Barefoot

I remember the first time I wore high heels.  They were sparkly, plastic, and came as part of a Cinderella costume set.  I was four.  With my plastic pearls, feather crown, and favorite new shoes that set me an inch higher in the world, I knew that I could conquer anything (I mean, really - who would refuse a four-year-old in a feather crown…).  Fifteen years later, any day I get to twirl in a pretty dress and ridiculously impractical shoes is a great day. Here ye, here ye, the perks of high heels:

 1) Instant supermodel status – the catwalk strut is ten times more fun when you’ve got 4 extra inches.

2) Your legs look longer than route 66 (hate to break it to you boys, but its alllll an illusion…)

 3) If you are of small to average stature and your date happens to be unusually tall, you don’t have to stand on your tiptoes just so he can hear you.

4) If your date turns out to be a totally jerk, you have thin spikey weapons readily at your disposal!   

Ladies, lets ignore the astronomical ankle-safety hazards, the frequent inability to functionally move in a straight line, or the fact that in the case of the zombie apocalypse, you would almost positively get left behind and die.  For all intents and purposes, there are no downsides to high heels.

  With our gazes a little higher, our walk a little swifter and our steps just a little sharper, we feel a little more powerful.  Like that businesswoman on TV whose feet pierce the conference room floor as she peers though jet black lashes, poised for persuasion.  Like that girl in the magazine who smiles coyly back at the man who watches her longingly while she prances away in her stilettos with her new prada bag.  We can be stronger, higher, farther from the very tired, very human girl in the mirror every morning.   She doesn’t exist.  We are powerful.  We are strong.  We are fearless. 

Fearless.  Are we?  When we can’t show the world our clean and real faces?  When we think strength is in whoever can speak the loudest?   When we can only see ourselves when the eyes of the world are on us, our self-image made a product of admiration and desire, while we strap on shoes, faces, voices and smiles that hide our real words, real bruises, and real missteps?  We strut passed people who only wish for a helping hand and can barely show the people we love our bare soul.  We mistakenly equate fearlessness and bravery with our own control.   Humankind clamors for high heels, high salaries, high-rise apartments and office buildings, while barely recognizing the earth on which it stands.

I grew up at the end of a gravel road where, pine needles, wild grass, and Oregon grape cover the ground.  As a young teenager I sometimes wished I lived somewhere that I could wear high heels out without a) sinking in dirt or mud, b) tripping over gravel and rocks, or c) looking silly and impractical, but I am most thankful for the days as a kid when my sister and I ran barefoot.  The pine needles pricked and poked our toes, but at least we could feel.  We could sense where we stood.  We could feel the right places to step.   The other day I lay in the grass of my back yard and thought about the bravery it takes for us all to take off our shoes, our feigned faces, the hollow ego in our voices, and let ourselves feel the world.  We get pricks and slivers, but we can sense the steps we take and face each other with open palms.  Fearlessness does not lie in battle cries, sharp steps and piercing gazes, but in soft words, listening ears and open minds.   When we can look each other in the eye and cry and say, “I’m sorry.”  When we can step down from our high risers and hold someone, anyone, in solace, without a sound.

And no, for the record, I don’t think high heels are inherently evil.  They are still loads of fun, and I’ll surely still dance and prance in my pretty dress and silly shoes - what girl wouldn’t.  But all the while, I’m going to try to remind my heart to walk barefoot. 

Empty, open, awake, and four inches shorter, we are powerful. We are strong.

 We are fearless.