When I was a kid, my mother used to take us to a specialty shoe store. We’d sign in at the tall giraffe stand, like putting our name on a list at a restaurant. As one of the salesmen became available, he’d call us and we’d be fitted for shoes, old-school style.
This week when I needed dress shoes, I headed to a large discount shoe warehouse. Finding nothing of value in my hard-to-fit width (someone once told me I could start cars with my feet, like in The Flintstones), I finally looked up a specialty retail shop. I surrendered to the fact that if I wanted to be comfortable as well as fashionable, I’d have to pay the price.
Stepping into the store was almost like stepping back in time. Three men waited on customers the old fashioned way, disappearing into the back room to find the requested style in the right size—God willing. I found a simple slingback in bone, and while a young man searched the back room stacks, I discovered a snazzier option on the sale rack.
Simon (I later learned his name) took pride in his work. He had an easy, yet attentive manner, and he knew the finer points of various shoemaking companies. He said I could get away with a half-size smaller in one brand whose shoes were built like a house. I enjoyed sitting across from him, perched on his shoe-fitting stool, surrounded by half-opened boxes. Being tended at a retail store had become a rare experience over the years, and I appreciated the one-on-one service.
Next to me sat a woman with long, dark hair who waited as her husband negotiated a simpler process with another salesman. When Simon disappeared again to find black pumps in my size, I turned to speak with her. No more cheap shoes, I said. You know what I mean? She agreed, and we shared solidarity in the value of self-care.
The pumps turned out to be the best dress shoes I’d tried on in years. I also bought the slingbacks, knowing they’d last much longer than their lesser-quality counterparts.
It wasn’t until I was driving home that I remembered an assignment from my Awakened Wealth program. We were to peruse our environment for what we were tolerating—a faulty showerhead? A closet door off its track? A trunk full of junk or a pile of unopened mail? It could be a relationship that had become taxing or a job that no longer inspired our creativity. Whatever we were tolerating, we were asked to fix, change or address in a loving way. This would release energy tied up in old, worn-out habits, letting go of attachments to circulate a better quality of life.
Whether it’s finer footwear, a more organized desktop, or a deeper alignment with our life’s work, renewed energy pours into the space created by releasing what we’re tolerating for a refreshed—and welcomed—upgrade. Any ideas what yours might be?