High on Heels

I am a woman. Always have been, always will be. Yet, there is one thing I never quite got about being a woman, and that is High Heels. I can still remember the joy in my 8 month pregnant sister's voice as she related to me how good she felt all night long wearing this killer dress and 3 inch heels to a friend's party. Seriously???! I can't balace on 1 inch heels, let alone adding two more inches and a 40 pound watermelon to the front side of me. Why would someone do that to themselves?

In all honesty, I have tried hard to fight this aversion of mine. I mean, I see how lovely and poised women look when they are striding down the street wearing those spiked wonders. In fact, I had actually envisioned my move to Portland to be a metamorphosis in many ways, one of which was always dressing nicely and wearing heels. (after all, these people don't know me yet, so when would be a better time to change my image?). Well, that ideal changed after I quickly discovered two things about my life in Portland: 1. rain. 2. public transportation. Let's face it, when you have to walk multiple blocks to your next bus stop, only to find it approaching as you are a half mile away, sprinting in heels just doesn't work. When you add liquid diversion hazarding your run, off come those heels and on go the poise-deadening, yet highly functional boots.

But this post is all about being high on heels, and so let the transition begin! This past week I have begun my addiction. It was my first business trip, and, in order to mask the rising panic of feeling like I was an impostor, I wanted to look especially corporate. Two pairs of heels and a stack of silk shirts, trousers, and suit dresses filled my carry-on.

My first day dressing up (and yes, I did feel like a kid in an adult's closet), I was hooked. I felt powerful, strong, and alluring. There was boldness in my step and confidence in my eye. People immediately engaged me in stimulating conversations, and several workers at the hotel went out of their way to accomodate my requests.

Day after day that week, I started needing my heels. I found myself wearing my work clothes long after the conferences ended, making excuses to walk through the mall just one more time, and proudly wandering the aisles of grocery stores looking like I was in a board meeting.

What was this magic elixir I was imbibing? It was the drug of femininity.

Where does that leave me today? Well, it's still likely that you'll see me on the streets wearing my flats or my flip flops, but there's a hesitation now when I dress. It's no longer second nature to grab for that tshirt and those slides. I now linger near my dress shoes and (gasp) my cardigans. ahem, cardigan. But even on those days when I am running (in my flats of course) for the #56, I feel strong... because I know I am wearing heels on the inside. You see, I am a woman.