Courtesy sheriffmitchell / Flickr
As I was waiting for the start of my yoga class this week , I sit on my mat admire the brightly colored toenail of my gent yogis . splash of scandalmongering , turquoise , orange and regal danced across floor as the studio began to fill — a unfeigned meter reading that impudent - flop weather is in full golf stroke . finally , my attention came back to my lustrelessness and class set about . I stood still in mountain airs then swooped down for my first forward faithful , when I came face - to - face with the tragic condition of my own niggling piggies .
At first , I want to run and find a couplet of wind sock . My cracked , varnished feet with scrap of dirt stuck under the nails — which shamelessly tap my bad wont of walking everywhere , including in my garden , barefoot — looked homely compared to the perfectly pedied feet of the Lady around me . What right did I have to stand up here among a year of the fine - footed ?
I indulged in a few moments of vanity , pitying myself and my homely feet , when ( thankfully ) I snapped out of it .
What ’s wrong with having crack , stained feet with bits of dirt stuck under the nails , anyway ? Sure , they could apply a petty lotion on the heel and perhaps a single file to the nail , but their rough spirit can only imply one thing : I ’ve really been somewhere .
That moment my pity turn away from myself and , rather , toward the girls who gas balmy , clean feet with bright paint nail . Those poor girls do n’t lie with what it ’s like to walk through the garden crap to dress blooms off plant for a refreshing spring tea or splash barefoot through the coolheaded piss of a forest creek . They might have never gotten blisters from hours upon hr shuffling through rows of pea , but they also never had the chance to savor the crush of a pod straight of the vine , either .
Each of has a story to say , and the story is written across our feet , our hands , our faces and our hearts . Our imperfections let on our successes and our failures , our struggle and our celebrations . A body without imperfections is the same as a life without adventure . And who wants that ?
It can be prosperous , sometimes , to get sweep up in compare ourselves to others , to finding fault in ourselves the things others do so well . That ’s a severe path to start venturing down , though . Do n’t do it . As farmers , our lives are literally contaminating at times and our bodies have to endure many hardships . rather of putting wind sleeve on your feet or makeup over that cicatrix , wear your imperfectness proudly . permit them to tell the share of your story your sass are ineffective to . And remember , without those mark of the passing time , you would n’t be the person you are today .
Get more Farm Inspiration Friday on HobbyFarms.com :
« More Farm Inspiration »
