A Thorn In My Shoe

When I sat down to click-clack this one into the laptop, I seriously had a serious story in mind. But as I approached the desk, it turned itself on its head (as often happens), and now I'm laughing at myself.

But I jump the gun. Let me tell you about the thorn in my shoe.

Several weeks ago, on one of our Saturday morning romps on the Aravalis around PWS, I picked up a thorn in my left shoe. Well, actually, it wasn't the only one... There were many even thicker, longer, stronger and pokier (? - I've run out of epithets) than this one. What set it apart, was... its tenacity, I guess you could call it that. My eye-brow plucking device took care of all the rest - we had quite a collection - but somehow, this one just WOULDN'T come out. (For the hyper-hygiene conscious, I have two eye-brow plucking devices, one dedicated to pulling thorns out of my shoes. I mention this insignificant fact since I know that the hyper... will have stopped to regurgitate dinner, etc. during the previous sentence.)

So, not being all that persevering a thorn-puller-out (in any case the kids were becoming impatient) I left that persistent and tenacious thorn in.

Most of the time, I wasn't even aware of it. However, the second I would step on a stone, or a bump on the track, it would poke. (Did you know that most of our nerve endings are centred on the soles of our feet? Well, I found out, and how!). The place where it poked was the tender spot between my big toe and the next one, let's say half-an-inch south of that. OUCH! It would not only send shooting pain up my leg, but frissons down my spine as well (remember, nerve endings) and be partially debilitating for about 10 to 15 seconds each time. And time, as the scientist said, is relative. It seemed like HOURS!

This happened over a period of several weeks. By the time I got home on each occasion, I was too tired to have another go at it. And the next time I went out, there were always two impatient kids to contend with. Since I have quite a shoe-wardrobe a la Imelda Marcos (does anyone remember her?) it didn't hamper daily life beyond the fitness-freaking episodes.

OK. Finally, after one really painful event in the gym, I decided that it was either me or the thorn. Equipped with the Device, I planted myself squarely on the edge of the bed, told the kids to keep an arm's distance for all hell would shortly break loose, and had another go at it. As they looked on suspiciously, I tugged, pulled, pushed (got pricked on my finger), groaned, grunted and was generally being the roaring-Leo-rattled-by-a-thorn. But, Tenacity! It perversely hung on to the rubber, refusing to budge more than a millimetre at a time in either direction, not enough to give me enough purchase to tug it out.

Brainwave. It you can't pull it out, push it out. Now equipped with another device - a handy tool the nailclippers, there's a curvy attachment that otherwise opens bottles of various types (and no, I don't have two of those) - I pushed the dratted object INTO my shoe, pulling it inwards till... phew, it was out of the rubber.

A closer look revealed that I had pulled out worse ones in the past few weeks. But, and here it comes (the serious story), while I was engaging in battle with this thorn, a plethora of thoughts passed through the top bracket. Or rather, questions.

How often do I allow situations like this to exist - i.e. (for the innocent or the uninitiated) allow metaphorical thorns which periodically poke and hurt like the dickens - not dealing with them, somehow not even hoping that they will go away on their own, but just not dealing with them...
Once it was out, I pranced out of the house, such utter relief in the soles of my feet (OK, won't go into the winged feet metaphor). Actually, you need to go through this to know how very painful it is - and I have a very high pain-threshold.

That evening, the walk proved to be meditative... a mental list was made of all that I wasn't dealing with... they popped up out of hidden recesses almost like thought-bubbles in comic strips.
The very next morning, I set out and dealt with two such situations.
Life was looking more thorn-free.
So, now, why am I laughing at myself?

Good question. Because, as the intelligent will point out, isn't this the case with so many of us?
What makes me laugh (and those who know me, know how loudly I laugh) at myself, is that these metaphorical thorns were illusions caused by various perceptions... They weren't really thorns at all. Just mental constructs that made them appear to be painful. Remove the foundation, and they were just.... air?

For weeks I've been grieving over a remark made by someone in utter ignorance...
For days I've been scribing about my work - as an outlet for the pain caused by the above remark...
For hours I've debated on whether or not to write an email about the remark to various authorities...
For eons I've wanted to shout out really loudly that what I do in class has intrinsic value and that I don't need to "showcase" it...
For pages of my blog I've been ranting about how process-drama works...

SO, the cardinal sin - taking myself too seriously - had been committed. But luckily, all sins are washed away when you laugh at yourself.

By the way, is there a type of meditation called laughing meditation? If not, someone should invent it. It really works!