Red shoes for me have always been pure delight- my shiny object- and a deep recognition of and a salute to my deepest self.

As a little girl artist, given the choice, red shoes would always be my choice. Over and over again.

I'd wear those babies until they were falling apart.  I did not wear play shoes.  These were my play shoes- why would I chose anything else?  Looking down at them gave me satisfaction. Pleasure. Relief. I ran through the woods, puddles and house on my winged shoes.

Love me some red shoes.  

And now, as a woman who has been around the block a few times- I'm looking for my red shoes again.  Even as I write these words, chills are running down my arms.  I'm on to something.  

Something is brewing.  I know this feeling and I know better than to ignore it. 

I've GOT to find my red shoes again.

The world has some bat-shit crazy stuff going on.

The attack in Paris has left me reeling.  The city of love. Of beauty. Of sparkle and imagination. I can feel the world grieving.  And then, my thoughts go to something unimaginable- my sister, niece and nephew strolling those very streets the night before.  I cannot think of it.  I will not. Not today, and not tomorrow.  No comfort lies there.

And I am searching for comfort.







Do you need to break up with your old life?  The way you can tell if you do, is you get in touch with how your body felt while reading those words. Did your stomach lurch?  Did you feel sad? Excited?  Scared?

Yeah, I felt all those feelings when I broke up with my old life.