I'm like a pencil;
sometimes sharp,
most days
well-rounded,
other times
dull or
occasionally
broken.
Still I write.
j.g. lewis
is a writer/photographer in Toronto.
Category: Uncategorised
Call it learned behaviour — something imprinted on the psyche — as you grow up watching your dad reaching for his back pocket. His wallet was always there; always in the right hip pocket.
I had a pretty good dad (one who always seemed to be reaching for his wallet) and I suppose I wanted to emulate him as I, even as a left hander, began tucking my wallet in my back right pocket.
Ever since I was 13, just like my father, my wallet has stayed in the same place.
Men’s wallets tend to be ugly things. Even those that begin as beautiful calf-skin or alligator leather, eventually turn into misshaped blobs of stuff. You see, a man has few options for carrying important things around, unlike women who have purses or handbags.
Even I who carries, daily, a backpack or messenger bag, cannot find a more secure place to store my wallet and its contents. The manly thing to do is stuff it in your back pocket.
A lot of stuff accumulates as you make your way through the daily grind: credit cards, loyalty cards, family photographs, receipts, tickets stubs, and . . . you know, stuff. There might be a little bit of cash, but mostly it’s stuff that has less of a purpose than more of a reason.
Eventually this brick-shaped bulge you sit on for most of the day affects your posture and your mood. It become uncomfortable. Your back and spine are forced into an unnatural curve, the sciatic nerve and even the sacroiliac are tested or stressed. You learn to accommodate, taking the wallet out of your pocket as you drive in your car, or sit at your desk.
But when you stand up, the wallet goes right back where you feel it belongs. When it is there you are aware of it being there, conscious particularly on crowded streets where potential pickpockets lurk.
It is just what you do, and have always done
Years ago I saw an advertisement for a front pocket wallet, a novel idea, but I never pursued it further. I did, for a short time, try wearing the regular wallet up front, but it just created a bulge in an awkward place.
I never thought much more about it until I recently saw the ad for these wallets in the New York Times. I’m not really an impulse shopper (unless it’s, like, music or paisley shirts) but I went ahead an ordered. Everything about the concept made sense.
The slimmer wallet was specially designed, and shaped, to fit the inner curve of a front pocket. Yes, it appears a bit awkward, at first, but it is unnoticeably comfortable.
This is not my father’s wallet.
Everything the company advertised was true. I purged my old wallet, and transferred over only what I believe I need. The front pocket wallet seems to hold the essentials. I believe. I could always use more cash, but this wallet works well and is hardly noticeable.
Except in the days following my adaptation to my wallet’s new location; you cannot believe how many times I’ve reached around back to pay for something.
We humans are, if nothing else, creatures of habit. We tend to do what we have always done. Face it, after more than 40 years I had become accustomed to the appendage in my back pocket. So much so that, even now, I will take the wallet out of the front pocket and place it in my desk drawer, just because that is what I do. Or have always done.
It is that much of a habit
This is not intended as an endorsement for a particular band of wallet (though given the quality of the product, and the lickety-split delivery, Rogue Industries is worthy of a nod) but is more about how we need to adapt to change as our lives evolve.
This is about trying to change, embracing change, and moving forward in spite of what you have done in the past. It is welcoming new concepts, or a new way of doing things.
Indeed there are many things worth keeping, but some things in our past are simply a pain in the ass.
©2017 j.g. lewis
The Rogue Wallet www.rogue-industries.com
Posted on June 7, 2017 by j.g.lewisLeave a comment
It is intimidating, at first.
It’s there, resting on the countertop, all shiny and new, the cover in pristine condition with those elegant floral images, tribal designs, photograph of Paris, or embossed with that fabulous life-altering quote. All those pages are waiting; all crisp, new and clean.
You’ve wanted to journal many times. You’ve even started three, or five, or a dozen times before. You were enthusiastic at first, yet. after a while, or in a week or two, you forgot or couldn’t find the time.
Your mind went to other places and the journal eventually got left on the bus with the almost-new yoga mat, or tucked in that catchall drawer full of good intentions and bad ideas. We all have that sort of drawer, or a box in the basement or storage locker.
You know you have got things to say, you remind yourself daily of that quote you’ve been meaning to write down, or that life-lesson learned from a two-year-old. You realize you should take note of the conversation you had with grandma at dinner last Sunday; she is getting on, and becoming more forgetful, but that was an awesome memory she shared.
Life is like that: as full of moments and dreams and occasions as it is words, and sentences, and paragraphs.
So you bought this journal, a month back, and it is still sitting there. You had the courage to take it out of the bag. You even sat, held it, and admired it the other night while watching that TV series that started out good, and may get better if you watch a little longer.
Then Sunday, when you had the whole house to yourself, you made a pot of tea and put on that perfect CD (you know the one; it’s light, and inspiring) and the mood was perfect, but you just sat there.
Do you use pencil or pen? Is it printing or cursive? You used to have really, really nice handwriting (at least you did in high school), but then somehow it got a little messier. You use the computer more and more (at home and at work), and your thumbs are pretty damn good at texting those short bursts of brilliance, but your fingers get tired if you write too long.
Maybe your thoughts are more perfect, or more presentable (and correctable) if you use the laptop. And then, just as you decide you’ll write, and have decided you will use a pencil (correctable, if required), the kids come home from wherever they were, and they are hungry. Or your sister calls, or Beth (is there anything more mood-shattering than a phone call from Beth?), and you put the journal back on the counter, just until later.
Later comes and goes; days pass, weeks pass, and you even move the journal a couple of times to dust, or make room for a grade school science project. You even laugh at a few of the comments your daughter made while working on the project, and you remind yourself to write them down, in your journal, when you get the chance. When you find the time.
Thing is, you never find the time.
There is always something else that has to be done, whether it’s the report for the office, or historical group, or planning Evan’s 40th birthday. . . or, or, or, or. . .
Days are full of ors. This or that, now or then; damn it, there are just too many choices, and often they are made for you, or you don’t like the choices but go along with it anyway, or you make the wrong choice.
So this is the time you need to choose something for your self. You need to make the choice to give yourself the time to do what you’ve been meaning to do, and to do it for yourself.
This is what a journal is for. It’s time for all that, time for just you and your thoughts. It is writing from your heart and writing it out loud.
You need not worry about pen (ball-point or fountain), or pencil, or crayon, or how you write, or what time of the day you will find those stolen moments; you only need to concern yourself with making the time, and letting the journal do what it needs to do.
You will find a purpose for your journal if you give yourself nothing more than a reason to write. You do not have to worry about sentence structure, punctuation, dangling participles, or format; you only need to let your thoughts out.
Yes, the moment you put pen to paper you will begin to stain those crisp pages, but that is the purpose, and it may get messy as your mood changes, at the days go on, or as you find yourself either struggling with or containing certain thoughts.
Indeed, life sometimes is messy, and that alone should be enough of a reason to write. You know you’ve got something to say.
Say it. Write now.
©2017 j.g. lewis
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