Walking in my socks

I think I can safely say that the best thing I got from having a mental illness is a sense of perspective. My motto is: What’s the worst that can happen? Because the worst has already happened, and I can deal with anything now.

For instance, I realize it doesn’t matter if I get a bad haircut or gain a few pounds when I’m PMS-ing. The hair will grow back; I’ll lose the weight. And time, like sand through an hourglass, will move on.

I’ve also learned that it’s not really important how I come across to others. I mean, I like to behave with decorum, but after so many years of being socially inappropriate, I can’t worry too much if someone thinks I’m a little strange.

Today, walking home from the psychiatrist, I was suddenly stricken with an urgent realization: If I don’t get my feet out of these stupid high-heeled clogs, I’m going to be crippled for life. But I was still two blocks away from work. So you know what? I just took the clogs off and walked in my socks.

Philly is a big city, and people here are used to all kinds of weird sights. A woman walking in her socks is really the least of it. No one even blinked. I put my shoes on right before I got to my building, which was good timing because I ended up running into my colleague’s husband. We smiled and said hi, but it might have been more awkward if I was just wearing socks.

But who cares, anyway? I’m healthy, mostly. That’s all that matters.

liz | 4:24 PM | Uncategorized