If the Shoe Fits, Wear it Around the Store for 1/2 hour First Before Taking it Home. And Don't Settle For Something Cheap. And Don't Be Too Attached to What's Ratty and Dysfunctional.

I have a lot of shoes. Yet, out of all of the shoes in my closet, my regular rotation includes less than half of them. My criteria for everyday footwear are fairly rigid. Shoes must be cute, comfortable, and easy to walk in. Evening footwear criteria are relaxed; however, even the stilettos and platforms I gravitate to feature the triumvirate of cuteness, comfort, and walkability.

What are the other shoes still in my closet? There’s that pair of five-inch platform white patent leathers with the clear Lucite heels. I look fabulous in them, there’s just the small problem of the imminent threat of falling on my face any time I’m not holding onto someone’s arm while wearing them. There are the cute little brown pumps with the kitten heel. They’ve got man made soles, which means less “give”. That plus the way the arch is angled off of the toe makes the balls of my feet feel like they’ve been balancing on metal bars for five hours after I walk in them for five minutes. There are the loafers that make me feel frumpy and old whenever I put them on. There are the flats that swim in the hems of my pants. And there are the old shoes that used to be cute, comfy and easy to walk in but are somehow lessened with age: a broken heel, a ratty seam, or a funky shift in the shoe innards that cause some unknown object to poke and vex my foot, or possibly cause tripping or wobbling. In fact, a lot of the shoes I still have around seem to carry the threat of peril and injury, but I just can’t seem to let them go.

As to why they are still there, it’s complicated. All of those shoes hit high marks on one or two of my three criteria, but never all three. The white stripper shoes are comfortable and cute, they’re just impossible to walk in. The brown kitten heel pumps are cute, but uncomfortable, and therefore not fun to walk in. The frumpy loafers are comfortable and fine to walk in, but not so cute. And because all of those shoes have some of the qualities I’ve defined as the most important qualities to have in a shoe, I hang onto them. It's comforting to look in the closet and see all those available shoes. I'm used to them. They're familiar.

In other words, I’m settling.

I keep them in my closet, put them on, maybe even wear them around for an evening or a day, and then put them back in the closet, remembering why I don’t usually wear them.

Pathetic. But a security of sorts. A hanging onto the me I get to be in the stripper heels, the ladylike business shoes, the comfortable loafer. A hanging on in spite of the fact I could invest in safer heels, quality leather pumps, and zestier loafers. Not quite ready to make the commitment and brave the world of shoe stores to find the perfect fit, and not ready to let go of the old.

Sound familiar? We all do it with shoes, partners, jobs, routines, habits, you name it. The first step is to identify what is a good fit and what is not. Then perhaps there is a lag time where you survey what does not fit, and root out the truly bad fits. You may not be ready to let them go right away, and have to work out just why it’s so hard. You may not have the perfect fit yet, and have to make do with the good-enough fit of the moment, and be content that you have stopped jamming yourself into a bad fit. It’s likely that after all of that, even if you don’t know what your fit is, you still have one good pair of shoes.

And that’s all you really need in order to walk your truth.