Slice 353 of 365
Sometimes I try to be vague here, because I’m speaking of a particular person, and I’m not sure if they’re a reader. Sometimes I give details, even when I’m positive the person is a regular reader.
This is one of those vague days. I started out thinking of responding to one singular incident, but as I thought about it, it became clear that it could reverberate for many things.
It has come to my attention that you recently walked in my shoes. I was wondering if they were comfortable? I think they probably didn’t fit quite right. They’re old, and I’ve had them for a long time. Did you make it a mile? That’s the saying right?
“You can’t really understand another person’s experience until you’ve walked a mile in their shoes.”
I think the terrain of that mile should also be considered. Also, whether you have on my shoes or not, and even if step in my existing footprints, the journey will still be different for you.
I ask these questions because your obvious callousness, and flip response and attitude to the situation showed a complete lack of understanding of my life at all, current or past.
What color were the shoes? Did you notice? What kind of shoes were they? It sure seems like you put on the wrong pair. If you’d worn the correct pair, you’d know what it was like, at least for that mile.
See, the problem with that is, that there were many other miles along that path that lead to that one mile where you decided to jump in, with your appraisal of the issue.
You made sweeping assumptions of my whole life in 5,280 feet. Probably a fifteen minute walk if we were to take it literally. That’s an insanely short amount of time to understand someone as a whole let alone one small event (a mile), even if you are wearing their shoes.
I only have a few pairs, but if you would like to borrow a pair for longer I’d be happy to oblige. If it were to make you understand better I’d gladly give them to you.
I’m guessing we buy our shoes in different places, and for different reasons. My foot apparel is simply to cover my feet.
Also, I go barefoot a lot. This means you do not see, feel, or bear the scars, that the souls (yes, it’s a pun) of my feet have endured from my journey. All of which my shoes hide.
You have the luxury of removing my shoes, walking away in a different direction, and going on your merry way, with only a limited view and understanding. If your commenting could be just as limited that would be helpful.
So, the next time you decide to comment on my life, take my shoes, borrowed or given, and shove ’em in your mouth instead.