I looked
down at my feet the other day contemplating hereditary bunion syndrome. I’ve
got them. I’ve got knobbly bits on my feet. I contemplated options and as most
people do these days, consulted Dr Google to find what is commonly known as a
bunion splint. If anyone wants to add me to the list of most inspirational
people of all time right now go ahead, bunion life is right up there right? Anyway,
so yep, I didn’t help myself by wearing the wrong shoes when I was younger and
dancing a lot repetitively nevertheless it was always going to happen. I was
always going to end up with strange feet. After completing one google search, ever since
my computer life has been riddled with adds for bunion splints. Those bots just
don’t want me to forget that I had a down moment about having super- duper
aching feet. It’s been so much so that at least once a day now I’ve started
having a thought; “time for a bunion splint” and it goes to show just how
heavily advertising has hit the subconscious and subliminal stakes.
Perspective
is part of a healthy mind and full soul. I decided to reframe the whole concept
of feet and my mind flashed back to the past. I once knew a boy in my class with one foot.
It went unnoticed by the whole class that he had one foot because he used one foot
to such athletic ability together with his prosthetic nobody even noticed. One
day he asked the teacher if he might show one person and that person happened
to be me. I wasn’t put off. I was confused. I was confused because with one
foot he could do more than what I could do with two. He was really great with
sports anyway. I was friendly with that boy because he was funny and smart as
well. I think we had been line partners and perhaps we played together during
the rainy day inside play timetable. Maybe he didn’t want to hold onto his
secret anymore because secrets are lonely and bare. Remembering helped. I often
thought of that kid because he obviously reframed “imperfection” into finding
an alternate solution.
I was a
late comer to the internet in some ways. I resisted social medias and even
email in its early inception. I recall when working, asking colleagues, to just
come down and talk to me rather than send an email because I needed faces or voices
or smiling or even crying close up. Later I had a bit of a dive into the
internet and some of it was a complete cess pitt of online trolling,
inappropriate product placement. stereotypes and money grabbing paraphernalia. Other times I
did come across a sweeping change around our outlook on “perfect”. I have other
voices that come back to me too, not only the ones about having to have a
perfect bare foot pedigree and a face without laughter lines. They come back,
those voices, in stops and starts to
restart a doubtful day…
“I have no feet and I’m flying the circus
rings with my hands. See my fly, twist, turn and be simply stunning ”
“I wheel
not walk but here I am doing an aerial wheelchair display”
“ I’m small
but sexy.”
“I’m tall
but gentle”
“I’m non symmetrical
- bite me, so too was the glory of a Picasso painting”
“ I’ve got
knobbly bits but my voice is smooth as silk.”
“I’m older
but my dreams are still young.”
“I failed.
I’m scared. I’m not afraid to say so.”
“I am deaf
and I can dance what you all hear with beauty unbound.”
…and on I
could go.
I’m not
perfect. My body is not perfect. I’m ok with that. My body lets me down and my
body lifts me up. I’ve been sick all week with the flu and sometimes such small
knocks are a reminder of the gift of healthier times and of perspective. It
also reminds me of some of the stories I’ve seen close hand or on the internet
of personal health struggles in mind and body. It reminds me of people who seem
to find something in the reframing process that works, that comforts or that
sparks a light in the keeping on going, in the inch by inch, one step at a time, one rotation
of a wheel forwards and on, one swing through the air or a tap on the keyboard,
a breath slowly in and out, a smile and a goal set, a thought, an intention set
to follow the sun, the next day and on.
Ps. I went
out for a walk down on our beach holiday dosed up on cold and flu tablets. I
watched the sun set. The colours were vivid and more vivid and then vivid again.
The shapes were everywhere and changing, grooves of light, puffs of fluff like melting
pain into a bright
starburst and ready for the night to lay down
its completely affordable jewelled star studded carpet for all walks of life to
enjoy or for us to hear the sounds of the nocturnal dance that gives life and
love even as we sleep.
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