I suppose all shoes are "real" in some sense. But in my years as a lawyer, I have amassed quite a collection of delicious fancy shoes. Racks of them. I'm kind of a shoe whore. And not ashamed. But I've been relegated to wearing non-heel, soft-soled shoes for a couple of very long years now. I won't lie. I've got some adorable flat shoes. But they're still... well... flat shoes. For years before my surgeries, I was known around town as the girl with the cool shoes. My reputation preceded me. I was stopped on the street frequently by random women to graciously receive shoe compliments. As I write this, I'm smiling, but I also realize it sounds shallow.
But, oh, it isn't.
When something becomes such a piece of your identity and it is stripped away from you out of necessity, something withers inside.
I take my fancy shoes down off their racks from time to time and dust them. It's hard to watch them. Just. Sitting. There. I've thought of putting them in shadow boxes and hanging them up, afraid they'll never be worn again, but at least that way, I could look at them. I mean, how cool would a shoe wall be? I may still do that... at least with the really tall ones.
But today was different. A few months back, I bought some gel heel supports to put in this one particular pair of Fluevogs I thought might be workable this far into recovery, and then I strolled around the house in them on hardwoods to determine if I could wear them for any length of time without risking ruining my day by bringing on unnecessary pain before my day even really starts. I'd tried this once before when I bought the inserts, only to quickly begin feeling sharp pains deep in my left hip muscles with the pounding down of my heel after only a few steps. So I took them off, carefully replacing them in their spot on the rack, feeling a bit forlorn. This particular pair isn't even that tall. It only has a 1.25 inch heel. Quite literally baby steps. Or so I thought. But THIS morning, when I walked through the house in them, half expecting to return them to the shelf any moment, there were no sharp pains. Okay, there was one eensy sharp pain in my butt. But it was small. So I kept them on, determined, and I packed some soft-soled flats in my work bag (just in case) and braved the world in REAL SHOES today.
What I didn't expect was how the SOUND of the shoes on the pavement would awaken something deep within me. The first clack of the wooden heels down on my driveway concrete as I walked toward my car on the street echoed in my mind. Resonated deeply. Almost brought me to tears. Happy ones. And then again on the marble floor in the foyer of the high rise tower of my office. And then once again on the ceramic tile in the restroom. And even on the plastic carpet protector under my office chair. (But the sound on the concrete was the most satisfying.) The sound of decadent clacking. It was power, aesthetic beauty, confidence, control, intention, progress, and freedom all at once swirling together in my experience of each step I placed. Echoes of each step from the moment before stirred anticipation within me to hear the next hard stride to follow it. GOD I MISSED THIS. So much. The beauty of something so... me... returning, even in the tiniest way, cannot be overstated. Indeed, words can barely capture the feeling that sound evoked in me today. I sounded like myself coming and going. And I so want more of THAT.
