Freedom

 The moment when I took off "The Boot" for the first time in two months and walked on my own two feet was... wobbly?  It felt like I had just stepped off a cruise ship after months at sea, or perhaps ridden a gravity-scrambling rollercoaster. It felt as if my injured foot were somehow longer than the other one, like maybe it had been made out of clay and someone had been pulling on it all this time. Like Gumby. Or, remember Stretch Armstrong?

It was also exhilarating. I was kind of amazed and impressed with myself, witnessing my own first steps, my glorious moment of freedom. Tears welled up when I felt both feet firmly on the ground with nothing but the soles of my shoes in between, knowing what this meant, a single-step journey to start my next 1,000 miles. My ever-supportive niece-slash-wing woman who witnessed it seemed genuinely proud and excited for me. Now I am slowly weaning off the protective Boot and enjoying increasing amounts of Sneaker Time every day.

I've been finding myself titillated by my newly recovered freedom in odd moments - even as I turn onto the congested highway... Look at me driving all by myself! Ah, the glow of the beautiful brake lights! Here I go, driving towards my destiny! Watch as I stride confidently in the direction of my dreams, and notice how smooth and almost even my gait is as I stop in the kitchen for a snack, back in my regular shoes... Hey, look at that! I made it all the way around the block on my own steam! 

Freedom is driving to the hardware store on a whim. Freedom is going home to plant spring bulbs because that is what you most want to do in that moment. Freedom is taking a walk to try and comprehend the gorgeous fiery highlighter colors of the sugar maples in late October, to taste the wind, to watch the sunset clouds turn to cotton candy pinks and blues. Freedom of movement... freedom is movement.

Comments

  1. Oscar LeGroucheNovember 7, 2021 at 7:40 AM

    As your formerly cane-using, mobility impaired auntie, boy, do I relate!

    ReplyDelete

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