To My Feet, With Love

Yesterday, I found myself walking around the city alone in the middle of the day.  It reminded me of a time, nearly eleven years ago, when I first moved here.  I was working retail and found myself home during the day more than I do now.  Since it wasn’t prudent to add a gym membership to my already just barely keeping it together budget, I would go on long walks.  The memory of these walks opened the floodgates.  Turns out I’ve taken a lot of beautiful walks in my life. It seems only appropriate to give credit where credit’s due. Thus . . . 

Dear Feet,

I love your wrinkles and creases and lines.  The small blister on the left big toe. The freckle on the little second to the last one on the right.  The divot in the largest right toenail.  The smudge of city dirt on that heel. Your close to the surface veins that snake and climb; little blue highways of life.

It’s true that there may be others more pedicured than you.  Pumiced clean with shiny toes. (I’ve painted yours grey, to hide that bruise from the hike in Denver.  But you look good in grey.  Like the trusted, comfortable, confidant you are.)  No matter the others, you’re perfect.

You took me through the soft, cool, spring grass of my childhood.  The warm sand, too.  You’ve kicked through the water in my best girlfriend’s pool.  And the river, too.  I’ve dipped your toes in several oceans.  You ran more than you ever had the year I turned 30.  True champions, you are.

Together we’ve walked through airports and train stations.  You’ve balanced me on buses and subways.  We’ve walked the streets of New York, Chicago, San Francisco, Philadelphia.  The underground city in Seattle. By the bay in Monterey. Up the mountains in Denver.  The glitz and glitter of Las Vegas.  The calm of Vatican City.  We’ve pub crawled in Dublin.  Lingered in Covent Garden in London sipping mulled wine with dear friends.  You’ve wound me through cobblestone alleys of Venice.  You’ve brought me home.

You’ve been there for the tough walks.  The ones no one likes, but can’t avoid: hospitals, memorials, goodbyes.  The leaving.   But oh how we’ve celebrated together, too: wedding aisles, graduation stages, births.  The arriving.

You’ve carried me through it all.  The bitter, the sweet and the everyday.  I’m grateful for your ability.  Your resilience.  I’m aware that it’s a thankless job, Feet.  I demand and demand and demand;  run three miles, walk to work, stand at that concert all night, dance in three-inch heels.  But today, I pause and thank you for nearly 36 years of faithful service.

Without you I would be nowhere.

All my love,

Mary Chris

What journeys do you want to thank your feet for?  Leave a love note in the comments below! (And as always, thank you for reading).


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