Comfortable shoes

I am loving the sensible shoe movement, the shift away from heels. The comfortable pants movement, the inclusion of a bit of elastic at the waist. I am embracing my boots, my wide-legged pants, Michael's old linen shirts (un-ironed of course). I want to be able to stomp through anything, squat down if I need to, let my belly move in and out with each breath. I don't want to feel constricted in some areas or inflated in others. I just want my body to be able to move within my clothes, without constantly readjusting them. I was thinking about my Dutch grandma, my short wide Oma, in her home-made dresses that were made for service, not fashion. I am not necessarily wanting to emulate her, umm, granny aesthetic, but I was looking at my Tevas and thinking that they are the sort of shoe she would probably get around in, way before they were cool. So I wrote this :)

So comfortable they are cool! Pic: New York Times

My Oma would like these shoes.

I wonder how it is that I am wearing senior-approved footwear

and am not even embarrassed by it;

Instead, I am raving about the benefits

of the orthotic sole and convenience of velcro straps.

Oma would also love these pants

with the soft, wide waistband that straddles

the soft part between my hips and my ribcage.

You know the place,

that section that you usually have to decide

if it will go above the waistband or below it.

With these pants, these super comfortable pants,

I don't have to choose!

They cover it all!

Anyway, as I walk the dog after a long day of writing,

wearing my supportive shoes and comfortable pants

a young woman jogs past me.

She is gorgeous with youth, golden in the way

that only collagen and functioning hormones

can produce.

I'm human, so I admit to coveting her smooth thighs,

her flawless skin.

but I do not covet her outfit.

the tiny, tight shorts, gathered at the back

to enhance her bum.

The barely-there crop top exposing that tricky middle bit

that is not yet tricky for her.

I do not covet the gaze of the man walking towards us,

whose eyes slide off me and stick to her like glue,

who turns to gaze at her from behind.

That feeling of being ogled, watched, judged -

I do not miss that.

I am somewhat sad

that it has taken 53 years

to discover how much freedom there is

in allowing myself to expand right to my edges

instead of holding myself together,

messiness and matter bound and wound.

I turn my comfortable shoes towards home,

a bounce in my step,

grateful for the shucking off

of the need to look, to be

anything other than who I feel like being

today.

With love

Amanda xx

❤️

PS. don't get me started on my toe socks!!