April or October.

The jacket is worn in a few spots, and a tear from a scuffle a few years back has grown from being fashionably frayed to functionally inconvenient. Except for the holes, and a few borderline threadbare spots on the seams, it’s perfect. Really.

It has seen better days.

I thought about replacing the jacket, but it represents comfort to me. It seems to get better with age; each wash fades the indigo blue a little more. Like a pair of jeans, it takes a while until they feel broken in.

It would be easy to replace, but don’t we do that enough with most everything else? You run a car for a few years, then swap it out for a newer model. It is more convenient to buy a new pair of boots than to find a cobbler and have the heels, or the sole, repaired.

We love the new and let go of the old all-too-easy.

I seriously considered another garment, but decided a new jean jacket isn’t really going to be any different than the old one. Let’s face it, the style hasn’t changed much in decades. I began wearing the wardrobe staple (then a hand-me-down from my brother) in Grade 4. In photographs, it looks much the same as the one I wore in Grade 8; or Grade 12; or later.

I’ve had more than few jean jackets in my lifetime, and this one has stuck with me for a while. I haven’t left it anywhere along my travels (so far). And did I mention it really does keep on getting more comfortable with age?

So rather than tossing it away, I decided to repair it. This has kind of been a theme of mine over the past couple of years: repair rather than replace. I’ve done it with a few long-time items. I guess I’m proving to myself that repairing, or repurposing, an everyday piece of clothing is going to add value instead of costing me.

I took the jacket, along with an pair of jeans of similar vintage, to a tailor and had a patch sewn onto the left elbow. It looks great: you can hardly tell it has been repaired. It works.

I can’t say it saved me much money (though it was worth every dollar), but it saved yet another piece of clothing from the landfill. It’s not that I‘m environmentally conscious (though I believe I am) or consciously thrifty, I’m just being practical.

Bruised. Beat up.
Each day we hurt; each day we heal some way:
physically, spiritually, superficially
in most cases.
We exist with pain
we cannot forget, nor will we get past.

It moves with us
through phantom limbs. What is, what it was,
or what will never be. No matter how
we squirm, meditate, medicate
or mask our wounds
we bleed.

You cannot wipe
the taste of an old lover from your lips,
a parent’s words echo, mistakes sustained.
Thoughts better left for dead,
and very much alive.
Terminal disappointment.

Remove the dressing,
scars remain: reminders; where we have been,
what we have done or
what has been done
to us. Excuses solemnly validate
our existence.

This art of living
involves exquisite deception. Calloused knees bent,
we pick at scabs from prayer
or surrender. Impressions remain
pressed into the skin.
Of course we hurt.

Who better would know
the fundamental truth of the human experience?
Tear off the bandage,
the wounds will breathe. Proof
we have done something that can and will
make us stronger.

© 2019 j.g. lewis

 

APRIL IS POETRY MONTH
a fundamental truth

Enchanting distractions
conjured up in adolescent fantasy
or tremendously tedious math classes,
albeit fascination.
Initial attraction. Opposite sex.
      You begin to notice.
      Long ago.       Remember?
We run through images at night,
even a month ago. recalling wet dreams,
Ninth Grade goddess, slight overbite,
and a couch in the basement, after
a junior-high school dance.
Waltzing then,
      holding another body
      as close as you could.
Nights In White Satin
Stairway To Heaven
The longer the better. Fumbling
with opportunity, taking liberties
as much as chances.
After the dance. Each of us.
      Feeling. Like it mattered.
Permission denied, then granted.
Breath of consent with closed eyes,
nervous smile.
      Teenagers. Enthusiasm greater
than experience.
We didn’t know what romance was, or
the meaning of sensuality, or ecstasy.
Or lust.
      But we knew how it felt.
As we grew older, did we forgot?
      Except in our dreams.

© 2019 j.g. lewis

 

APRIL IS POETRY MONTH
let the soul wander

Eye-catching immediacy,
pamphlet affixed to a bus shelter wall;
below twilight drunks piss on the sidewalk
with all the other animals in the cold dust
and recycled sentiment of this city.
     Where Are You
     Going To Spend
     Eternity?
Weekly sermon tacked up
by an anonymous preacher. Or disciple.
Reality, rhetoric, cut-and-paste spirituality
sprinkled amongst Biblical evidence.
      ‘As it is written.’
Cowardice under nightfall. Honesty by dawn.
A believer more than I.
      ‘For by grace are ye saved through faith;
      and that not of yourselves.’
How long have I been sleeping,
dreaming I could
make it on my own?
      ‘It’s only by faith in the only savior.’
Have I have lost my place?
God: a reason or an excuse. I have fallen short
of his glory. We all have, apparently; morally,
truthfully, decently, cruelly.
      ‘Look at the world today! Crumbling!’
Headlines scream even louder each day.
I know. I know
I do not meet God’s requirements; owning
my sins as much as I care to.
      ‘To be saved, you must admit
      that you are a sinner.’
My pride prevents me from opening up,
from believing in eternity, my trajectory,
or most efficient route there.
      ‘Dear Soul, if you were to die right now,
      do you know whether you would go
      to heaven or to hell.’

© 2019 j.g. lewis

APRIL IS POETRY MONTH
fresh poetry served every day