““Truthful words are not beautiful; beautiful words are not truthful. Good words are not persuasive; persuasive words are not good.””

— Lao Tzu

It is probably obvious to anyone who reads this blog that I love language. I love writing, I love expressing opinions. I love a good rant about pretty much anything and I don't hold back if I am upset or hurt about something on someone else's behalf. I quite like talking in a ranty way as well, and am never usually lost for words, much to some people's despair.

And yes, I love shoes. And books. And cats.

Wow, I'm a real prospect. A yarpy, nerdy shoe-loving cat lady.

Awesome. I probably should delete that description, but that would make a nonsense of what I am trying to say.

One thing I am truly bad at, despite all the self-expression - and I think this is possibly true for everyone, but especially for those of us who are introverts pretending to be extroverts - is admitting when things are not fabulous. In written words or out loud.

Actually saying 'I am not OK, and I am not happy/coping/well/in a good place' is something that is ridiculously hard for me to do. I see it as a weakness I suppose. Because when you belong to the 'Suck It Up Princess' School Of Life Management, the first lesson you teach yourself is to - well, suck it up. There's no crying in baseball, things will be fine, get over yourself; these are all words I smack myself around the brain with on a daily basis. Because yes, life does go on and things usually will be fine; but sometimes - well, sometimes they aren't, and admitting that this is a possibility means admitting vulnerability, and fear, and even despair.

Most of all, it means admitting you are human.

Much as I would like to believe it at times, I am not a robot. I can't just go on and on with the power of an automaton - saying 'yep, all good!' and secretly screaming inside my head. Do that, and you will not only end up blowing a gasket, but you will lose so many things - opportunities, options, and most importantly, people who care about you - because you haven't been able to tell them how hard things are, and so when you break, they don't know how to deal. How could they? If you constantly hide all the frailties that you hold inside yourself, then all they know of you is a two-dimensional caricature rather than a real person.

You may well ask why this is a gratitude post.

Because I am immensely grateful for a few things. For someone who cared enough to use truthful words with me, and got me to say out loud 'I am struggling' - and yes, Lao Tzu is correct. Sometimes truthful words are not beautiful. But they are real.

I am also grateful for the people and opportunities in my life. Full stop. That, after admitting to not being at my tiptop best - after actually letting some of that vulnerability out of its locked box in my brain and my heart - I have received back nothing but support and strength and love.

I feel as though I have managed to take off the padlock of said Pandora's box and just breathe.

For anyone out there who is proudly wearing their Suck It Up t-shirt, I just want to say this;

Wear the t-shirt by all means - and do wear it with pride. Because being able to cope under a lot of stress is a strength, and you should be proud of it.

But even the best t-shirts get grubby and need a wash - so every so often, allow yourself a change of metaphysical clothing - and perhaps put on a 'NOT COPING AT ALL' or even just 'Help!' number instead.

Hard - yes.

Essential to being yourself?

Even bigger yes.

And I am grateful that for once, I am letting myself see that - so I'm off to change my top.

'COPING O.K. - BUT HUGS WELCOMED'.

Words I know to be true. And beautiful.

Take that, Lao Tzu.

““I like Cinderella, I really do. She has a good work ethic. I appreciate a good, hard-working gal. And she likes shoes. The fairy tale is all about the shoe at the end, and I’m a big shoe girl.”

”

— Amy Adams

I was talking to someone the other day about this blog and they said to me 'I really like what you write - the whole gratitude thingy, it's lovely. It makes such a difference to my day - you should feel really good about it'. I was just feeling all warm and fuzzy (and perhaps a little teary, because well, it had been a bad day), and was about to thank them, when they put their hand on my arm and shook their head at me.

'You do ruin it all though of course'.

Huh?

'It's all that stuff about shoes. It's so trivial and shallow. You should only be writing about meaningful issues. Otherwise, well, nobody's ever going to take you seriously. OK, bye!'

And they were gone, like a well-intentioned air to surface missile which had completed its mission and could knock off for afternoon tea.

Said target of the strike stood there dumbfounded for a minute or two. And then realised something.

I like writing about shoes. If I didn't write about shoes, I wouldn't be able to write about anything more meaningful, because it is the trivial and shallow pretty bits of life that carry me through the sookypuss parts, and let me get on with being grateful.

Shoes are spectacular. They are an instant mood-lifter. Feel craptacular? Throw on a pair of black suede stilettos. Bam. Suddenly the sun is shining - even if just a little bit. Throw in a little black dress and the world is your oyster.

Something about a pair of stunning shoes makes me feel mysterious and alluring. Sometimes it makes the difference between me being able to go forth with confidence into a room full of strangers - or not. And they don't have to be high; they just have to be gorgeous. And much as I might tout that 'one must suffer to be beautiful', they also have to be comfortable.

Shoes are a little piece of heaven wrapped up in tissue paper and individual cloth bags. And I love them. From a purely logical perspective, there is no point to them other than to keep my feet from freezing. Do they love me back? Hell no. They are pieces of dead animal and slithers of satin and lace. I'm besotted, not insane. Are they a good investment? Only if leather suddenly becomes a viable building material (NB: check out leather as a viable building material). But that's not the point.

The point is, shoes are seriously fabulous.

And I will write about them.

Because otherwise I might hurt their feelings, and next time I wear my favourite nude patent Mary-Janes, I might get a blister.

And cue the insanity.