When Your Boots Don't Fit Anymore

This morning on the trail, I noticed my hiking boots don't fit anymore.

Well, that's not quite true. They fit the same way they always have. My left foot was landing directly on rocks at the base of my toes, that soft fleshy area, like there was nothing between me and the trail. My right foot kept hitting the front of the boot with each step.

The boots haven't changed. I have – I am more aware now of that which isn’t fitting.

I kept walking as I was halfway in when I took notice of it – and the more I walked the more uncomfortable it became. One foot in front of the other, ignoring the signals, focusing on the view instead. And what a view it was - wide open spaces, native plants, clear pathways through fields of saguaros and different cacti. Everything green and thriving in its rightful place.

That's when it hit me: what I'm seeing outside is what's inside.

The cleared paths aren't just on the trail. They're in me. Less clutter, less noise, less of other people's energies taking up space that's meant to be mine. I can see and hear and feel things differently now. More clearly. From a higher perspective.

But I'm still wearing boots that don't fit.

I've been thinking a lot about patterns lately. Specifically, the pattern of doing the same thing over and over while hoping for a different result.

You know the one. Where you keep showing up to the same meeting, the same relationship, the same situation, thinking "maybe this time it will be different." Maybe this time they'll actually show up. Maybe this time the space will feel better. Maybe this time I won't feel like I'm walking on rocks.

So the question becomes: In what way am I doing that to myself?

When you start hearing yourself - really hearing what your body has been saying all along - something shifts. The discomfort isn't just physical anymore. It's information. And when you finally take action based on that information, when you actually honor what you're feeling instead of pushing through it one more time, there's this sense of peace. Freedom. Like you've finally stopped forcing your foot into a boot that stopped fitting miles ago.

Here's the thing though - repetition itself isn't the problem.

Some people thrive on the assembly line. They love the rhythm of doing the same thing consistently, finding mastery in the repetition. And that's perfect for them.

Some people need the assembly line for a season. The structure serves them, teaches them something, and then one day they realize they need to shift.

And some people can't even fathom being on that assembly line to begin with.

I've been all of these at different times.

For years, I did the same things over and over in different jobs. The people requesting the reports might have been different, but the content was similar or the same. Processing donations - exact same actions, day after day. None of this was wrong when it worked. It was an assembly line of sorts, and I was fine with it.

Until I wasn't.

Something happened. Something shifted inside me. The thing that used to feel like stability started feeling like stagnation. What used to be comforting rhythm became noise I couldn't tune out. I needed to feel like I was continuing to move forward, continuing to grow, and the same patterns weren't giving me that anymore.

Now the key question is: "What am I looking for right now? Is it the same as before, different, or somewhere in between?"

Back on the trail, my feet are still talking to me. The left one landing on rocks, the right one hitting the front of the boot. These boots carried me well for a long time. They're not bad boots. They just don't fit who I am now, how I'm moving through the world now.

I could keep wearing them. Keep walking the same way, ignoring the discomfort, telling myself it's fine because it's what I've always done.

Or I could listen.

The cleared paths around me, the native plants thriving in their rightful spaces, the wide open views - they're showing me what's possible when you make room for what actually belongs. When you stop forcing things that don't fit anymore.

So here's what I'm asking myself, and maybe it's worth asking yourself too:

Where in your life are you continuously doing the same thing, making the same choice, maybe without even realizing it? What are you looking for? Is it the same as before, different, or somewhere in between?

And most importantly: Are your boots still fitting, or have you outgrown them?

Because sometimes the bravest thing you can do is simply stop walking in shoes that hurt. Sometimes freedom is just listening to what your body has been trying to tell you all along, and finally - finally - honoring it.

The trail will still be here. But you might need different boots to walk it.