I hate to admit it, but I spend a lot of time looking down. Is this a matter of safety, not wanting to trip, or a reflection of my innate personality? Am I making too much of this? Perhaps. It wouldn’t be the first time.
It isn’t that I’m afraid of falling. My balance is okay. Of course, there are nights when I stumble along in the dark to you know where. When I first step out of bed, my feet are stiff—curled tightly—like claws. Eventually, the muscles relax. I must look like a parrot walking along on the tile, shifting left to right. But no one else is up to see me. Except for the dog. Move, and he’s awake.
I’m not looking down because I’m fascinated with shoes. I could care less. Though in Phoenix, flip-flops almost pass for formal wear. And then there’s the occasional lady in high, spiky heels. It’s amazing to watch her balance on stilts. It’s like watching a circus act without a net.
New York City kid
I think the real reason I look down is based on where I was raised. In New York City, you don’t make eye contact with strangers. Not unless you need something. Otherwise, you’re just asking for trouble. No one wants to be on the end of a hey man, what are you looking at? Best to keep your gaze downward—avoiding the dangerous elements populating your world. Little boys have been beaten up for much less.
I guess I’m just the cautious type. I’ve stepped in enough dog poo in my life to know that you can’t avoid such accidents by admiring the birds in the trees. But secretly, I’d like to. To walk boldly forward, head held high, enjoying a beautiful sunset. Unconcerned about the next step. Eyes up, searching the sky. It’s still possible, I guess. Unlikely, but still possible.
So let’s take a walk together. Check out NYC’s West Village by clicking on this link- http://bit.ly/2ywej5T I might even look up.