I awoke in fear this morning. I do not have a name for this fear. It is fuzzy, not like the sharp fear that causes me to leap back from the edge of a rooftop. It is strangely comfortable, like an old pair of slippers that pinch my feet but that I wear anyway because they are near the bed when I get up. When I take off them off and try to shake out whatever it is that is pinching me nothing comes out. I look inside. It's dark and stinky but I see nothing. So I put them back on again and my "magic" slippers pinch my feet once more. Again and again, I take them off, shake them and look inside. Again and again, I put them back on and the pinching returns.
I sigh and go make some coffee. Then I sit and write. At least for a while, but then the pinching begins again and I find myself thinking about it rather than the words on the page. Damn slippers. Damn pinching. Damn fear. I stomp my feet. No use. The pinching grows stronger, commanding my entire attention. Abandoning my writing, I stomp and hop around the room like a dancing like a fool. The pinching increases until I fall to the ground, curl into a ball and curse myself for continuing to wear the same old slippers, day after day, year after year.
I wonder sometimes why I continue to wear them. They are familiar but that's not the only reason. I have borrowed slippers from other people, but they pinch even worse than mine. I have bought new slippers, and for a time their shiny newness can distract me, hiding the fact that their pinch is far harsher than my old familiar pair. Resigned to my fate I return to my own pair even though wearing them often feels like mental death.
I think the only solution is to learn how to walk barefoot. But I fear this most of all. There are so many things that can hurt feet made tender by a lifetime spent in slippers. Stones can bruise. Bottle caps carelessly tossed aside by partiers can cut and wound. Glass from broken picture frames can slice. And those are just the inanimate threats. What about all the creepy crawly things that purposefully seek to poke and sting? What about the insensitive people who may ignore my barefoot state and stomp on my toes? What of the truly evil ones who wear hobnailed boots and hunt down those who foolishly expose their feet to the open sky? Yes. There is much to fear in the world of naked tootsies, but if the alternative is a mind killing life in slippers, then let me wander the world with my feet "au naturel".
I am no stranger to the barefoot life. I remember a time without slippers; a time when I refused to wear any shoes at all. In the hot, damp summers of Southeast Texas I spent endless hours running across cement, hot tar, sticker grass and gravel with nothing between me and the sweet earth. My feet developed deep calluses, natural slippers to protect themselves. Stones bruised my feet. Sometimes I got cut by glass. Sometimes my calluses peeled, leaving me exposed to pain. Sometimes I peeled away the calluses by myself, a dangerous enterprise that often resulted in bleeding. My feet showed me the nub and texture of life, engaging with gritty sand, rough concrete and hot tar; being caressed by the soft grass, tickled by rainwater and cooled by tile floors. They endured fire ant stings and stickers the size of knitting needles. Unquestioning, they stuck their toes in cow pies just to "see what it would feel like". With no need for lacing or shining, they climbed the crusty bark of trees to let me see the highway leading out of my neighborhood. Through it all they kept me awake to the wonder of the world by keeping me fully engaged with it.
So, let me toss these pinching slippers aside. Let me avoid borrowing someone else's shoes, or heaven forbid, thinking that the solution is to "buy" a new pair. I will grow calluses based on what really is rather than wear slippers as protection against what I imagine. I will be bruised, cut and probably need stitches sometimes. I may step in a few cow pies again, either by accident, or just for the hell of it. But don't worry, I promise to rinse off before I visit.
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