Here is my once-per-week-or-so phenomena. Shoes in their homes, aligned, semi-sorted and ready-to-go. I continue to be amazed and startled at the ease and fluidity with which shoe collections emerge into the household. I mistakingly thought we could make progress as the warm weather arrived. We can get rid of these winter boots and make some space in here. Ha! Now we have rainboots and multiple pairs of variated models of summer footwear. The summer flip-flop has evolved into the flip-flop, the croc, the practical sandal, the slip-on dressy sandal, etc., etc. We haven't started talking about soccer cleats. It is also the season for updated running shoes. So I must bump my other shoes on down the line. My "second pair" for rainy or muddy days. My "third pair" for hanging out in the yard when I don't want to wear my workboots. My "fourth pair" which must be thrown away? It takes a moment of disciplined practicality to throw away shoes that I have shared so many miles with.
A friend recently noted my pseudo-obsession with feats of discipline, or at least imagined feats. A moment of self-reflection followed. Why do I tend so heavily towards reigning the self in, securing the cargo, strapping down, quietness. Last night I remained mum - choosing silence over what I imagined as tired and angry thoughts expressed for no particular purpose other than to initiate an argument, something I was too tired to desire.
Ours is an age of excess. In every way conceivable. We have to get up at crazy hours and perform incredible feats of mental agility in order to stave off the effects of food excess. We have to buy books like The Information Diet in order to try and make sense of our excess media. Today it is excess shoes. Forgive me if I struggle to not become obsessed with discipline. I so badly don't want to exceed.
