I have no recollection of it, but my mother often reminded me, when I was a toddler I had very wide feet. She special ordered “little tiny boxes” for my chubby feet from Iverson’s shoes. She mentioned it as we browsed the Dayton’s shoe department many years later, looking for the long and narrow, as we both balanced out that way. 

Who would have thought you could have two completely different situations with the same feet? It’s with all of living, I suppose, you just have to keep learning. 

The truth is, I don’t even remember what I was trying to get through when I painted the “Nothing here I can’t rise above” woman. I’m sure it felt unsurpassable at the time, and yet… here I am, giving her (me) the new responsibility of rising above, again. 

We never finish. And I guess you could look at that as a problem, or the gift that it is — another chance to rise up. Another chance to stand tall, on the once wide, now narrow feet that carry me strong. They remind me again and again, with each step that says, “What haven’t you gotten through?” 

Years from now, I will look back and wonder why I wrote this today. Smiling. Higher still.