It’s been a long pandemic, and I believe that between March 2020 and the beginning of November 2021, when my synagogue began cautious in-person services again on Saturday mornings, I had worn my high heels maybe once or twice. Not a lot of occasions to get dressed up, alas.
If you’ve never seen me in person, I’m short. So it’s not surprising that high-heeled shoes have been part of my outfit for many years, although thankfully never on a daily basis. I thought they were fun and pretty, made my legs look sexier, made me look taller and more imposing, etc. I wore them on any occasion that called for a nice dress. My feet hurt afterwards, but after all, we must “suffer to be beautiful”, right? That’s just how it is.
Like all of us, I’ve been on a journey for the past couple of years, and have been giving a lot of thought to the weighty questions of who I am and what I want to achieve in this world. With my 60th birthday fast approaching, the truth is I probably have less time ahead of me than behind me, although the traditional Jewish birthday greeting is ad me’ah v’esrim – you should live to the age of 120, like Moses. My grandmother, of blessed memory, said that was a curse and not a blessing. I can’t blame her – by the time she reached her eighties and nineties, there was no one left who remembered her as a young person.
With this in mind, I have been choosing to abandon behaviours and choices that don’t bring me joy, to quote the great Marie Kondo. One of those was makeup – if you’ve seen any of my recent videos, you may have noticed that I am not hiding behind a mask. I take care of my skin, of course, but I have chosen not to decorate it. I still colour my hair, since that does bring me joy. Who said we had to be consistent?
This past Saturday morning, as I got ready for synagogue, I debated the shoes. I love how they make me look. I despise how they make me feel – slow, just a little unsteady in my gait. My legs may look sexy, but they don’t feel powerful. What is more important to me? Would I become an invisible, little old lady if I didn’t suffer to be beautiful? I had to find out.
The opposite of high heels is not ugly clompers. I pulled on a pair of cute little ballet slippers, and my feet felt infinitely better. I could walk with purpose and power and still feel well-dressed. Nobody looked past me because I was a few inches shorter.
This may appear to be a small and trivial matter, but in many ways it’s huge. I feel like I am reclaiming my power, step by step.
How about you, what behaviours are you leaving behind these days?