I find that I get better at standing in my own shoes the more I do it. Makes perfect sense, I know, but let me explain. For most of my life I’ve trod the path of others-in borrowed shoes if you will. I never realized they were shoes on loan; I thought I was wearing my true fit when I was taking steps in them. But in bits and pieces over the years I began to feel that missteps and stumbles along my life’s path weren’t happening because I had made an incorrect choice but rather because I was trying to make someone else’s shoes fit my form. My feet, my soul, was trying to move me on the path true to it while the shoes I was wearing were trying to keep me pointed in the direction they had laid for me. A clashing of finality occurred nearly six years ago now and the ability for the two forces to coexist on this one set of ten toes became definitively impossible. The stumbles and missteps of previous years came back to me for what they were-attempts by my true soul to carry me instead of the borrowed imposter’s. Sometimes it takes a sledge hammer to the side of the head to come to this realization and send the borrowed, incorrectly fit sneakers flying off one’s feet. Sometimes one is gifted with the ability to chose and wear the perfect fit from birth.
Little stumbles and missteps still occur today, two years after complete assimilation to this true set of walking shoes designed just for me. But the stumbles are recognizable as my own misguided steps and I am quick to take notice, listen and realign the direction the toes are pointed.
To come to be wearing my size as I have-after being directed by a surrogate set for so long-the walking now a days has a brightness, an intensity and passion in each and every moment that still stands to astound me. Awake. Smiling and fueled by life. in love. trish