If you didn’t want to read any essays about feet, and you decided instead to click on this conclusions button, OR if you have just read one to four essays about feet and you would love to know what the point of all of this is, you have come to the right place. Here we go:
Feet matter. Most of the time, they are our offering to the earth. They are the place where we say, “OK, world, I am a part of you too, I guess."
Feet matter. You cannot really go to the gym and have a super rewarding time without feet. It’s not that it’s impossible, it’s just that for most people who were born with functional feet, I think we take our feet for granted.
Bodies are simultaneously freaky strong and stupidly fragile. If this contradiction wasn’t so extreme, it probably couldn’t be true.
I will sheepishly speak in the first person, with an inkling that this may, too, apply to you: I live inside my story of myself so stubbornly that I can’t always see I am in it, and this is a shame. Like, I often insist I am outside, walking around in a national park, like, “Wowwwww, look at this PARK where I DEFINITELY am,” when really I’m stuck inside the windowless house that I constructed for myself, as though it would keep me safe. And maybe it does, maybe, but what is safety if you never get to see a perfectly smooth rock or the side of a hill overwhelmed by wildflowers or a hundred birds rising up?