Early this winter, before the cold set in and the snow headed south (both with a vengeance, I might add), I wore my hiking boots to a basketball game. This is significant because, up until that evening, I had never worn those boots anywhere but Yellowstone. That night, though, it was snowing—a thick, clingy snow that turned the roads and sidewalks into ice rinks. Given that I am not the most stable goat on the mountain (that would be my husband), it would have been irresponsible to set off on the long haul from the neighborhood where we park to Hilton Coliseum, where we would witness an Iowa State Cyclones basketball victory.
To be clear, I own snow boots. I even like them. But—and this is a big but—I couldn’t figure out how to wear them with my jeans in a way that wasn’t frumpy. And I wasn’t willing to look frumpy. Time was running out, and I was getting a little panicky when I realized: when it came to responsible footwear that fit my vibe, I had other options.
I could wear my hiking boots.
Technically, they were hiking shoes, but they were water-resistant, with a substantial sole and good traction. Not only would they not destroy my outfit, but they were also appropriate for the conditions.
These were boots that carried me well.
After parking, as usual, far, far from the coliseum, I waded across the grass through the snow to the nearest sidewalk and, as we accident-prone folks are prone to do, took one timid step. Then another. And another. Then, because my footwear of choice was doing its job, I began scurrying through the blowing snow and below-freezing air toward our destination. We hadn’t gone far before my feet began to hurt—first one, then the other.
What in the world?
That’s when I remembered. The last time these shoes had graced my feet was the September before, on the Seven Mile Hole Trail—down into the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone and back out again the next day. It was on day two that my feet hurt in a way I’d never experienced. As soon as we reached the vehicle, I took my hikers off and saw, to my horror, what looked like little baby bunions on both feet. I switched to trail sandals for the remainder of the trip. When we got home, I put my hiking boots away and, after about a month—when my feet finally stopped aching—I forgot all about them.
That was a mistake.
I loved those shoes. Green, low-profile, and stable on rocky surfaces, they suited me. Even so, they had no business going back in the closet. My hikers had run their course. It was time for them to be retired. Turns out, what’s true on the trail is often true at home.
Sometimes, good gear stops being the right gear.
I wish I could say this is the only discovery of things that have run their course in my life, but if I did, I would be lying, or at least blind to reality, which is almost as bad.
As a home-educator, I knew I was working myself out of a job, a process I laughingly referred to as forced retirement.
I’ve spent my life (with the exception of occasionally sleeping in during adolescence) as a morning person and a self-starter. These characteristics have served me well both as a writer and as a home-educator. The latter being a job I knew I was working myself out of–a process I laughingly referred to as forced retirement.
Now, on the far side of both that retirement and midlife, I’ve finally begun to see this season for what it really is: a long life transition. It isn’t a pivot, it’s a path from where I’ve been to where I want to go.
Truth is, though, I’ve gotten a little lost along the way.
Not only have I quit waking up as early, starting anything has gotten harder and harder, and, for the sake of transparency, harder. Recently, someone pointed out that I’m still trying to manage my life like a morning person and motivate myself like I did when our three kids lived at home. I’ve been trying to live a new stage of life using old systems. I assumed it was a motivation issue, not a new circadian energy reality.
Systems have seasons.
What hadn’t occurred to me was that, like my boots, my old way of managing my life had run its course. I needed a new footing for a new life. I’m pretty sure I’m not alone in this.
I listened to my feet and let my hikers go. Recently, I accidentally discovered some new ones. The current generation of hiking boots tends toward the cushy side. These particular boots weren’t too hard. Neither were they too soft, which, oddly, is possible. They’re just right.
If you’ve been wandering in the wilderness of living a new life with old systems—take heart. There’s something out there for you, and sometimes the first step is realizing the boots need to head to the curb, not the closet.
take heart & happy trails ~ Natalie
If Yellowstone fits your vibe and midlife fits your stage, you might enjoy Field Notes. Delivered monthly. Access it here.
Learn more about Seven Mile Hole and the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone.