My feet hurt. Now, of course this can be caused by factors aplenty, but generally when my feet hurt it's because I was partaking in some type of event where I didn't feel totally comfortable. I was participating in the ever-fun shenanigan commonly referred to as "fake it 'til you make it." When my feet ache it is a direct connection to my participation in something I would have liked to answer "no" to when given the RSVP. But alas, I am twenty-six, I want to seize the day, I don't want to miss an opportunity, and god dammit I want to YOLO! So while I contemplate if braving the snow to head to East End Avenue where I can afford a foot massage is a good idea, let's get into it...
Waking up the next day and dreading the second when my tootsies touch the turf might have been caused by a pair of shoes that looked pretty in the storefront, but in reality were the feet form of the Ms. Trunchbull's chokie. I knew it the second I swiped for them, but chose to ignore the signs. Then I was invited/forced to go to an event in which I would get/dread a chance to wear my feet jewelry, thus being hoisted a few inches from the ground placing all my (ample) weight on my tip toes for the entirety of the night. I'm not sure if men really understand the torture of the high heel. Imagine this - you spend an entire night standing on your TIP TOES. You are expected to walk, dance, and sit down gracefully while completely ignoring the fact that the other half of your foot is just out of commission. Feel like whining about how that tie is constricting your breathing now? ...Hold on, just lowering myself from my soap box - it's a real pain in these heels... Anyway, I tried to have fun, I tried to smile and dance and engage in conversation, but my mind was utterly infatuated with the almost-palpable sweet relief of plucking off my shoes at the end of the night. Nine times out of ten, if I am forbidden from wearing flats (the foot's BFF4E), it is an indication that I didn't want to be at that party anyway. Not solely (shout out to that word play) because of the preferred footwear, but because fancy parties and proper conversation topics are things I like to avoid.
Very rarely the soreness might stem from over-exertion. I find myself in an exercise kick that has lasted almost a month - a true athletic feat (points for double puns) - and my dogs are just barking. Take a break they beg, sit on your rump with your feet up they plead, but because it is inevitable that this obsession will soon end I choose to ignore this advice. My feet are hurting from working out, and if you know me, you know this is a classic "fake it 'til you make it" tried-and-true Traci pattern. Hardcore anything ain't really my scene and clearly my feet are there to remind me of that.
So why do I FITIMI? (Everything else is put into cute little acronyms these days, so I'm starting my own)...Let's be real with each other, friends, my couch is probably one of my favorite places on this green earth and no shoes are required. So why do I leave it? Why do I put myself in situations where small talk and foot pain seem to be the norm? Because, and this is going to be sad to admit, a lot of life is doing something you don't want to do. Of course, sometimes it turns out better than you could have ever imagined. We've all heard the stories of the guy or girl who would have rather hung him/herself from the rafters than go to his or her co-worker's 40th anniversary party. But low-and-behold he/she ends up meeting the love of his/her life there. Bells ring, hearts are a-flutter, and two babies pop out before the 45th anniversary party is even in the planning stages. Sure, that happens. However, I'm not sure if you've caught on to this yet, but I am a realist. All I'm leaving with from that party is a stomach ache from the passed hors d'eouvres and, you guessed it, high-heel-caused swelling in the balls of my feet.
But you can't miss the party. And you can't tell Jim and his lovely wife Frieda that you will not be attending. How will you face him on Monday when you need to borrow a stapler? It's just easier to plaster on that smile and go. I've faced this dilemma a lot since entering my mid twenties, and have yet to master the art of saying no. On the flip side, my small talk skills are not to be messed with and my knowledge about other people's dogs is bordering on expert status. Apparently dogs have personalities and each owner or "parent" wants to discuss it with as many strangers as they can find.
After I am invited to something my first instinct is to come up with an excuse of why I will be unable to attend. However, that's no way to live life. The couch will be there, but the dinner/exercise class/work party where you know no one will be just a missed opportunity. Sometimes it's worth the foot pain just to gain an experience or meet someone new. Because in the end, new is really what it's all about. People uproot themselves from their jobs, their cities, their relationships, their apartments all the time to chase that feeling of new and exciting. And, at first there is a hell of a lot of FITYMI (thought I wasn't going to hit you with that again, you're crazy). But over time, the job might become a career, you might have a love affair with your chosen city, the relationship you ended led to something even better, and that apartment slowly filled with trinkets and memories that make you feel at home. I need to remember not to immediately turn to the negative. After all, in the past five years I've done three out of four of those things, and let me tell ya, life certainly could be worse.
Maybe this morning I will chose to do something I've never done before. Perhaps in the end I will be rewarded for my eagerness to put myself out there and do it with a genuine smile. I will embrace faking it, for perhaps when I do make it, I'll make it big. And if all goes well a true adventure could arise, changing my life forever, for the better...
Hmmm, if life-changing adventure is in the cards for today I better sport my most sensible footwear.
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