Wearing my shoes

It's hard to walk a mile in someone elses' shoes. Even if they wear the same size and you like the colour, it's difficult. They aren't your shoes. After a while the toes begin to rub or the heels, your ankles get sore. But it was a new and different experience to walk in someone elses' shoes for awhile.

I think I've received more personal emails in the past 4 weeks than I ever had. A lot of people have emailed me to tell me that they like this Blog, or that they have their friends now reading it, it's been printed off and shown to elderly friends and relatives without computers, that they admire what I'm doing or just simply that they like the idea of someone they know seeing places they haven't seen.

I've found all those emails encouraging and I want to say thanks. Thanks because I've deliberately not talked on this blog about the stuff that's been difficult on this trip; being heckled walking down the street, being afraid, or being cold or hungry or discouraged, lost and confused, injured or sick or just simply missing my friends and family back home. It's a better discipline to give thanks for your blessings and then the bad stuff seems less important.

But the negative things still happen and at times I've lost my confidence, been miserable rather than inspired, confused rather than thankful. Occasionally I've received bad news in my inbox and it's made the snow blow 10 times colder, my footsteps 2 times heavier, my wallet seem 5 times lighter and the sun 20 times further away. It's important to remember that words have power, particularly when that's all I have from home. So as I come to a pause in my wanderings I wanted to focus on the good messages that have made the snow sparkle, the sun gentle, my loonies (Canadian dollars) stretch further, and my step a skip and send out a big thankyou to everyone who has sent me an encouraging message over the past four weeks.

You've tried to walk a mile in my shoes. To me, it's made all the difference as I pack my increasingly heavy bags (I blame the iceskates and coats), remember my toothbrush, pocket my passport and with a big breath, press on.