What Shoes Are You Wearing?

This week, a simple question kept finding its way back to me.

What shoes are you wearing?

I don't mean the ones by the door. I mean the ones you've laced up for this season of your life — the pace you're keeping, the role you're playing, the version of "fine" you've been walking around in.

Do they still fit?

Are they pretty — the kind you chose because they made you feel like yourself? Are they sporty — built for movement, for getting you somewhere you actually want to go? Or have they quietly become something else? Something you pull on out of habit. Something that pinches a little more each mile and you've just... stopped mentioning it.

Here's the thing about shoes that don't fit anymore. You don't usually notice the moment they stopped working. You notice the blister. The limp you've started hiding. The way you take the stairs a little slower and tell yourself it's nothing.

Sometimes the hardest shoes to take off are the ones that once carried us exactly where we needed to go. We mistake gratitude for obligation and keep walking long after they've stopped fitting — as if loyalty to who they helped us become means we owe them our feet forever.

There's no neat answer for when to set a pair down. But noticing that they've stopped fitting is not nothing. It's a place to stand.

So I'm not asking you to throw anything out. I'm just asking you to look down.

What shoes are you wearing? Do they still fit the person you're becoming, or only the one you used to be? Are they carrying you toward something, or just keeping you upright so no one worries?

You don't have to change them today. You just have to notice you're wearing them.

That's usually where it starts.