Mythos & Marginalia

life notes; flaws and all

j.g. lewis

original content and images ©j.g. lewis

a daily breath...

A thought du jour, my daily breath includes collected and conceived observations, questions of life, fortune cookie philosophies, reminders, messages of peace and simplicity, unsolicited advice, inspirations, quotes and words that got me thinking. They may get you thinking too . . .

the time between

You are here.
What remains of what was
matters less and less as
distance replaces the time
between then and this.
That was then.
This is now.

06/30/2022                                                  j.g.l.

Mondays are just young Fridays

What has been heard, what has been said, after 24 or 27 months give or take? More or less, what was said (even wished) was mainly, and above all else, that we wanted things to return to normal.

We were longing for the everyday day-to-day, the regular way, sort of; or at least, some semblance of such. We wanted, we said, to be with people again, doing the things we usually did.

We wanted to see smiles, again, on stranger’s faces, we said from behind our masks and wanting so much for our lips to be read as much as our expressions of joy. Or reality. Or anything other than what it was for the 26 or 25 months of what came to be.

We weren’t asking for much, really, or nothing any more spectacular than what life grants us on any given day. We wanted the ordinary, if nothing else.

What we have known is not over. How we are living, coping, or struggling, is not the same as it was eight months, or 11 months, back (or 25 or 23). It was a long time, and longer still will be this shadow of a virus that has hung over us (more than a footnote, and still not quite a chapter) in this never-ending story.

What was, or what is, close to some kind of normal, feels closer now. Dare we say it? We wished it, didn’t we, and here we are now more than two years later, finally gathering in parks and parades, galleries, shopping malls, and back at the office.

Masked or unmasked, we might not be as close as we were before, but we are working on it. Aren’t we? Can’t we now see, or hear and experience life, a little bit like we did before?

Yes, we want more, but right now this is as good as it gets for those of us still cautious, yet relieved, that we are here to see what’s going on.

It is, or seems to be, a return to the usual, the normal, and the everyday ways. For some of us it will never happen, for many of us it will never be, but for all of us there is a new (or another) opportunity for ordinary.

The ordinary: after all we have been through, that may even be better than it sounds.

06/27/2022                                                                               j.g.l.


cloud songs

     Morning begins it all,
yet it is much later
                    you notice
   nights become shorter
when the day is no longer.
          We see less
       than we want to, and
   know more than
          we should.
   Darkness allows silence.
        May your thoughts
            be understood.


06/21/2022                                                                           j.g.l.

I'm like a pencil;
sometimes sharp,
most days
other times
dull or
Still I write.

j.g. lewis
is a writer/photographer in Toronto.

Follow on social media

Keep in touch

Enter your email to receive notification of significant posts. Don't worry, I won't clog up your inbox or sell your data

At My Own Speed

Posted on September 5, 2018 by j.g.lewis Leave a comment

I no longer ride as fast as I used to. It’s not that I can’t; I simply choose not to.

As far back as I can remember, whether it was on my third-hand lake bike at age nine, finely-tuned road bike at 19, or sturdy mountain bike at 29 (and every version, model, or style of bike in between), the lure of a bicycle has always been speed.

To get anywhere, I chose to ride as fast as I could. I was seduced by speed, a habit that continued as my youthful legs pushed a single-speed cruiser, or the muscular teenage frame took a 10-speed to its limits.

Accelerating was always exhilarating.

Of course there were many (many) accidents along the way. Physical injury should have been a warning, and should have held me back, but it wasn’t my way. Skinned knees, sprained wrists, full-leg road rash, and broken bones could not stop me.

I kept pushing. I darted into traffic, challenged myself to pass cars and navigate through traffic without care or caution. I didn’t wear a helmet; I didn’t need to (I thought). Among the many feelings you have when you ride a bike is one of immortality. Eventually you learn that is not the case. It begins to sink in as you mature, or grow older.

I’m different now.

I started cycling again this summer, an activity I had put off for a few years. Yes, it does come right back to you. . . indeed, like riding a bike. I even had a few scrapes and bumps on my first few days back in the saddle (just like old times).

I ride differently now.

Now I check the-rear view mirror. Now, I study cross-streets before entering an intersection. Now I use hand signals. I act responsibly (or as responsibly as a somewhat irresponsible individual can be). I, now, wear a helmet; I now see the purpose.

I ride slower (most of the time). I watch, I look around. I notice more. It’s no longer a case of getting from here to there, but enjoying the ride along the way.

My bike is now a little more comfortable; the tires are wider and there is a little more padding to the seat. I have (and appreciate) fenders, and a basket. I use a bell to warn fellow cyclists I may pass, or I ring my bell to signal injustices along my route (Hey, cabbie, get the hell off the bike lane!).

I gear up, and down, more frequently now in a more efficient use of energy and movement. I’m also a better judge of terrain and traffic. I anticipate bumps in the road, and adjust my style when I get too close to other cyclists, pedestrians, or cars. Rolling stops are pretty much a thing of the past.

I’m not overly cautious, but I am mindful of where I want to go. I’m learning to plan a safer way of getting there. The ride is no longer considered a separate act of transportation, but rather a part of my journey.

I still enjoy the speed, and the cool breeze of speed, but it is not speedy like it was before. I tend to move at my own speed. I can’t be rushed, or I don’t often rush.

Life is, many times, like riding a bike.

© 2018 j.g. lewis

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.