42 = The End of High Heels

Somehow my 42nd birthday came and went without my managing to attempt to turn the day into a national holiday. I actually had it in my head that it'd just be low key this year, but somehow the Universe (and my wonderful friends!) conspired to deliver quite a lot of fanfare in spite of this!

In the course of three days, I was treated to not only some wonderful company and inspired gifts, but also some seriously great food, including the acclaimed San Francisco institution Zuni Cafe, as well as other trusty East Bay favorites Dona Tomas and Burma Superstar, and new favorite Plum! More good food than a person has a right to eat! More good food than a woman who's going to try to squeeze into a wedding dress soon should even be attempting to eat! But, I did my best, oh yes I did!

One of the great things about turning 42 is that I feel like, for better or worse, I'm getting more comfortable at living in this body of mine, even when it gives me trouble. And BELIEVE ME, it gives me trouble, despite my best efforts to be good to it.

On my birthday, I was walking down the street looking live Olive Oyl, holding on to my honey's arm so I wouldn't trip as I walked in my mild 2-inch heels that I'd just bought. Mother f*cking DANSKO'S for f*cks's sake! Supposedly any old broad should be able to walk in these things! But alas, not me. I'd already twisted my ankle while walking in these shoes no less than THREE TIMES the previous weekend, and this was my last ditch attempt to try to train myself to walk in heels.... but I had to ask myself: why bother?!

Because really, the truth is, I'm a sneakers & cowboy boots kind of girl, and I have been for years. And in all my years of living, I've never had anyone in my life think less of me because I wasn't wearing heels, or more of me because I was. And as I gingerly tiptoed down that San Francisco street, desperately afraid of falling and twisting my ankle again, that realization sank in hard. In fact, my honey even asked me who exactly were these people I was trying to impress with my heels? Because he likes me no matter what.

So as I turned 42, my present to myself was the decision to ditch the heels and all the pretense that comes along with them, and focus instead on the things that really matter: the fact that I've got people who love me no matter what, and that I get to enjoy so much goodness on this earth and in this life. I've got quite a nice collection of cowboy boots and I just might be wearing them when I get married, and I'm happy about that!