Feet

It's been a week about the feet. Recently, as we were driving north through the Owen's Valley in California, I was listening to a podcast called Slow Home, and something that was mentioned during that podcast really stuck with me, "Live Where Your Feet Are". I loved that, especially as just a couple of weeks ago I wrote about "The Tug" and how we so easily get pulled out of the present moment and into the past or future. Live where your feet are was another layer in supporting us in connecting to being present.

Then I got to thinking about our feet and how they have this incredible anatomical design. A size seven foot can carry around a grown adult, navigate terrain, adjust when needed, often without any conscious effort. The arches themselves have an adaptability through over two dozen bones that absorb shock and transfer weight. As an evolving species, our feet were another sensory mechanism for gathering information about our environment. We had to be mindful as we evolved largely without shoes or paved/smooth surfaces. It was a necessity to pay attention to where we stepped as to avoid sharp objects, thorns, slippery patches, and wiggly poisonous snakes. If you've ever injured, knocked, bumped or scraped your feet you know how many nerve endings are gathered in this area of our body. It's necessary for us to truly get a sense of where we are in the world in literally detecting the shape and texture of our terrain.

And yet, we've lost touch with the incredible sensations that our feet can detect through shoving them into supportive shoes and walking on concrete. We no longer have the same primal need for this tactile information and, in a sense, have become less connected to the earth in a most fundamental way. The beauty of our yoga practice is that it gives us an opportunity to come back to living where our feet are on so many levels--physically, emotionally, and metaphorically.

One of the great gifts of being in the Eastern Sierras was that it encouraged me to be connected to my feet. We spent time hiking in Lake Tahoe as well as walking along the lakeshore. The sand of Nevada Beach was incredibly coarse as it's made from granite. I was walking along the shore barefoot and was completely aware of my feet upon the rough sand. It was as though they were being exfoliated with each step and the beauty of the experience is that I was fully present. It brought me to truly being in my feet, feeling the cool water and the texture of the earth. I felt every step and was grateful for each footfall in this beautiful location.

Let's take a moment to honor our feet and the millions of steps they have taken. Think about the daily trails you carve as you wander from place to place in the home, go to the market, or slip outside for exercise. Reflect on the more structured and intentional walking paths from boardwalks, hiking trails, beaches, bushwalks to the planned treks on the Camino de Santiago, Inca, Pacific Crest, or Appalachian trails. Our feet are under us for every step and most of the time we don't even notice. Perhaps we are so engrossed in our surroundings that we disembody and merge with nature. Perhaps we have a blister and notice every foot strike. Either way, let's find gratitude for how our amazingly sturdy feet have supported us every step of the way.

Live where your feet are!