A rambling tribute to my feet
and farewell to stubborn internal
voices calling out to entice me
into showing up at all costs –
the sign of honored membership in a
mythical club of the elderly who
never seem to weary or grow faint
Though yesterday’s good girl has
long since faded into the sunset
I’m torn by desire to ‘be there!’ with
a smile on my face and tormented
feet in my shoes faithfully trying
to catch me up or stop me cold
in my tracks before it’s over and done
lost in a confusion of days and years
of showing up now gone forever
Or how about this? I think I’m finally learning to listen to my feet. Not just my heart, gut or kidneys. I emphatically don’t like having to do this. For years I haven’t given more than a passing thought to my feet.
Showing up (on my feet) is something I’ve done habitually most of my life. My feet made sure I was on time and prepared. On time and energized. On time and ready to work hard. On time and ready to push that boulder or climb that trail to the top of the hill.
If there’s an up-side to this, it’s relief that my feet aren’t scolding me. They’re begging me to pay attention to them. Suggesting I might stop and rest after that glorious walk through the meadow, or that trip to the grocery store. Or I might even give them special treatment the way I give Smudge the cat special treatment every day.
Here’s my bottom line: ‘I don’t want to run my feet into the ground before it’s time for me to join them.’
If that sounds morbid, so be it. It’s my informal mantra for this coming week. What’s yours?
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 20 October 2018
Photo taken by DAFraser, February 2018 in the Longwood Gardens Conservatory