red shoes and fountains

Dear FutureMe, Today, the fountain in Dupont Circle was back on. I noticed this while I was hobbling to the sandwich place in my red heels, which I hadn't worn for a couple of months-- not since before I had dated Rob. See, it's good how things ebb and flow and work out as they do. When I was with Rob (although it's debatable just how 'with' me he was), words stopped coming. Ideas dried up. I didn't have anything to say. Self-expression hit the rock bottom of nonexistence. I filled a paltry number of pages in my journal, but they were all homely rants about insecurity, not feeling needed and wondering why it had to be gray all the time and not just black or white. Since that ended, there's been calm. The journal entries stopped, but I like it that way. They were a waste of perfectly good paper and ink, and I'll never read them again without wincing over time poorly spent. Instead, there have been new things-- new ideas, new desires, new plans for myself that are firecrackers of color and shape. And no worry, really. No doubts, no fears, no impenetrable gray areas that I can't look square and comfortably in the eye. No shyness over who to relay my thoughts to, and not a moment's hesitation about what they'll think. I can't believe I was sitting in such a box for so long, under the impression I was supposed to be enjoying it. It's not that I didn't think I was worth every second of a decent person's time, or that I deserved better. I'm not sure what it was, just that it's not going to happen anymore. So there's what I learned from Rob, who was too short to be comfortable around me in these spectacularly liberating high heels. Disregarding the fact I trip over everything and nearly break my neck every time I wear them. They're just another reminder that I stand out, and I'm not going to keep that on a shelf somewhere anymore.