Those Boots Were Made For Walking....

I am continually plagued by my lack of ability to write about shoes. I tried last night, again, to no avail. I was beginning to think I might need some sort of therapy to overcome this mental block, because I love shoes…why can’t I write about them?

Then this morning, as I was showering and getting ready for a rather busy day, I had a breakthrough. I am having a hard time writing about my love for shoes because in actuality – I HATE shoes.

Yes, that is true. Oh, I love to look at pretty shoes, love to try them on and look down and see an incredibly sexy shoe on my foot, but shoes as a general object – I detest.

First thing I do when I come home is take off my shoes – even the cutest and sexiest ones are relegated to the obscure corner of my kitchen or laundry room. My toes need freedom and the bare floor to feel “at home.”

I spent some formative years in Hawaii and most of the time I spent it barefooted. It is customary there to take off your shoes at the door; it is a custom I wholeheartedly embraced. Shoes were left at the door in a basket, waiting to be the last thing you put on as you left the house. To this day, there is nothing I like better than walking around my home, a grassy yard or sandy beach, barefooted and happy.

But, aside from the freedom of being sans shoes, there is another reason I am not really a fan of footwear. It seems that shoes always carry those I love away from me.

The shoes are the last thing someone puts on as they are leaving…it is the echo of those shoe-clad footsteps on a concrete footpath that causes my heart to break. Whether those I love are leaving for just an hour, the day, or weeks at a time, it seems to happen too much to me, especially lately. I find I notice the footsteps more and more.

Shoes…yes, they can be pretty, sexy, practical or protective, but for me they are symbols of walking. Walking through my door, walking out of my sight, and eventually walking from my life.
I hate shoes!