I read an article recently that recommended walking with bare feet. I’ve been dutifully trotting outside each morning while I wait for my coffee to brew and walking on the little gravel patch on the side of the house.
Back and forth. Bare legs. Bare arms. Bare feet.
The rocks are hard and cold on my tender feet. It hurts. I feel the nerves in my legs responding and muscles contracting. I feel where I am unstable and where I overcompensate. It’s fascinating and disturbing but answers some questions about my body. Doing this makes me feel very vulnerable. I become aware of things I need to change and of the temporal nature of life. It’s also making me feel stronger and more alive, day by day.
I’m finding that love is a lot like this.
I am wildly in love and it’s busting me open. Not through grand gestures but through quiet immanence. Through being together in the soft, gentle places and exploring the depths. I am withdrawing my projections and learning to communicate to relate instead of control. Asking more questions and making fewer assumptions. I feel where I am unstable and where I overcompensate.
We went to the beach the other day and I intentionally kept my legs bare so I could walk on the sand. It was stormy and cold but I decided to go into the water and stand there. I waded in almost up to my knees and told him I wanted to wait until it started hurting. I love that feeling. The wind was whipping my hair around and rain was stinging my face. The little pin pricks started exploding in my calves and I looked back at him. He was smiling at me. I left the water to be with him.
As we walked back to the car, I stayed barefoot. He said, “Be careful of glass and stuff.” Old me would have been defensive and said, “I’m fine!” New me smiled, said, “Thank you,” and felt genuinely grateful that he felt protective and concerned for my well-being.
It’s good to let myself feel. To be open and bare.