They were big, and golden; an amber kind of golden. Big, and gaudy. Flashy. A novelty. I'm not really sure how my mom got them. These were about size 11 heels, and my mom was around 5½.
All I knew at the time, was that they were awesome. They were not the same, boring, every day, sensible shoes that *I* had to wear. Brown or black, mom always said. "All you ever need to compliment an outfit, are either brown, or black shoes. Otherwise you end up wasting money, foolishly."
They were always tucked away at the very back of my oldest sister's closet (and she was a size 8)... and every time they came out during a Spring closet cleaning (and for some reason, never disposed of), it was like Christmas morning.
I remember the day I discovered them. Mom seemed almost embarrassed to own them, and seemed to try, rather discreetly, to just put them back where they were. But their glint, and glitter caught my eye... and a love affair of sorts began. I eagerly asked if I could try them on... for role play, I said. I must have been about 6 years old. Amazingly, she easily caved in, with an "Oh, alright... but only for a little bit," which she sternly declared. "And be careful in those things, don't fall and get hurt."
They were just enormous on my little feet, of course... but who cared! They had the tallest high heel I had ever seen... and well, you put them on, you tried to prance "elegantly" down the long hallway with the mirror at the end, and you tried hard not to trip! And at 6 years old, no one really thinks you're going to "doll up," and run off with a boy, while wearing size 11, 'loose woman' kind of heels, so your mom LETS YOU play in them! Oh, joy!!
I loved those heels. I loved everything they represented.
But I grew up... and I never bought my own pair of gaudy, flashy... glittery heels. I was always caught up in the sensible, brown or black, Catholic-school-approved type of shoes. I had almost forgotten the memory of those golden beauties, until about this morning (to tell you the truth). I don't know why I chanced remembering them, now.
Maybe... just maybe... because recapturing that bit of morning joy; that childhood love affair... That's how the Blue Heel Society makes me feel.
You see, it was never comfortable walking in those shoes... and you were always an inch away from falling on your face! Those things were not exactly the stuff of Hush Puppies' commercials... but that was never the point. The point was being fabulous, being a Queen, being the Grande Dame, being... a rock star. Being someone you NEVER thought you could be... with just a pair of shoes. Being... a fabulous diva.
As adults, we tend to lose some of that imaginative edge... And it does seem a lot harder, now, doesn't it? To be inspired to reach those heights? To live out our dreams? To even get up, and get going... because we have a different kind of catwalk, these days. Some mornings, we can barely manage it. You know which walk. The Diabetes Catwalk.
Figuratively, or not, we wear our own painful heels, every day... and we walk down our own long, mirrored corridors, on our own slick flooring, trying hard to "elegantly" strut our stuff. Trying hard to seem every bit the poised people we were meant to be. It's really not an easy walk... and frankly, some of us seem to do it with so much more ease than others. (But boy, if the shoes could talk! I'm sure they'd tell another story...)
The diabetes catwalk is probably, by far, one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. A painful walk, in painful shoes... while facing myself in the mirror, down a long corridor. Facing the mirror; facing the music. Facing a life long, seemingly endless journey.
You and I... We will never wear the same shoes. And we were never meant to, but in a way, we do. We wear the shoes of faith, of pride, of endurance, perseverance, of love, of joy... of hope eternal. The shoes of pain; of tears, sometimes, of anger, exhaustion, and grief... of resentment. We walk them down slick corridors, down gravel roads, down inclines, down every path that life imagined... They fit our feet, in their own unique ways... and they are... their own burden.
But my friend, though your shoes are different, if they walk beside mine down that long, crazy, winding corridor of life... they give me wings. A shoulder to lean on, should I trip. They make that long walk, all the shorter... all the more fabulous, all the more doable. I can be anyone. Do anything; balance on anything. I am, suddenly, the Grande Dame, the fabulous diva, the rockstar... the sexy thang.
Yes, I am proud to be a Blue Heeled Wearing Diva... and I am even prouder, when you are wearing yours, right next to mine. Walk with me. Just for a mile. Or maybe just two. I promise I'll catch you; catch you if you choose.
by Lizmari
http://theangrytype2diabetic.blogspot.com
http://twitter.com//lizzmariposa
