After turning 30, the universe revealed certain truths to me. One of which is: you ain't gettin any younger, homegirl.
The other day I could no longer fake that I didn't need eye cream (after a brief moment of wait, are those, and wait, aagh?!?) and also could no longer fake that I didn't have an overwhelming urge for...comfortable shoes.
This was an aberration for me, as after a lifetime of ballet, running, hiking, rollerblading and general prediliction for high heels, the thought of not having blood blisters, clinched toes, water blisters, and seemingly permanent discomfort seemed impossible. But then I realized that...it was possible. Because it was my choice. Knowing that if I didn't start taking care of my feet (and by extension, my knees, hamstrings, and lower lumbar) physical discomfort would inevitably become a series of physical problems.
As I biked around today in comfortable sandals, it was nice to know that in taking care of my feet, I'm taking care of my journey. And that's a good step forward.