I generally walk a lot and enjoy it. The other day, however, I found myself feeling tireder than usual, and the idea of walking a fair distance later on didn’t fill me with joy. “Why” I wondered, “when I usually love or, at the very least, don’t mind walking?” It was, I figured out, because I was wearing heavy boots. Now I love these boots; they are comfortable, can stomp through pretty much anything, and I really like how they look. But they are heavy.
I wore these them again today. The weather has been wet and windy and promised to be so again this morning, and therefore I chose to wear them. It’s been GREAT. I can slosh through puddles, not worry too much about my feet, and they are even helping me feel grounded when the wind is particularly strong.
The idea of my heavy boots and what else they might represent has been twinkling away in the back of my mind since that first realisation. Though they are not the best thing to wear when I’m planning to walk long distances or trip lightly through a meadow, they are pretty darn good if I need to brave the elements.
There are things in my life that feel a bit like heavy boots. Right now they are the things that are in a tidy pile in the corner of a room at home which, if it were labelled, would read ‘to do’. The pile is mostly to do with numbers; the numbers are mostly to do with accounting. I can do accounting, and I don’t have a problem with maths as such, but the idea of tackling that pile feels like putting on my heavy boots. If I can remember I actually really LIKE my heavy boots, and that they are very useful for some things, it will (hopefully) help me remember that tackling that pile will be OK. Better than that, I might actually enjoy it.
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