A couple days ago an old friend expressed shock that I no longer have the calluses I once had on the soles of my feet. I used to walk barefoot everywhere, most prominently on my paper route of six years and to and from school; my calluses (and rejection of the authorities who declared I was required to wear shoes in school for my own good) were legendary.
I miss those calluses too.
Well, I told myself this morning, If you want calluses on your feet, you have to earn them. So this morning I walked barefoot through the neighborhood to the corner store to get some milk.
I love walking barefoot. It feels like you're giving your feet a massage. And you notice things you might not otherwise, about the world close to the ground. There was a small convention of mid-to-large snails on a stretch of sidewalk that separates two parts of a wildly tall yard garden. Pale cream or dark brown spiral shells on creatures either hanging out or traveling the treacherous sidewalk crossing before the warming and drying out of this softly rainy day.
I got my milk and smiled at the snails as I passed back by. Barefoot, milk in hand and shoes tucked under the other arm, I earned my own smile from a woman walking her dog. Most people are delighted to see someone walking barefoot. If they aren't moved to lecture them, that is.
No lectures this morning. Just a nice walk and lightly tingly, nicely relaxed feet. As expected, the soles feel like they're healing from being lightly scuffed. Which is just what I was going for. :)