Our shoes are my shoes.

That neighbor wearing the old Crocs who doesn’t smile because they have bad teeth.They feel the constant judgement of the public. But they’ve been too poor for too long to have had dental care.

The neighbor who wears nice sneakers that are getting worn out but who never knows how long the money will last. They wake up each morning their body leadened with dread.

The neighbor that laces up their old combat boots. They have seen things they can’t forget and survived. The scars still pull in their dreams.

That neighbor down the block, in their garden clogs, that silently battles mental illness by making sure that flowers fill their yard. Beauty is something they know can be lost so they treasure it.

The neighbor wearing their non-slip work shoes who is suffering with a bedbug infestation. They hide the bites but the trauma and exhaustion darken their eyes as they check themselves over once more to make sure they don’t have any bugs on their clothes.

The neighbor in their pricey designer shoes that gets stalked by an ex. They refuse to cower even though they know they are the focus of someone bent on evil. It’s an endless battle over an empty casket.

The neighbor in the second hand slides who doesn’t know how they’re going to feed their kids, yet somehow finds a way. They feel ashamed that it’s cheap pizza and instant ramen but the kids never mind.

The neighbor whose cheap work shoes hurt their feet that has had their babysitter steal their car. They cried when the police laughed at them and refused to help.

The neighbor, in bare feet, who leaves every thing they know behind in order to try and find safety for their children. The darkness of the unknown is less fearsome than staying.

The neighbor wearing their old, tattered Birkenstocks who only feels safe around the poor, and the homeless because unlike the rich, they are who they appear to be.

I have been blessed to spend a while in each of their shoes and learn the lessons taught by circumstance.

They’ve taken me down highways I never expected to travel. Where righteousness loses its pretensions is right around the corner, we don’t have to go far. The path continues much further.The strangest thing is that we all fit in any of those pairs of shoes. It’s very uncomfortable at first but we adjust. Where did these shoes of my neighbors take me? They took me to myself. I know who I am even when I’m in the darkest moments, I remember where I’ve walked, so I can find my way again.

When I see my neighbor now, I let that part of me that wants to be anything other than helpful, remember that I don’t stand on any pedestal where I can cast judgements. It hasn’t been a journey that I would have chosen for myself. I am sure that I would have chosen the road paved with gold instead. Foolish me.