Gratitude flows two ways. It must.

For gratitude to be gratitude, it has to be given, as it is accepted; free of conditions; without demand; without expectations.

As an exchange, there needs be, at its most crucial point, equality. Both the giver and the receiver should, even if only for a moment, bask in the state of grace allowed, and furthered by, the humane act of giving.

Gratitude is ‘you are welcome’ as much as it is ‘thank you’.

Sadly, and often, in this give-and-take society, there is an imbalance of power. The provision of aid or assistance is viewed as strength, with the acceptance, or receiver, as weak. Charity — a worthy and necessary act  — is boastfully promoted and endorsed. The ‘look at me’ or ‘look at us’ attitude removes the true shine from an otherwise generous act as it makes the giver more important than the need.

It’s pretty ugly out there. We, as humans, have continued to allow this to happen. Captains of industry, politicians, plumbers, and the powers that preach have continually deceived us. We have almost become pre-conditioned to accepting this conditioned eye-for-an-eye type of attitude of gratitude.

It should not be more difficult to understand, as it is to accept, gratitude.

We need to help each other, more. The spirit of giving should be fostered among us, but we end up asking too many questions. Even if just by questioning where any form of gratitude flows, we are suspicious. We look for ulterior motives and hidden reasons.

How do we get past the doubt, or the disingenuous, to not only show our thankfulness, but share the act and purpose bestowed upon us?

We, perhaps, need to be more thankful of what we’ve got and more gratified in how we share our place and purpose.

Indeed, as with the adage ‘the hand that gives is the hand that gathers meaning’, it must be more than exhibiting kindness towards others as a means of benefiting the self. We need to recognize the profound connection of the hand that gives and the hand that receives.

The benefits are shared, are equal, and are needed. There is a deeper meaning in not only accepting selflessly, but in giving graciously.

© 2019 j.g. lewis

Music, like nothing else, marks our time on this earth, and recorded music brings it all right back. Each of us has our own soundtrack to our own story, and my playlist continues to evolve.

When I moved out east a few years back, I brought with me all that I could; clothing, art, computer and camera equipment, and those things that brought me comfort, including my stereo.

I was limited to what would fit in the car, and part of preparing for the trip was paring down a substantial music collection.

My Mac was stuffed with music, and compact discs are more easily transported, but the thousands of records I had accumulated over the decades presented a major problem. I spent months deciding on the right albums, limiting myself to two boxes (of course I brought more). I passed on the remainder of the collection to my daughter (also, an avid vinyl collector).

When I arrived at my destination, the first thing I did was set up the stereo system; somehow it made things feel a bit more like home. Everything sounded familiar. Music has always been that thing that seems to keep me connected to time and place.

I remember.

I remember I was scared, literally, the first time I heard Led Zeppelin in the very early ‘70s. I have particularly vivid thoughts of a hot June afternoon set to a Yo-Yo Ma CD. When I listen to any Rush album, I recall being in an arena crowd of about 200 people in 1976, and also seeing the same band playing to tens of thousands of fans three decades later.

There are memories of drinking warm beer in the soft summer rain, listening to Elton John’s Captain Fantastic on 8-track, sitting in a friend’s car at 2:30 a.m. ‘Sweet freedom whispered in my ear’. I was 15, at Clear Lake, and, yes, it was well past curfew and I should have been home in bed but right then, nothing else mattered but the music and the company we kept.

Music does that; it seals in time, where we were and whom we were with. It documents a certain place, like nothing else.

Music is the best.

My musical interests, and my collection, are vast and deep, from pop to punk, jazz, folk, classical and classic rock. It spans decades. I still go back to the early stuff. Even now, when I spend a Saturday cruising Toronto’s wealth of wonderful record shops, I’m always searching for an elusive album, or one I may have left behind.

That’s not to say I only listen to the past. There is always amazing new music, as there always has been, no matter what year (anybody who hasn’t listened to Craig Finn’s recent I Need A New War, should).

I got to thinking about not only how much of my time has been spent listening to music, but how many albums I have heard. Playing recorded music, like no other pastime, can be done while you are doing something else. I play music when I cook, or clean. There’s usually music playing when I write, or drive, or play Scrabble, or . . . whatever.

I decided, at the beginning of this year, that I would keep track of how many albums I listen to in a year. I add to the list each time I hear a complete album, writing down the artist and title. I even write down the albums I listen to again, and again, each time. There are several albums I seem to play with some frequency, depending on the mood or the moment (including the aforementioned Craig Finn record).

So far, this year, including the disc I am playing right now, I have listened to 442 albums. I have no idea if this is an average amount of listening, but I do know I have plenty of albums I still need to get around to.

What I have found myself doing is listening, and appreciating, the music a little more deeply than I have been for a while. True to this use-what-you-already-have attitude I have taken on over the past while, I am digging deep into the boxes of albums I brought with me. These are the records I took the time to select and haul halfway across this country, so they must be important.

I listen to them and realize they are. Still. Now. Evermore.

Music is the best.

We languish in sorrow, or guilt.
Shame, a common thread, for the treatment of
the missing and the dead.

To ignore is to dehumanize, to disregard,
to disrespect. Historically, we continued to look past
those not accounted for. Where now?

Lives lived. Not forgotten, not ever, by
those who care. Systemic discrimination by those
with power to overlook a national tragedy.

No honour. No concern. No political will
for change. Decades of ignorance. No justice for victims,
no penalties for perpetrators. Shame.

© 2019 j.g.lewis

I dropped into a new location of a very familiar coffee shop last night. It wasn’t my regular stop, nor was it the only new location of the same multi-national company that is close to my “regular” place, but it was convenient.

Along with brewing good coffee, convenience is one of the hallmarks of this chain. You can, pretty much, find a Starbucks anywhere. The bigger the city, the more locations. In Canada, in 2018, there were 1,109 company-owned locations (I know they’ve opened at least two more in 2019). There are more than 8,500 U.S. locations.

It’s pretty easy to say this is a pretty common brand, popular with a lot of people. Starbucks’ revenues topped $22 billion in 2017.

I’m not going to call this brand my favorite coffee, or favorite place, but it is consistent. Open at 5:30 a.m. weekdays, should I need an early jolt of caffeine (I often do), I also spend many a Saturday morning and the occasional evening at Starbucks, catching up on my journal or correspondence. I’m writing this right now with my company-branded ceramic take-away cup within close reach.

As I was writing, last evening, I noticed a company poster on the wall proclaiming that “some of the rarest coffees in the world are now available in your neighbourhood”.

Now, I can appreciate the range of coffee, tea, and beverages offered at Starbucks, but this advertising got me wondering how rare can the coffee be if it is available at all, or most, of the more than 29,000 world-wide locations?

It can’t be. It’s not. It is not true: it’s not even stretching the truth.

Any dictionary will provide a range of definitions for the word “rare”, including:
-thinly distribute over an area.
–unusually great (subjective)
-unusually excellent (even more subjective)

Coffee is a commodity; coffee is a common commodity.

We live in an age of exaggeration, defined not only by marketing gurus and clever copywriters trotting out sumptuous superlatives, tempting taglines and hook-filled hashtags, but also by media personalities, public officials and politicians.

Listen, on any day, to the whining windbag leader of the free world as he bullies, brags, and brandishes his untruths to anyone who will listen. His lies have been documented (and disproved) over and over, but the brash banter continues as the greatest source of the “fake news” he often complains about.

False information is now something we expect.

Fake, misleading statements have become part of our everyday lives. It’s nothing new; in fact, it is why advertising standards were established decades and decades ago. This coffee company is — like many producers of consumer goods — pushing the edge of the envelope in an attempt to be the best or the boldest, as a pitch for the almighty consumer dollar.

It is not logical; it is not reasonable to expect this product to be something more than it is.

Coffee.

Don’t tell us it is rare. Yes, you can use the word ‘exotic’, or ‘premium’, you can tell us you’ve travelled to all corners of this round planet to source ultra-fantastic beans. You can boast about how you roast, and promise us unparalleled quality, but let’s call a bean a bean.

By simply including a product on the Starbucks menu at all, or most, of its locations means you cannot call it rare.

It is not true, or it’s not honest, and it is not authentic.

The company has already proven to me (and obviously many others) that it selects, roasts, and brews wonderful coffee in a variety of styles and tastes, so this marketing fib leaves nothing but a bad taste in my mouth.

© 2019 j.g. lewis

Do you feel stuck where you are?
Are you content with your state of being: emotionally, physically or spiritually?
Can you tell the difference between a routine and a rut?
Do you do what is expected, or intended? Are you surprised when you don’t?
Over and over we settle for the words, or the life, presented to us.
Change is always possible, but it has to begin within.
It is easy to take the same steps or drive the same route, to do, again, what you did yesterday.
It is not always comfortable. It is not always right.
It is a habit.
We are limited by habits, and patterns, no matter how routine. No matter how uncomfortable.
Are you comfortable with change to your lifestyle or living situation?
Has it become too comfortable?
Are you ready for change? Have you even thought about it?
Have you settled?