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
Decision Time
What will I do today? This week?
Each day I ask this, of myself. I ask this of others;
daily, hourly . . . each second of every minute I ask questions,
and
with each question comes a decision.
We all make decisions
all the time.
Continually.
Where to go, what to do, what to buy, whether to stay,
what to say,
how to say it, how to ask a question. ?????
All decisions.
Each and every act, goal, accomplishment or
failure, begins with a decision.
How can I be sure the decisions I make are right, or proper, or ethical . . . even moral?
I can’t.
I can try.
I can leverage all my knowledge and experience, and hope, and plan,
but even then I can’t be sure the decisions I make, at that time, are correct.
I am like everybody else.
We all struggle with decisions.
Many, or even most, of the decisions we make involve someone else. In fact, many of the decisions we make must function, or cooperate, or align, with decisions made by others.
And that is hard.
Even the simple decisions we must make are hard.
Every decision is one of hundreds of inter-connected, though seemingly unrelated, decisions made each day.
Life is a cumulative series of decisions.
Your decisions impact the lives of those around you; those you love
or those who, just by their nature of being where they are or what they are,
are just there.
Every day.
Every day we make decisions.
You decide how you will be viewed, how you will be remembered,
how you will be accepted, or how you will accept others.
All decisions.
We wake and walk upon each decision we make.
Some, in fact most, decisions are irreversible; resolution is not even in your hands.
And the decisions made by others may possibly be the most difficult decisions to deal with.
You are forced, without having to decide, to deal with the consequences
you had never intended.
One decision leads to another, and there is always the danger of collateral damage.
And if we don’t question the decisions made by others, we wonder: why they did that; why they said that; why they left, or let you go?
All are questions fuelled by decisions, and decisions made without your input. Mainly
decisions made with little care or without concern for you.
Then again it’s not the actual decision that hurts, as much as it’s how you react to the decision.
If you don’t react properly, there is certain to be conflict.
Decisions can lead to arguments, as much as agreement, or conclusion, or worry . . .
Without decisions we do little, or nothing, to contribute to
this grand parade we call life.
Think about it.
There, right there, that’s a decision; you have to decide how you will think about it
and what you will think about.
What will you think?
What choice will you make?
If you don’t make a choice, you are leaving it up to a chance, or fate. Kismet.
And taking a chance is nowhere near effective as making a decision.
It might be easier, at the time,
but really it’s not.
Not at all.
When we make the decision to leave it up in the air — to leave it to chance — that in itself
is a decision; not one to be taken lightly,
and one that can only lead to indecision.
Indecision can kill you, if not physically then morally, or spiritually.
Just as the wrong decision, or even the right decision at the wrong time, can
take its toll on how life should, or could, be lived.
With decision comes responsibility.
We own each decision we make, and every mistake made.
Spur-of-the-moment decisions often haunt us the longest.
So how do you make the right decision, without worry, without regret?
I suppose, above all else, it’s a matter of being flexible, and even more so,
being fair.
If you are making a decision it should be made in fairness, and with intention.
And it should be made for all the reasons that are good and whole,
and right.
Not just right for you, but those you care about.
Think about it.
Ask yourself: What do I want . . . what do I really want?
Or,
is what I have what I really want?
Is it?
Make that decision.
My January Breath
Snowflakes. Only movement. Twilight comes until twilight goes. Daylight leaves too early. Swiftly. The deeper the night, the colder the darkness.
My January breath suspended, my thoughts wishing to go somewhere. Anywhere, other than here. A deafening winter silence.
The air is slow.Still. Almost. Alone, even in the shadow of the streetlamps. Nobody to shield your ears from the cold, or dampen the inevitable.
Pointless the task, reviewing patterns and paths carved into the cartography of the ego. Realization. What once was, may never be. This season stays the longest.
Even with full sunlight. The wind, should it decide, rips through me. Harsh. I am not here, not really. Permanent as my January breath.
Flurries obscure constellations and the moon. Isolation. The circumference of my being is reduced. Limited. Blinded by temporal beauty, or tears.
Nothing has happened, or is happening. The brazen wind chill clashes with body heat, the atmosphere the victor. Obvious. The world still gets in your eyes.
Time agape with a grey known only to the night. A solitary trek through the ordinary. Undisturbed. Each step resonates the soul-crunching scream of a thousand snowflakes.
Beneath winter’s fickle facade, the ice cracks. The fragility of the planet apparent. Vulnerable. Each season has precious moments. Gone. Time stands still. This is my January breath.
Posted on December 31, 2014 by j.g.lewis // 1 Comment
Only Wednesday
Wednesday sits naked and ordinary waiting
between the bookends of social Saturday
and restive Sunday. The day is little more
than a cluster of hours or a stop on the treadmill. Indecisive and lonely
nobody chooses a Wednesday. Nothing happens on a Wednesday
and it’s the same each week.
Sept 11/01, a Tuesday. London Subway bombings: July 7/05, a Tuesday, also July 21/05, and also a Tuesday. Assassinations: John Lennon on a Monday, Martin Luther King Jr. a Thursday, and John F. Kennedy a Friday. Kurt Cobain’s body was discovered on a Wednesday, but he chose his way out three days earlier. Nothing happens on a Wednesday.
There are fewer concerts mid-week, and opening night is never a Wednesday. They never open the Olympics on a Wednesday. Nobody gets married on a Wednesday.
Yet I will choose Wednesday, or I will start with a Wednesday. I’ll begin with a page, a place where I can plant my thoughts. I have many thoughts, each week, every day (even on Wednesday), but I will commit to posting something once a week. There are seven days to choose from, and I chose Wednesday.
Now I may post something else on some other day, I’m like that (a true Gemini). If I am moved or if I have time, if the stars align or the moon gives me a nudge, or if something is really bothering me, I won’t wait for Wednesday. But I will post something each Wednesday.
Something will happen each Wednesday, every week. Right here. If you want to see, or wish to be reminded, sign up. There will also be a daily breath (usually 140 characters or less) and it will not be limited to Wednesday, but will, or should, arrive every day.
Until Wednesday . . .
-j-
