my shoes fit me

The drive to and from my work is about 20 minutes each way.  In the mornings I enjoy listening to a local radio station for news, gossip and an occational catchy tune.  My evening commute is spent on the phone with family members or friends I haven't heard from in awhile.  Today was a usual day.  On the drive home I called on a good friend I'd chatted with a little over a month ago.  The conversation was nothing out of the ordinary.  There were similar jokes exchanged, usual questions asked, familiar chuckles heard, and as always, my friend left me with something to chew on. 

"Wouldn't it be crazy if we could swap lives just for one day?"

At the time I laughed it off, not really grasping the depth of this thought.  But now, as I attempt to put my thoughts to bed, I find the notion to be the extreme of deep. I begin to wonder...what would it be like: to walk in the shoes of a stranger?  to think differently?  to feel differently?  to see differently?  to literally wear some other person's skin?  I've often prided myself in the skill of searching to understand others by imagining myself in their place.  But to physically lace up the shoes of another would be a whole new set of sticks.

I bet wearing a different pair of shoes for a day could be a great adventure.  In another pair of shoes, I could easily see the things I've always wanted to see.  In other shoes, I would find my self standing in places I've never stood or running in races I'll never run in.  I could meet people I wouldn't otherwise meet.  In newer, nicer, snazzier shoes, I might even enjoy life from a different point of view.

On the other hand, wearing other shoes could also be painful.  I might find myself sitting on a curb I'd never imagined myself on before.  I may end up stubbing my toe on things I didn't know existed.  I could see myself wearing holes in the soles by choices I'd make.  There is a strong possibility I'd end up loathing my new kicks and wishing for my comfortable old ones back.

The truth is, Void, as I lay here in bed mulling it over, I find I'm content in the shoes I wear now.  I like them.  I'm proud to call them mine.  It's no lie - they do give me trouble from time to time.  Sometimes the laces are a little too tight.  Sometimes they don't always go with the outfit right away.  Sometimes these shoes have a mind of their own and I feel I have absolutely no control.  But in the end, they fit me.  They work for me.  They keep my feet dry.  They don't hurt or give me blisters.   I hate to be selfish, but I don't think I'd give my shoes away to anyone.  Not even for a day.  My shoes I wear are a gift.  They were given to me so I could live life in them.  Other people's shoes don't always fit. No, I'll stick with shoes that fit.