I have super skinny feet. Not officially narrow feet, so that I could buy narrow-sized shoes, mind you. No, the bone structure of my sled runners is a normal width. The problem is that there's not the usual corresponding amount of flesh surrounding those bones. (This oddity is proof that being thin does not solve all one's problems, not even the wardrobe ones.) Finding shoes that fit properly around my pale, delicate tootsies requires quite a search, or adjustments--like extra holes in straps or insoles or fluffy socks for winter clogs and boots.
My poor feet and equally bony ankles, with troubles enough just being shod, have also suffered denigration from their caretaker for their troubles. I have long envied other people their cute, plump little feet that fill out shoes and balance chunky soles rather than appreciating or just accepting my own. I've learned better now though. I try to hold my body in compassionate regard, because I still have one that works. Rather than moan, I finally got round to getting the tool that could solve one problem. I'm being (a little more) proactive now. I bought a leather hole punch.
Yesterday I did the thing I've been thinking of doing for years to deal with the fit issue: I got out that leather hole punch that I finally bought and added holes to the straps of some summer sandals. A greater truth was reinforced while I accomplished that chore.
One pair of cinched up shoes was just bought in order to have that career-worthy basic brown sandal that will see me until fall. The other pair has been in my closet, and moved twice, for at least three years. Many times, I've donned outfits that could have been improved by those cute and colorful espadrilles. Many times, I went less glitzy because they were so loose about the ankle that I couldn't wear them if I would be walking any length of time. Sunday church was about their only appearance and very few times at that.
We all know how this goes. I kept thinking that I really should do something about it but continued doing nothing. When I lived in Oregon, I had a friend with a leather punch who helped me adapt a belt. I knew the solution existed, but didn't engage with making it mine. Most people are guilty of this "I really should..." fog. It's normal and human. But I had had enough.
Here comes the lesson: By the time I got round to adding holes to the three-year-old cute and sassy shoes, the faux leather was flaking off as I buckled up the newly fitting straps. Cheap and peeling wasn't the look I was thinking of all those years. Figures. That's what I get for having such a long equation between instinct and action. That's what happens when I procrastinate.
OK. Sometimes things work out just fine when I drag my ill shod feet. And I'm not castigating myself for my utter humanity. I'm getting out of that business; it has brought me nothing but misery. This is just a reminder that I could have been enjoying those fun shoes for the last three years instead of only thinking about them. I could have worn off the top layer of the straps, instead of letting them dry rot in my closet.
There are many other things floating around my head that could be enjoyed instead of pondered, too. I'm on a mission to act on them at least as much as I think about them because that's how life changes. Action is what life rewards. Action makes life finer.
Of course, the lesson could also be to not buy cheap, faux leather shoes, but I'm looking for greater truth here. So, the lesson stands. I'll employ whatever soul boosting and thought managing techniques can help me move into glorious, unblocked doing. I'll have better shoes and a better life that way, with projects done (Bought supplies for one yesterday!), poems written, skills learned, and goodies baked. I won't get everything done--there's no such thing--but I'll get more done. And not to check off accomplishments out of fear but to add enjoyment to life. That's the best reason not to procrastinate.
1 comment:
Well...I think your feet are cute. :)
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