The Other Shoe

My shoes seem to have developed an annoying habit. No matter which pair of shoes I'm looking for, one shoe is always missing. Granted, I'm not very meticulous about putting my shoes back where I originally found them, but I also am not like my children who progressively undress room from room until there is a trail of clothing from the front to the back of the house. And once I noticed this irritating phenomenon, I began putting my shoes in my bedroom closet, by the front door or under the mudroom bench. And every time I came back to them, one shoe had skedaddled. Perhaps if I lived in a house with other females, I could blame them for stealing my shoes one at a time. But I'm surrounded by boys. So, like the Grinch, I puzzed and I puzzed until my puzzler was sore. And then it hit me.

The absence of my footwear was an analogy about my life. All of my life, I've been waiting for the other shoe to drop and destroy any happiness or good fortune I might be enjoying. When I was doing well in school, waiting for the flip-flop of failure would keep me from working harder to move to the top of the class. When I was doing well financially, the pump of poverty kept me from doing something worthwhile with my extra cash, like travelling or investing. When I was in a relationship that made me happy, the boot of breaking-up held me back from giving all of myself, especially the soft marshmellowy middle, to someone else. And when it came to the writing career I so desperately wanted, the mule of mediocrity never let me devote the time and resolve necessary to pursue my dream.

Don't get me wrong. That other shoe has fallen a quite few times and really kicked me in the ass every now and then. But I think it's time to stop being afraid of the other shoe and focus on what I needed it for in the first place. To go somehere. To accomplish something. To be with the people I care about. So from now on, instead of roaming through the house, cursing that damn shoe, I'll just go back the closet and find another pair.