Boots and Sand…I was at a women’s conference in West Palm Beach this weekend and went for a sunrise walk on the Atlantic to see Mama Ocean in my boots.
As soon as leather touched sand, I felt a course of energy flow through my body…so familiar. Home, like when I set foot on North Carolina soil last summer. “The moment she stepped on the grass, something changed in her body…universes collided within her, the 48 years of travel and education and trials and learning, a family raised, fortunes lost, adventures had, tragedies borne….all collapsed in a moment in that contact with the earth of her Carolina. And there was a distinct motion downward, as if the cells and the very marrow in her bones looked toward the earth below her feet in unison and shouted “HOME”. At that infinite moment, which took all of 1.5 seconds, she understood what it meant to belong to the land. A singular moment of recognition, but not in a mind way. It was her body that told her she was home.”
That’s what happened when these old boots touched the sand this weekend. Tears sprang from my eyes as I made my way to the water, my heels sinking into the softness. As I got to the edge of Mama Ocean, I traced my fingers in the bubbly surf, being careful not to get my boots too wet. My wet fingers followed the urge to cross my body, head and heart and belly, as if blessing with Holy Water. More tears.
The Fry Tall boots I bought almost 30 years ago have seen some serious action and are good, old friends. They’ve been in the desert in Arizona and New Mexico, the mountains of Colorado, the Pacific coast, the Texas prairies, and the beaches of the east coast and gulf. They’ve held up pretty well; only had to resole them a few times! Apparently they’re now selling for $750…weren’t quite that much 30 years ago!
I looked down at my boots while the sun rose, casting a rosy orange glow on the sand that has collected at the rough toes. It struck me that there was a dichotomy here…these old boots built for rough travel, now dusted with sand standing in front of the Atlantic…and realized that this was a perfect picture of the spectrum that is me and every explorer.
Sand on my cowboy boots. This is who I am. An Outer Banks Blue Eyed Indian Cowgirl. An adventurer, a seasoned traveler, and woman pioneer with lots of stories to tell, a Guide to the Frontier Inside (and out). Here to serve women in the world who are also adventurers, finding their way and willing to fearlessly explore their inner frontier.
And I realized that a good pair of boots are a great metaphor; that for all travel, we want trusty boots, to take us over the hills and through the valleys. Boots protect our feet, the very important part of us that ensures we get to move across the landscape. Boots help us navigate the rocky terrain, protect us from critters, help us keep our footing on uneven ground. We can depend on them to ease our passage as we explore.
For inner exploration, our desire to know ourselves is what propels us forward, but our travels can be made so much easier (and more effective) when augmented by tools, skills, and good equipment. Our Frontier Inside is where all the good stuff is…our gifts, strengths, special powers…our Original Design. To harvest those gems we need to go on a quest, and I wouldn’t go on any quest without the right equipment. Good boots, like an open mind, will take you anywhere…What kind of boots are you wearing?
