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sparkle shoes

Most people have a body part that they don’t like, some more than others. We each see our own flaws magnified, and think everyone else is looking at us too, gawking and clucking at our misfortune.

I found myself in a shoe department looking at silver shoes and sandals too pretty to be on my feet. Others had such beautiful legs and delicately trim ankles. They were able to turn pirouettes in their high heeled cage shoes with spindly heels and fashionable cut outs.

Meanwhile, I had three pairs of flats in my hands. Such is life; I have crossed the barrier where I am capable of walking in such confections of leather and lack of support.

While admiring the other shoppers, I noted three people shopping with their mothers. Another woman had just taken off her beautiful nude colored heels and reached for a pair of Keds slip on sneakers. I smiled at her and told her how impressed I was with her choice of shoes and the need for comfort. She told me that her high heels were extremely comfortable but she was picking up the sneakers for her mother who would love them.

Creeping up on the anniversary of my mother’s passing, I began to feel the loneliness and sadness that I have no right to feel. Other people have lost their mothers much earlier in life, or never known them, so I had no right to these feelings. Also, my mother suffered and died from ALS (amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, or Lou Gehrig’s disease). In the last six months of her life, she lost the use of her limbs and her freedom. Rationally, I did not want her to continue living suffering but miss having the love of my mother.

I chatted with another woman who was trying on beautiful glittery sparkling shoes for a wedding. They looked lovely on her and I complimented her on her beautiful legs and how pretty they the shoes looked on her feet. Next, in my own insecurity, I explained that I had horrible legs which was why I hid them under maxi skirts.

In the end, I left the store without a purchase. I walked back to my car and turned on the blissful air conditioning. Then, in the quiet of a moment’s pause, I realized that I had to have gratitude for the gifts which I do have.

My legs are not horrible — because they work. I know my mother would have been proud that I understood and learned the moral of the story.

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Thank you for stopping by. It means more than you know.
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10 Comments

  1. I feel your pain. I have fat, flat feet with thick ankles (a result of too many twists and sprains when I was younger). It is difficult to find nice shoes that suit my feet. I see my friends with their pretty shoes and wish. However I agree. We should be thankful that we have these feet that carry us each day. They are what we have so wishing they were otherwise doesn’t do us any favours and there are no magic spells to change them.
    So we are grateful for what we have.

    • Well said….doesn’t mean we don’t dream. But I have to look at the good.

  2. A poignant post- what a beautiful ending… a reminder we need to be thankful for what we do have.

  3. Such a great way to put that into words. We often get caught up on what we don’t have and forget to be thankful for what we do. Thanks for reminding me.

  4. I loved your last sentence! It is so true that your legs are amazing. It is sad that we criticize our bodies instead of being thankful for what they do for us.


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