There are few things in life more dangerous than wearing high heels on an escalator. And yet in that moment, as my toes towered over the precipice, I was overwhelmed with a sense of thankfulness for high heels.
- For the day a pair of white ones helped me down the aisle to say I do.
- For the way they make me walk with my head a little higher and my back a little straighter (even if it is just to prevent falling over).
- For the extra few inches that make me feel like a towering giant when my confidence needs a boost.
- For the joy of flats and flip flops, that I would not appreciate nearly as much without the pain of heels from the day before.
- For all of the dances, weddings, parties and fundraisers they carried me through until I carried them home.
- For the crazy red platform boots, without which I would not have been Wonder Woman for Halloween.
- For my mom’s obsession with shoes, giving me an excuse to raid her closet.
- For the $650 pair of Jimmy Choo’s I did not buy in Vegas, which taught me what the word excessive means.
- For how aware they make me of how fragile I can really be.
- For the way my peep toe versions provide a great excuse for a pedicure.
- For the reminder that I have both feet. And they work. Despite the way I torture them in crazy shoes.
For all of the pain and torture that a gorgeous pair of high heels can provide, it is not lost on me that I should be thankful beyond measure. It’s easy to get lost in the day to day, turning the reality of minor inconveniences into perceived catastrophic balls of stress and negativity. As I look at the heels on my feet and the multiple pairs in my closet, it becomes pretty obvious: I have all that I need. And I have more than I need.
Sure in terms of shoes, but in terms of life in general. On Sunday my pastor talked about how sometimes we take for granted the things that are so familiar to us. We fail to see how amazing everything is. I don’t want life to become familiar. I want every moment, ability, emotion, object… and most importantly people and God to be new to me in every moment.
As I sit here, without any assistance, my two arms and two hands and 10 fingers can easily type away on a keyboard that my two eyes can see, wearing two earbuds in my two ears that can hear the music, and my two lungs breathe in the clear air in my safe and dry home (despite the monsoon outside), with my two fully functioning legs crossed beneath me… and my two feet at the ends.
I only get one pair of feet for my entire life to carry me through each moment. And I am thankful for all of it, no matter what shoes I’m wearing.