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BY JENNIFER SILVERMAN
I don’t know about you, but sometimes I forget I possess various talents once they begin gathering metaphorical dust.
Recently, I rediscovered one such forgotten skill -- my ability to run in very high heels.
The dash went down at a celebration honoring several loved ones. From a distance, I spotted one of my favorite people in the world, my elementary school principal.
Despite being dressed up and donning to-die-for stilettos, I made like a Derby filly and sprinted at the sight of her.
It didn’t occur to me I had been reckless in my pursuit to reunite - until the event photographer complimented my knack for running in sky-high heels.
He then cautioned that I could have succumbed to a variety of injuries like chipped teeth, a cracked head, skinned knees, or (gasp!) a broken shoe heel had I taken a tumble.
Of course, none of these hypothetical maladies would have complimented my special occasion wear. That would have been a serious problem.
The brief chat struck me as odd; I was not remotely aware I had done anything unusual until it was brought to my attention.
During my years as a New Yorker, I sprinted in sky-high heels all the time.
Yes, it was hazardous. Yes, I could have fallen. Yes, my assertion that running in heels is a skill could be up for debate. Nonetheless, it was a necessity when fashion emergencies abounded.
Since I have not worn the to-die-for footwear in years, I forgot I knew how to walk in them, much less run in them.
Eventually, when life no longer revolved around fashion emergencies, the beautiful shoes existed merely as neglected works of art adorning my closet shelves.
As soon as the stilettos once again graced my tootsies though, I miraculously felt that everything I was before, I was again.
Nothing was lost, and I suddenly embraced an iteration of myself I haven’t identified with since I left Manhattan.
Why is it that we seldom see ourselves as we truly are, all at once?
In essence, each of the many versions we’ve embodied over the years comprise our current whole.
Our accomplishments from way back when, still belong to us, as do our values and traits which have evolved over time.
The New York City me often feels like a long-lost friend immortalized in framed glossy photos, frozen in time.
It may seem odd for something as trivial as shoes to give way to an aha moment, but in my world, shoes are typically rather inspirational.
The seemingly insignificant incident of recalling my ability to run in stilettoes reminded me of the many experiences and learned skills I tend to take for granted.
As the night went on, I made a formal speech for the first time in many years to the 400 or so attendees, complete with a few divorce ditties that surprisingly brought down the house.
(Check out a snappy clip of one of my Marvelous Mrs. Maisel-esque quips from the event below. By the by, if you happen to be divorced, I wholeheartedly recommend finding opportunities to laugh at yourself. It's so uplifting. If you encounter 400 folks willing to laugh with you, even better.)
In retrospect, I remembered many of the things I forgot I knew how to do during that one evening.
The occasion required me to face oodles of folks who attended my wedding, clad in my shiny new identity as a divorced, post-New York City, Islander.
It also compelled me to shake off the cobwebs, and allow the former Moi to do her thing, embracing her again along the way.
I learned that staying true to our authentic, vulnerable selves is a scary but highly worthwhile endeavor.
Aha moments and all, the act of being all of ourselves will likely remind us just how very far we’ve come. (And remembering how to run in stilettos certainly doesn’t hurt.)
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