Barefoot and boxes

I love being barefoot. I go barefoot everywhere I can. I find I have to put on flip flops for stores and such but aside from that, you’ll find me barefoot. When I run, I use barefoot running shoes, but those too will go away soon. Being barefoot makes me happy. I like to feel where my feet are leading me. I like to know if the path underfoot is really my path, or if I’m only walking in the shadowy footsteps of one who came before me. You can feel these things with your feet. If it feels funny then you can move to a new path.

I’m not sure why some people find being barefoot so offensive. I’m not hurting anyone. I have beautiful tattoos atop each foot and who wants to cover up those works of art. I wash my feet and put bag balm on them every day to keep them soft. I feel more connected to the Earth when I’m without shoes, I can feel her hum and sing, or cry in pain. I’m certainly not forcing my “barefoot philosophy” on anyone else, so why this aversion to it? Why the weird or nasty looks when people see me barefoot? I don’t know the statistic but there are plenty of people who don’t wear shoes in this world and they don’t get funny looks. Sometimes I think I’d get fewer cross-eyed glances if I had an alien sprouting out of my belly. 

That being said, I DO understand why I get those looks in the winter…snow and bare feet can be a bit tough to take. The occasional romp in the snow is fun for a minute or two but after that, not so much. So then what? Yes, my feet have to be resigned to being trapped in socks and boots. Ugh, the sheer horror of it all. Even handmade eclectic socks don’t offer any solace to my toes. Oh, did I mention I only have four toes on each foot? Well, to be precise, I have ten toenails and eight toes. 

I’ll let you sit back and ponder that one for a minute. 

Your minute is up. 

Whether you guessed it or not I’ll fill you in on my secret…two of my toes were sown to the toe next to it, resulting in four toes on each foot. And before you ask…no, I don’t swim any better because they’re really not webbed like a duck, they’re one giant toe. 

Where was I going with this…ah yes, socks. So I can’t even console my poor feet with fun toe socks because you guessed it, they have five toes and not four. Come winter, you’ll hear my poor toes and feet crying to be freed from the confines of foot prisons. Yes, socks and boots are foot prisons and my toes are not happy.

While I can eventually give in to socks and boots, what I can’t seem to come to terms with are boxes. I’ve never liked boxes. Corners and hard lines; unyielding and never bending. Functional yes, flexible no. Now that I think about it, I’ve never liked boxes. I’ve always preferred circles. They’re more organic in nature. More smooth and flowing to me. No dark corners where things can lurk and hide. No corners where dark seeds can be planted take root and grow unnoticed. No spaces where shadows and monsters can lurk. There’s nowhere to hide in a circle. You’re either in the middle or along the perimeter but there’s no hiding. There’s no darkness in a circle, only light. 

Think that’s how I view labels too. Labels are like boxes. Self limiting and inflexible. I mean, I understand it in a way. I’m a writer and well, language is pretty much a necessity, but how do we get around labels? If you call someone “grumpy” maybe they’re really not, but at the moment you saw them they had unexpectedly just swallowed a bug, so they were wearing an expression that you interpreted as “grumpy” but really, they were in shock. But now, since you called them “grumpy” they suddenly feel grumpy and poof, there goes their day and they now have a label. 

How did I get on the top of labels? Labels are another box. Why do we do that? Is it easier for us humans to compartmentalize things into neat little boxes, orderly rows of opinions and perspectives, easily digested and more removed from emotion? Why do I have to call you anything other than your name? Then again, I guess your name is a label too. So I call a chair by its name but what if that chair doesn’t WANT to be a chair, what if it really wants to be a flower, but I’ve now put it in a box and called it “chair”…did I just limit its potential? If we don’t label, how do we communicate? How do we determine which labels are “ok” and which aren’t; isn’t that really an individual decision? Labels are a part of language, and language, I think, is how we have to communicate. After all…without language, I wouldn’t be writing and you wouldn’t be reading this.

Long tangent short…if you ever see me walking by barefoot, hopefully you’ll just smile and wave and think “there goes one happy barefoot sea pixie”…oh wait…did I just label and put myself in a box…