Last night I was cleaning out my closet getting rid of old shoes and laughed b/c I realized that I was "fall" cleaning my life as well as my closet. I've recently ended things with the man whom I thought I would spend the rest of my life with. We were together for almost 5 years. Yes, we were married, but, it all came down to that simple fact: I can not be in a non-relationship relationship with someone for a prolonged period of time. I can't share hopes and dreams, talk about childhoods, whisper sweet nothings, share myself with someone who doesn't love me. It doesn't make sense to me, and frankly, I hope it never does. I respect myself too much to have a sustained sexual, emotional, intellectual connection with someone who can't appreciate the beauty and wonder that I add to their lives (2007 update, I wrote this in September of 06, yet I find myself in a situation almost identical to that as before. I am talking about the words that are in bold print above...what a freaking joke!). As I went through my shoes I had memories of all of them and had a hard time letting go. It's the same for men, isn't it? I pulled out my black, silk high heels, with the great little ankle ties. Sigh, just like the doctor. Glamorous, beautiful, head turner, but wow, they really hurt and I never felt stable in them. I was always excited when I put them on, but by the end of the night I was glad it was over, and they always left a little lingering pain. I'd forget the pain every time I looked at them again, but they never were comfortable. Time to let them go. Next I pulled out my Kenneth Cole kitten-heeled boots. They reminded me of a certain musician. Sleek, stylish, felt great on my feet, made me look like the urban sophisticate I knew I was. Only problem, they didn't go with anything in my closet. I bought them, I paid the price, and I loved them, but somehow they just didn't fit with my life and my lifestyle. Try as I might to make them work, they just stood out and reminded me that sometimes we can really love something, but love alone doesn't make a great outfit or a great relationship. I could have taken them to a cobbler, had the heels changed, the soles changed, or bought a bunch of new outfits to go with these boots, but neither choice was good. Change is only good if necessary, and neither these boots nor my wardrobe really needed change. They were both fine, exactly as they were. With this realization I let go and put the boots in the donation pile. Somewhere out there is a woman with exactly the right clothes to go with these beautiful boots. She will see my boots and instantly fall in love. The boots will be in the right place at the right time, I wish them many beautiful outings together. Recently, I went on match.com (just to amuse myself, go figure) and realized that, just like shoes, new technology allows us to shop for men. The variety is amazing, the selection enticing, but I know I have limits (and standards, which I will NEVER lower again. I did the last time and look what it got me), and want to make good choices. This time I'll pass at the glamour girl shoes that cause ingrown toenails, calluses and sprained ankles. Pain is never good, no matter how pretty the shoes. I'll pass on the exotic choices that don't fit with who I really am. As much fun as it is trying them on, if I can't wear them they just remind me of what's missing in my life. I want real shoes for my real life, my real clothes, for me. Somewhere out there is a beautiful shoe. Well-made, well-designed, meant to be worn. They won't fall apart with a little dancing and walking. They'll add style and sophistication to all the outfits I own, and inspire me to buy new things to expand on my already perfect wardrobe. I'll know them when I see them on the shelf. The sight of them will make me smile. I'll walk by and then come back. Not afraid to take a chance, I'll try them on and walk on the carpet. Turning this way and that I'll realize that they are beautiful and feel as though I've worn them every day of my life. I'll buy them and put my old shoes in the bag. Do you really think Cinderella ever wore anything else once she found her glass slippers?
