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.
original content and images ©j.g. lewis
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 . . .
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.
I'm like a pencil;
Still I write.
is a writer/photographer in Toronto.
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There are now fewer pages left in my journal than there are in this year.
Perfect timing, really, for a new decade is approaching and I will begin the New Year with a brand new journal.
I’ve been keeping a journal with solid regularity for about 20 years.
I had tried before, at different points in my life, to maintain some sort of journal, diary, or account of my life, but those attempts always ended up incomplete. The books got lost, or I got lost (or lost interest), or couldn’t really find the time.
Life is often like that, you find it hard to find the time to do things you really want to do.
It takes more than commitment; it takes continued commitment.
My journals are full of life, as it happens. Trips, trials and tribulations, events attended, tales about people I’ve met; people who have died, people who left, and those who are still with me.
It becomes personal history. For me.
It is important to me.
I write every day, but not always in my journal. I’ve got a several manuscripts on the go, in varying stages of undress, and there is something on this site every day. Then there is poetry, and letters to friends and family scattered across this amazing planet.
I write every damn day.
The journaling is different, always by hand, always by pencil, I write both the consequential and inconsequential in my journal, as it happens and usually when it happens.
Sometimes I will glue in an article from the newspaper, other times a postage stamp or concert ticket, or include a quote from somebody that has inspired me.
It’s pretty random, at times it is messy (like life), at times my thoughts are not complete, but the journal has a purpose.
This current journal is the second book I have filled this year. It began with a trip to Winnipeg on father’s day, to visit my daughter (that’s always something to write about), and continues to describe weekends out and about in Toronto on my bike, my concerns over gun violence and public safety in this city, and memories of people, places, and music.
You learn a lot about yourself as you write, and you continue learning as you write. That is the value of a journal.
Journaling is sort of like the quote I jotted down in my journal on August 24:
“Learn from yesterday, live
for today, look to tomorrow,
rest this afternoon.”
Do you keep a journal? Are you ready to start?
2020 is almost here, a new year and a new decade.
There’s no better time to start than a new year.
soultalk is offering its annual free online journaling program to get you going in the new year an beyond.
Normally the program is 10 writing prompts over 10 days, but this year (and the reason seems obvious to me) it will be 20/20.
It begins January 1 in a closed Facebook group.
In addition to a daily prompt, there are hints on maintaining a healthy journaling practice, and the support of a group that are going through the same thing with you.
The program is open to, pretty much, everyone.
Come write your way into 2020.
For more details, and to sign up, send an email to firstname.lastname@example.org
Come and write with us.