Miles In My Shoes

Someday, long in the future, I will sit down and write the stories of our recovery following the loss of our home. I haven't yet, because sometimes I wonder if people aren't already tired of hearing about it. I am more certain than ever that recovery is a slow, exhausting process, and continues long after the event fades from everyone else's memory. Every time I drive up to the property where our house once stood (and will stand again), I find myself haunted by the still obvious change in landscape. The memory for me remains raw, and fresh. But I digress.

There are many great stories, and a couple that are not so great, but perhaps are illustrative anyway. Perhaps the most pathetic story I expect to tell often in my old age has to do with my shoes.

Shoes? Yes, shoes. For you see, the shoes on my feet right now continue to be the only pair of shoes I own. The only reason these shoes were not lost in the tornado is because they were on my feet when the storm hit. A single pair of New Balance cross-trainers. Almost two years old, these shoes are on the verge of falling apart. The sole is tearing loose, the tread on the bottom wearing thin, the cushion insets worn and flat, the fabric crusty with unwashable mud, drywall dust, house insulation, you name it. My feet hurt at the end of each and every day, and I have a desk job.

So why do I continue to wear them? Why do I not simply go to the store, try on some shoes, and buy them? Money is not an issue. What is so hard about taking a little time out of my day to do something that, truly, is not that hard to do? I have no good reason, no response that can justify continuing to wear the same, dirty, falling-apart pair of sneakers. Is it laziness or procrastination? Do I really have better and more important things to do that preclude a side trip to the shoe store? Some days, I think about putting an end to this podiatric pounding, and yet I decide that I can't be bothered with it.

It shouldn't be this hard, you know. But every now and then, I do make things harder than they need to be. There are any number of choices I should make that would promote better mental, emotional and physical health. Making those better choices means changing my habits, and stepping out of the typical fallback patterns that serve up only excuses.

The truth is, my feet hurt, and there is nothing comfortable whatsoever in maintaining the status quo, especially with regard to these shoes. My feet are not a "comfort-zone". These shoes need to be replaced.

In the end, there is only one answer: Just go out and buy the blasted shoes. Maybe even two pair. Or three!

And I will. Eventually. Maybe even tomorrow. If I have time.