2- Way Wrong Shoes

I should have been happy for a long time. Happy is such a bizarre word to me. I’m not really sure how to gauge happy. I don’t remember waking up everyday just thinking about how unhappy I was. It was more like a cartoon, where there was a permanent grey cloud above my head and I just took a while to realize that there were sunny days within my grasp.

There’s not one thing making me unhappy. And, I don’t think ‘unhappy’ is the right word, I can think about to a million happy moments over the past year. Those small moments just weren’t sturdy enough building blocks to build a life that I’m content in.

The only way I can describe it to you is that I’ve been wearing someone else’s shoes. These shoes are the wrong size. I stumble around trying to keep up an image of having everything together, but I’m just a moment away from tripping over my feet. These shoes that I’ve been wearing are not only the wrong size but mostly just the wrong style. Nothing about them says “hey, I’m Karlene.” It’s nothing awful, nothing to be in a hizzy about. I’m just not the military boot kind of girl. Sure, they protect my feet, and get me where I need to go. I’m functioning decently in them, something just feels off. I don’t want to feel off anymore. I want to feel like me. I want shoes that fit my feet and my style.

Maybe that analogy makes sense. Maybe not. Maybe clothing means more to me than others.