By Mitch Smith

Where I am now is decidedly different from where I was at twelve months ago.

Then I was angry and cynical about our country and the tin pot dictator who had stolen the White House. I was in a perpetual storm of ego and angst, of despair and hopelessness. I had to take a small part-time job because of some financial issues and I was trapped, it seemed, in a loop of maddening sameness; a La Brea tar pit of banality.

Needless to say, I was not at the top of anyone’s social list, not even mine. 

Then mid-year, my daughter, who had given birth to my granddaughter in November 2017, ran into some difficulties with the baby’s father and needed a place to stay. I was all too happy to accommodate them, although I will admit to a certain trepidation and fear. What would that mean to my life, to my routine, to my stability?

As tenuous as my life was, I had lived alone for almost twenty years, which is a hard nut to crack. 

Zariah came into my life like a laser, like a shooting star across a black sky. Everything I thought I knew about love and devotion and surrender were all shaken away, like loose skin, and I was immersed in a level of sheer and utter rapture.

Now, months later, I am still floating with this feeling. Seeing her grow and take on a personality and a spirit is an everyday miracle for me. Seeing her smile, and even cry, blows my heart up like a giant balloon. 

My angst and cynicism? Oh, they are still there, but now I find that I don’t need to dwell there anymore, they no longer define me, or explain me. I am now someone’s grandfather; someone’s father; someone’s lap to nap in or shoulder to cry on.

I stand now, at the end of a tumultuous year, in a renewed sense of hope. I am seeing the world through different eyes and no longer assuming the worst of everyone and the world at large.

That little girl has rescued me from myself.

I am home. 

Photo by Mitch Smith

Mitch Smith is a 64-year old semi-retired substance abuse counselor, who lives with his daughter, and granddaughter, my dog and two cats. Mitch enjoys reading, writing, photography, and continually learning how to be content and happy in his life. 

Throughout January, Mythos & Marginalia is looking at Where We are, as witnessed by contributing writers from across this magnificent planet.

I’ve become more respectful of my time.

I started wearing a watch again. At one time a permanent fixture on my wrist, I stopped strapping on the timepiece eight years ago.

I know, or I must have, worn a watch through my teenage years, but it was a high-school graduation gift from my parents that I first remember as a constant reminder of time.

A wristwatch reminds us of where we are and where we need to be. It becomes habitual to check your wrist on your way to an assignment, event, or meeting. The wristwatch is a practical, purposeful piece of jewelry where you can casually glance down without interrupting the flow of time.

It can become pretty easy to be a slave to time.

I stopped wearing a wristwatch when a career move suddenly had me based in an office. There was always a wall clock, or a computer always displaying the time in digital format. I appreciated that.

I remember the feeling of freedom I found by removing the wristwatch.

My days were more structured than they had ever been. I started and stopped work at the same time each day, knew it took 14 minutes to walk to work, and if there was ever a doubt as to what time it was any other time of day, I could always check my cellular phone.

I began to rely on my cell phone to tell me what time it was, when I needed to know what time it was outside the office, or when something needed to be done, and done on time. It was convenient, my cell phone was always in my pocket.

Thing is, I began to count on the clock on my phone a little too much and I began checking the time a little too often. Of course, now, when you check the time on your phone you can also check your email, or messages. We all have experienced the advances of mobile technology over the past decade, and we have all experienced the wonder of having a computer in our pocket and information and applications always at close range.

Aren’t we all checking our phones a little too much? I know I was pulling out my mobile device too many times a day, whether I needed to know the time or not.

It became a bad habit. It became pretty easy to become a slave to your phone.

I was, quite simply, checking my mobile device too many times, whether I needed to know the time or not.

It was a bad habit, so I have switched back to a wristwatch.

Almost immediately, I began to notice how much less I was looking at my phone. Granted, I’ve only been wearing a wristwatch again a little more than a week but I am glancing at my phone less, and less. I am more conscious of time away from my phone.

The decision to again wear a wristwatch was a conscious. I even bought myself a new watch as an early Christmas gift to myself (it’s the most wonderful time of the year…)

I didn’t purchase a watch that would sync up to my iphone. I didn’t buy a watch that would check my pulse, count my steps, monitor my brainwaves, or allow me to catch a movie, soap opera or ballgame whenever I wanted. Truthfully, I didn’t even want a watch that told me what date, or day of the week it was (I carry an agenda), but a calendar function was pretty much standard on any wristwatch that caught my fancy.

I want to be less mindful of the time.

You look at time differently when it is expressed on the traditional watch face. Time seems to move a little slower, or is more organic. Time seems more forgiving, or as forgiving as it can be (it is time, after all), when it is displayed by the hands of a clock.

You look at time differently when it is not expressed as digits, you think differently, use your brain differently, as you have to (consciously or unconsciously) calculate exactly what time it is. Whether it is half past two or a quarter to three; the top of, or bottom of, the hour, you begin to see the time by the virtue of how you were taught to tell time. You recognize 11:11 differently, whether it is by the light of day or happenstance of night.

