These Boots are made for Walking
There's something so empowering about strutting the streets in the right pair of boots. In my case, a pair of tan cowboy boots purchased in Nevada circa 1991. After spending the day wearing overstretched flats that make me flex my feet as I walk, hammering out a good heel as I took my pup for a walk felt really. damn. good.
Nancy Sinatra's These Boots are made for Walking playing naturally in my head, I let off steam from my extremely demanding day typing up every little detail of my job and work responsibilities in an salary relativity evaluation. 8 hours of brainwork. I am finished.
Leaving the school board, I checked my phone in the hopes of discovering a missed phonecall or another silly invitation from Facebook to attend an event I surely won't, but instead I see a text from the type of guy that Nancy sings about.
You know, with all my years of experience, with all the worldly knowledge I have acquired, you would think I would have done things differently. I tried new approaches, did a lot of homework, but still feel like my palms came up empty, nothing to show for all that I have put myself through except for a few extra nicks and scratches.
Perhaps it is so, and perhaps these are the scars that tell my story, only I hope one day to fill myself up with something so genuine and devoid of unanswered questions that it will have made all this aimless wandering worth it.
This is a pretty loaded post, and there's a lot more I'd like to say, but that damn "what if" reel won't shut up. So I'll turn Nancy up nice and loud and dance in my kitchen instead.
Peace and love to all,
Katie
Nancy Sinatra's These Boots are made for Walking playing naturally in my head, I let off steam from my extremely demanding day typing up every little detail of my job and work responsibilities in an salary relativity evaluation. 8 hours of brainwork. I am finished.
Leaving the school board, I checked my phone in the hopes of discovering a missed phonecall or another silly invitation from Facebook to attend an event I surely won't, but instead I see a text from the type of guy that Nancy sings about.
You know, with all my years of experience, with all the worldly knowledge I have acquired, you would think I would have done things differently. I tried new approaches, did a lot of homework, but still feel like my palms came up empty, nothing to show for all that I have put myself through except for a few extra nicks and scratches.
Perhaps it is so, and perhaps these are the scars that tell my story, only I hope one day to fill myself up with something so genuine and devoid of unanswered questions that it will have made all this aimless wandering worth it.
This is a pretty loaded post, and there's a lot more I'd like to say, but that damn "what if" reel won't shut up. So I'll turn Nancy up nice and loud and dance in my kitchen instead.
Peace and love to all,
Katie
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