Just when you think you know yourself, something happens that makes you question EVERYTHING

Hey there, awesome readers!

Life is full of surprises. Like realizing your feet have been lying to you for decades. And here’s how that story goes…

Recently, my someone and I celebrated our sixth-year anniversary. To mark this milestone, we decided to do something we both love: hiking. Mount Rigaud was our destination, and this time (unlike last year’s ambitious November hike), we opted for a shorter, more body-friendly trail. Because, well, we’ve come to terms with the fact that we’ve reached THIS age. How did that happen? Don’t ask.

But before we hit the trail, we made a quick stop for a new pair of hiking shoes. Mine were long overdue for an upgrade, and we didn’t know it at the time, but it would be the best investment of the day due to the trail we ended up on, which was littered with rocks.

Also known as “the potato field”, the story is that God punished farmers who worked on Sundays by turning all their potatoes into rocks. Yeah. Whatever. What kind of God would do that? I mean, everyone knows that God prefers turning water into wine.

Oh! Story idea! A fairytale about a rebellious farmer who outsmarts divine intervention by planting wine grapes instead of potatoes. The twist? The vineyard becomes so magical that the wine makes angels sing (literally) until demons crash the party for karaoke night. Instant chaos. Instant classic.

Anyway, where was I? Right, shoes.

So, while we were shoe shopping something happened. Before I get into THAT story let me just say that I’ve been a size 8 my entire adult life. It’s something you just know about yourself. Like that you’re right-handed, or that your hair enjoys publicly humiliating you on hot summer days. But when I finally came across a pair of hiking shoes that I loved (mostly because they were on sale), they didn’t have my size. Bummer.

But with a gust of optimism, I decided to try on a pair of 7 1/2s, and to my surprise, they fit perfectly.

As I stood there looking down at my feet fitting into a pair of size 7 1/2s, two emotions held me hostage. I say “hostage” because I was paralyzed by the sudden realization that I was now a size 7 1/2.

The first emotion was fleeting: I felt like Cinderella and her magically fitted glass slippers. That’s right. I felt like a freaking princess. To rephrase that as an emotion, I felt… princessy.

The second emotion I felt was confusion. Like… my feet had betrayed me.

How could this be? I’ve been wearing size 8s for decades!

Have my feet shrunk?

Is this the beginning of some weird reverse-aging process that no one warns you about?

Or worse, have I been walking around with slightly floppy shoes my entire adult life and just accepted this as normal?

Oh, but the questions plaguing my brain didn’t stop there.

If I can’t trust my own shoe size, what else have I been wrong about?

Is my favourite colour even turquoise?

Do I actually like pineapple on my pizza?

Am I wrong to believe that I’m completely safe from serial killers since they only seek victims who wear matching bra and panties?

Am I secretly a cat person?
WHO AM I?

Isn’t it odd how something as trivial as your shoe size can make you question your own identity? But maybe it’s a good thing. Life throws these little curveballs (sometimes round rocks) at us not to unsettle us (work with me here), but to remind us to stay curious about ourselves. Maybe there’s more to uncover, more to learn, and yes… more to laugh about when we realize how much we’ve been winging it all along.

So, here’s to six years, new hiking shoes, and embracing the mysteries of who we really are… even if it means downsizing.