A meditation on my own two feet

I love my feet. They’ve stood by me for 72 years so far. Toes crossed that they’ll keep on keeping on for quite a while yet. My feet have kept me grounded when my head’s been in a spin, when I’ve fallen head over heels, when I’ve felt toey. Every day, they save me from falling flat on my face when I get out of bed. Do I tend to take them for granted? Yes, I have done so. But I’m trying to be more mindful these days of how blessed I am to have my own two feet still in good walking order.

If I calculate that my feet have taken a modest 5,000 steps a day on average since I turned 10, that’s 62 years x 365 x 5,000. That’s over 113 million steps. The actual total is probably closer to 200 million steps. My feet have run many thousands of miles, climbed many peaks, paddled me to many shores. They’ve steered me through amazing places on the planet, chased after inappropriate lovers, and stood me in good stead whenever I’ve had to beat a retreat. My toes have curled from ticklishness and embarrassment and pleasure.

My feet are no longer pretty, but to my eyes they are still gorgeous even if I can no longer reach them to paint the nails or to shave the hairs that spring forth seemingly overnight. Each one is different. Each has a story. Together, they have helped me to stand steady whenever life has threatened to topple me. Thank you, my dear feet.