When I saw these boots I felt like I assume
The fact that I used the word “lust” to describe my feelings about a boot is probably understood by many but of concern to some. There are those of you who still view shoes as foot wear (winkin’ at my girlfriend) to put a little distance between the foot and the ground. Ehhhhhh…I could see it if I viewed shoes for practical reasons only. I don’t. Shoes, like most everything, are an extension of self, a representation of mood, goals, personal image. That’s a far greater purpose than “these boots were made for walking.” While it is indeed just what they’ll do, there’s so much more to them.
Just so I don’t seem completely crazy, I’ll replace the word “lust” with “passionate” and break down a few other things that move me so that it’s obvious I’m a lot more well-rounded.
I absolutely LOVE to read. I resent the fact that this stage of adulthood I’m in doesn’t allow me the time to really focus in on books. I see now that being able to sequester myself in my apartment with proper snackage in my early and mid 20’s was a luxury. I may have missed a couple parties, but I’d strained that muscle well before making it to my early 20’s and no longer cared. There was nothing like getting completely wrapped up in a character, or a few, and the ways they worked through their lives. I loved identifying the kinds of words certain author’s chose to use, the simplicity or complexity in their dialogues. I loved re-reading a book that caused me to struggle once before (Liliane by Ntozake Shange), or that moved me so much that I break it out on a regular basis (The Autobiography of My Mother by Jamaica Kincaid). I read and wonder how the characters formed & how the author’s manage to stay “in character” long enough to complete a book. I love the way some authors focus on historical fiction and take on the responsibility of in depth study of a particular period in time and then bring it to life. Incredible. I wish for all children to have the ability to be literate and to love literature in this way.
When I was just shy of 5 I saw my little sister born in my parents’ bedroom. I decided on the spot that I wanted to do THAT. Prior to, at the age of 3, I was the 1 who wanted to look after all the “babies” wherever I was. Children mattered to me even as a child. Obstetrics morphed into child psychology which morphed into teaching. & here I stand. This is not the end of the line. My input in the lives of children will not always happen in rooms with ginormous white boards and dry erase markers. One day I will move beyond text books but I will still be deeply immersed in the lives of children.
African dance, to be most specific, but dance period. The relationship between drum, drummer, dance, & dancer is magical. Call & response is very real. The drum calls & I can’t help but to respond. It’s my church, tabernacle & choir. When I don’t worship regularly, I notice a change in the not so positive direction. I can be relationship-free, sexually inactive & somewhat disconnected from friends—but if I’m still dancing regularly I can maintain some semblance of emotional balance. Past me participating in it, I MUST go & see others dance. Dance performances are like gift boxes for me. You don’t always know what’s inside but it’s a joy to just receive. Watching dancers use their bodies to tell stories, convey messages, & simply give up the ghost is awe-inspiring and humbling. Human beings are incredibly gifted & all it takes is an idea. I’ll take a leap & assume that by me loving dance you can make the assumption that music is my love too, so I won’t waste a number on it.
This may seem like a given. Based on the more rounded shapes of Americans these days we all apparently love food. I don’t just mean I love to eat or that I’ll eat anywhere. I have discriminating taste buds and can be considered a food snob. Some people love burgers and will go to McDonald’s to grab 1 when the mood hits, or feel like they’re doing something when they go to a burger-specific chain like Fuddruckers. I don’t mean that. I’m the 1 who, depending on the environment, thinks potluck is a 4-letter word. I don’t know these people, the kinds of ingredients that pass in their homes, how many pets are allowed to walk their countertops, or whether they lick spoons & then double dip. If Lowries seasoning salt is considered a spice in your home, you can’t cook for me. If you’re willing to buy potato salad from the grocery store, we shouldn’t eat together. Cooking for me is a labor of love. You should be able to feel how much I care about you by the level of effort put into what I’m sharing with you. My heart measured in pots and pans.
Before this just gets out of hand, because I’m passionate about a lot of things, I just wanted to assuage (loogidup) any fears that I’m shallow & materialistic with my identity wrapped up in my a shoe game [proper]. Who don’t like nice shit? I’m not consumed by it though. I live far lower on the spectrum based on what I want vs what I’m willing to actually make the effort to get. These days, I’m weighing world travel over the shoe collection. Dining on meals in other countries is far more important to me than having a dining table. I don’t do debt (no, seriously) & I am proud to know I’ve never seen the inside of a pawnshop in order to pay a bill or keep a roof over my head. All things in moderation, including my passions.
Watch me move.