Barefooting It

This is an excerpt from the weekly News-Loveletter. If you would like it sent to your inbox directly (with all the other juicy bits, including a mini joy practice), you can add yourself to my mailing list here.

“Nice shoes,” a neighbor tells me. I wink. Most mornings, I walk barefoot for over a mile. I began almost a decade ago on a day I could no longer stand to be “locked” in a hotel highrise. The weekend on concrete in conflict with a mate had been too much. I had dashed through the lobby doors and continued on for hours along the river. My feet followed their homing instinct to ground.

The Earth carries me. It took months back then to learn to walk with naked feet on the sidewalk. My brain sorted through information from my eyes and touch, sensing whether danger was afoot. It’s a lot to take in. The skin of my soles thickened. A network of muscles in my feet and calves came to.

I can now handle a little gravel, a little heat. Trimmed spring grass sends me into cartwheels. I’ve learned to avoid the clover. Today, I got stung for the first time this year. A chewed up plantain poultice (did you know?) set me straight. Nary a bump left. Grief for the bee who lost her life to my step.

How much feel is too much? I’ll tell you in forty years. I’m still stretching the envelope.

Meanwhile, my body is moving into alignment. When I had a bout of plantar’s fasciitis four years back, at the time of my body crisis-awakening, I opted for less rather than more structural support.

A natural podiatrist coached me to rehabilitate my feet with toe-spreading orthotics, allowing restoration of the innate architecture there. I have flattish feet. But a network of muscles developed into a shock system that now suspends me in a smooth ride without rubber soles. Still flattish feet, but no pain.

Strength is seductive. Feeling is fine.

Where in your life do you feel strong? Are you ready to put your feet in the grass?

I’ve got plans for you. More on that in the next newsletter. xo