It is no longer simply digits. There seems to be a greater purpose to the time. It feels now like it is more my time in how I choose to interpret, perceive, or ignore. It is now real time, and not real time.

Time seems more tangible, minutes turn to hours naturally in a more isolated state.

We respect time when we have to think about it. Maybe we all need to think a little more about what time it is, or what we are doing with our time.

Sometime. In the past week, or
the past day or two,
it happened.

It is not memory, nor even déjà vu.

You stopped
for a moment, a breath
caught in your chest, a
small tear in the corner
of your eye.

Unaccountable recollection of a moment,
or a face; an amalgam of a personal antidote,
myth, family story of another time or place.

More than a feeling, but not quite an emotion.
Greater than a concept, far more than a notion.

If you called it happiness, you would do it a disservice.
Not enough force to be joy, nor significant gravity
to be bliss. It simply arrives.
Unnoticed, without warning.

The spirit of Christmas
can’t be explained,
cannot be justified,
will not be claimed.

It just is
what it is.

It arrives during a phone call from
a daughter, a playful story about a mom,
or grandmother’s recipe
shared or prepared.

It is fleeting, yes, but
it makes your day.
It’s never enough, but
all we have at times.

Remember that feeling.

© 2018 j.g. lewis

Approaching the shortest day and the longest night at Winter Solstice, we need to be mindful of the dividing line between darkness and light, negative and positive, and, perhaps, even good or bad.

An effective time for reflection; the end of the calendar year allows us to look closely on what has, or hasn’t, happened over past months.

Now is an especially important time to make notes, or a list, that will help us focus on what has been done, and what needs to be done.

This is an exercise for your self.

Select a piece of writing paper and draw a distinctive line down the middle (either vertically or horizontally). Select one side as dark, the other as light

On the dark side, begin to jot down the secrets, sins, shortcomings and disappointments of the past year. It could be career ambitions that did not develop, financial fortunes fallen flat, goals and plans that never materialized, unresolved relationship issues, mistakes made, unexplained catastrophes, and those concerns that kept you awake at night.

Think, now, of even the minor events and inconsequential inconveniences. Write them down. Don’t prioritize or apply any weight to a specific event or error, just fill in this section of the page with all that has bothered (or has been bothering) you.

Spell out your troubles and leave them on the page. Be reminded, be respectful, but don’t be beholden to them. Leave them where they land.

On the other part of the page, the bright side, begin to list all things worthwhile in your life, yourself, and your surroundings

Celebrate even the smallest achievements or tiny steps forward. Recount feelings and emotions; remember what you have managed to pursue or accomplish despite all the negatives listed on the other side of the paper.

Take pride in the positive.

Then find an envelope, address it to yourself, and place a postage stamp in the corner.

Hold up the freshly-formed list and tear it in the middle, right down the line.

Separate the dark side from the light, distance yourself from all the negative crap you managed to dredge up, and don’t even bother looking at it. Simply crumble up the dark list or place it in the paper shredder. If you want to add a little drama, light a match and burn the words, turn the negative thoughts into ash.*

Now take the positive side of the list, date it, fold it, and tuck it into the envelope. Walk to the post box and send all those positive thoughts ahead to brighter days.

You don’t have to open the envelope when it arrives in your mailbox. Of course you can, but you might also want to tuck the letter into your journal and wait for one of those days when life lets you down and you could use a little positive reinforcement.

Leave the negative thoughts behind and enjoy the ever-increasing lightness as we step forward to a new year.

Solstice blessings.

*please be careful when using matches

© 2018 j.g. lewis

I found a feather on the sidewalk
Delicate. Natural. Out of place
on an urban pathway littered
by disposed-of coffee cups, cigarette butts
scattered carelessly across the landscape, with
pet waste, unabashed ignorance and exhaust fumes;
traces of society’s irresponsibility.
No end in sight. Yet there, without notice,
a treasure waiting to be found,
or witnessed.
All I know is what I see.
I have only heard of Native spirituality and
a belief that when a feather falls to earth
it carries the energy of its owner
to a living being.
                              A gift from the sky.
I sent the feather to a faraway friend,
one who feels she is lost, at times, even
among friends and the familiarity of home.
Gravity keeps her grounded,
but not comfortable.
By her own account, the world weighs heavily,
as it does with each of us, at times.
We all struggle — the fortunate less frequently —
we are all fragile.
You are not human if you are not.
Pulled in many directions, we cannot step forward
when doubt is a distraction and purpose is given,
not discovered. You are not whole
when the words you think will not find a place.
Debt becomes despair.
                                         Neither here nor there.
I sent a feather to a faraway friend, knowing
one feather alone will not repair the damage
that has been done, yet the gift may serve
as a reminder she can still fly.

© 2018 j.g. lewis