sheryl bee

practicing wholehearted, soulful living

One, Two … Put on Your Shoe (or sock?)!

Confession. For most of my life, I’ve tried to do the right thing. I feel inside that I’ve got a rebellious streak, one that keeps me free from conforming to what is expected of me. But, in reality, I follow most rules. I call my mom regularly, brush my teeth before going to bed, walk on a green and when driving, always use my signal.

Thursday morning last week, I’d walked to school, in full -35C winter gear and fumbled into my dark classroom with foggy glasses.  At risk of over-heating, I hurriedly removed the layers of snow pants and fleece, unwrapped my mummified face, then I took my boots and woollen socks off. I grabbed my indoor shoes, Steve Madden, Londunn, short, brown, suede, and my (also brown) socks to dress my feet for the school day. Nothing peculiar here. Then I looked down at my feet.

steve madden londunn

What I saw shocked me: I had one foot completely dressed, sock and shoe and the other was pitifully bare. TRUE STORY … I had done what I’d never done. Maybe it was my frosty eyelashes, or my semi frosted brain, or maybe I was preoccupied with the brilliant lesson I’d planned for the day. Whatever the cause for my lapse, I had done the thing that my brain says every morning NOT to do. EVER. All of my life I’d followed the protocol: Sock, sock. Shoe, shoe. Always. Without fail. That’s how you dress your feet.

And there I was, in my classroom, preparing to change some lives, and I’d done the sock, shoe.

I felt a rush of panic. What do I do? Do I remove the offending shoe and put on the 2nd sock, then the shoes? Do I quickly sock and shoe the other foot, the one that is languishing in its bare nakedness? Do I talk about this faux pas? What to do!

I conjured up the hero of the “sock, sock; shoe, shoe” movement (I’ll call it a movement) and did what really was the only option. I put my other sock on and then the other shoe and got on with my day (I was, after all half way through the process). That was four days ago. I’m still thinking about it, and of course, I’ll go back to doing it the right way “for the rest of [my] life!”

All is o.k. though, because I am o.k. And I don’t have to think about the process again for twenty-four hours because during this crazy -20C heat wave (warmed up from -30C), I’m barefoot in my apartment, writing to you, and watching  Archie’s lesson on dressing feet.

What about you? Are you a sock/sock; shoe/shoe? Or sock/shoe; sock/shoe? Or do you forego footwear altogether?

Hugs xoxo

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“One, Two … Put on Your Shoe (or sock?)!”

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