New Kicks: On the transformative power of shoes

     I do not have a foot or shoe fetish.  In the normal course of a day I notice neither my own shoes nor others.  I do, however, feel them, have a physical sense of them, notice how they affect my posture, my gait, how my foot makes contact with the ground.  I am speaking here of the shoes I am wearing, though I tend to the empathetic, I have no sense of what others feel in their shoes other than to note how they stand, walk, how their feet meet the ground which may or may not be attributable to their footwear.  So my opinion cannot claim to be generally true, only specifically true.
     Recently, and quite by accident, I bought a pair of shoes.  I was at a shoe store with Renee who takes a long time to choose shoes, and I became impatient, a common state for me, so I amused myself by browsing through the men's shoes trying to find any that were not made in China, no mean feat.  It was pretty much limited to Bierkenstock.  Even the Sperry Topsiders, which I thought were upscale, expensive for loafers, were from China.  This task having been completed I returned to Renee, my wife, who had found a pair, six pair really, that she might purchase.  After a while the choices were narrowed down to one, which was a problem.  The deal was that if she bought two the second would be half off and so it made sense to buy two.
     Now it had taken a long time for her to find even one pair that she might buy and I was pretty sure that it would take even longer to find a second.  This knowledge, coupled with the certainty that I had exhausted all the amusements of this store led me to take action.  I found a pair of shoes for me, they were cheap and inoffensive, Sketchers, brown leather uppers and rubber or neo-rubber bottoms.  They fit, Renee liked them, the price was right, so I decided to buy.  As it turned out Renee bought no shoes so we didn't get the half off deal but the ones I got were seriously discounted, I'm guessing they were out of style, so it was ok.
     I've had these shoes for about three weeks now and they have become accustomed to my feet and my feet to them and this union has taken on a life of its own, as is often the case with feet and shoes, and has begun to affect my aspect and outlook when I am wearing them.
     There is a rawness to these shoes, the leather looking like hides pieced together.  They look, to me, like the footwear of a barbarian Celtic warrior.  This is problematic because the Celts usually went into battle naked but for a torc worn around the neck.  I think they also painted themselves blue but am not sure.  So if they were naked did that mean they did not wear shoes?  This, of course, led to a larger question about the true meaning of being naked.  Were the Celts truly naked when wearing a torc?  They have been described so.  This being true, then is one not also naked when wearing shoes?  If someone were to come up to you on the street wearing nothing but shoes, would you say he/she was naked?  The naked condition, in public, engenders approbation in the general populace.  The wearing of shoes would do nothing to lessen this approbation so I think it is reasonable to suggest that the wearing of shoes does not preclude the naked condition. It could therefore be posited that these Celts could be both naked and shod at once.  But the question remains: did they, in fact, wear shoes?
     Certainly one going into battle, especially on rocky terrain, would prefer to have some protection for the feet as a practical concern which would argue for them wearing shoes.  On the other hand one is right to question the practicality of a people who go into battle naked in the first place.  If we were to chose to protect a single part of the body I believe most would chose a part other than the foot.  So whether or not they wore shoes will remain a mystery in fact but I choose to allow my imagination to believe they did and so when I look at my feet in these shoes I see the extremities of a savage Celt.
     Now to the point: I noticed this morning, on the way to the Viking Bakery, that I was taller and broader and stronger than I had been in some time, that I was, simply, not myself, that I was, for some moments, Rhohan Pierce, a physically imposing young warrior who trod upon the earth as if it were his to take or toss aside.  Being neither young nor physically imposing, I realize this is an aberration, a condition, if you will, the Walter Mitty syndrome wherein the afflicted one's being is suddenly displaced by another whose life is significantly more exciting.  I am often subject to these fits though never before as Rhohan Pierce, so, other than the identity, the transformation came as no surprise.  I imagine this, something akin to multiple personalities or at least multiple delusions, should be cause for concern or even shame. It might also be disconcerting for those who are near and dear to my basic being to suddenly find me both present and missing but I am fairly adept at shielding others from it.  I do have some control, can pretty much stop it if I want, but the truth is, I rather enjoy it.
     So, with the help of a pair of Sketchers and with the music of Moby's Play throbbing in my veins, I strode the earth: a mighty Titan, but only for a short time.  It would have confused the people at the bakery if I had entered as anyone but myself.