Mud Boggin' on Foot

     In my quest to become more active, I've been seeking out a variety of places to walk and hike.  Today's adventure took me to a local state park.  I found one abandoned road that turned out to be fairly short and it had a few obstructions with downed trees.  I went through and around the obstructions, hoping that the path would continue far enough to satisfy my curiosity about where it ended up.  I was disappointed to find, after trekking around the largest obstacle, that it merely dead-ended in a clearing.  Still, I was proud of myself for not letting the obstacles stop me.  I found a way through and around and now I know that particular path is not a good one.  

     So I turned around and went back.  Something I LOATHE having to do.  I want things to have an outcome without repeating what I already did.  But I sucked it up and went  to another path.  The next path went about 20 steps in before heading up an enormous hill. I know my limits pretty well and so I placed this path in the "maybe later" mental file, turned around AGAIN, and sought out my next conquest.  

     By now, I had stumbled upon a posted trail map or two and knew what trail I was gunning for.   However, I have a penchant for finding what I think are unique ways of getting to places. The whole "Road less traveled" thing rules. This is what always gets me into trouble, and I know it.   Yet I insist on doing it anyway, because you never know, it might be more fun. 

     I decided, instead of following the nice, easy, asphalt-paved road with its perfect yellow and white stripes, I would follow the path around the perimeter of the small lake.  And it was good until I got to the part where the path was closely sandwiched between the surrounding hill and mist-blanketed lake.  That's where the mud was hanging out.  Not wanting to go back (remember my loathing of such a course of action?), I decided to get through the first patch as best I could and it would probably not be so bad on down the line.  Big miscalculation.  I kept going, and the mud patches just seemed to get wider and deeper.  However, by now, I had come through so much that I really, really hated to turn around and face the same mud through which I had already slogged my way.  

     All this muddy trekking resulted in one shoe full of mud and the other mostly just muddy on the outside.  I started thinking about shoes, and realized that my opposition to owning more than a few pair may need some adjustment.  I'm not one of those people that needs an entire walk-in closet just for my shoes or a line in my budget labeled "shoes."  I've always figured 3 pair are plenty:  sneakers for cold weather, flip-flops for warm weather and a neutral pair of dress shoes for the occasional funeral. 

    The mud bog hike got me to thinking that perhaps my life is in a different place now and I need to invest in a pair of shoes for the occasions in which I might find myself in messier terrain.  I know I'm not going to stop exploring paths less traveled to simply avoid a little mud.  The cold-weather sneakers simply don't fit the bill for hiking unknown paths. 

     So today's tidbit of truth is this:  Paths in our lives lead us to sometimes feel the need to expand our "shoe collection,"  as each season of our lives brings different responsibilities and different roles.  Often those responsibilities and roles come without much choice in accepting them, so we as well gear up for them and forget about turning back.