FIT

Once upon a time there was a shoe, and a foot, that fit. No, this is not about Cinderella, but it is about the concept of natural fits we experience in life. There is nothing quite like a well-tailored suit or dress, when it simply fits like a glove, hugging you in all the right places and all the right ways. Equally, you know that feeling when you bought something that does not quite fit? You convince yourself (fully aware that you are utterly deluded) that you will make it work, tighten it a bit here, loosen it a bit there, tuck this in or pull this out and voilà, it will work! Then it sits collecting dust because of course you never wear it, and if you were so deluded so as to insist on your folly, you will have only been convinced of your accurate initial judgment. You were right, yet again, of course you were. So often we try so desperately to make things fit, clothes, situations, people, business deals, conversations, and yet we forget that deep down we know. There is a shoe, and a foot, that fits. This particular day I felt this fit in a most unusually beautiful way.

Let’s call him Paul, shall we. I am walking the streets of London, a familiar route well trodden, earphones in my ears when I see his figure in the distance, semi-sprawled uncomfortably on a few steps in front of a building entrance. This is a side street, nowhere too prominent. As I am walking I realise he is waving me down, signalling for me to stop. Taking my earphones out I approach to see what might be the matter. In his endearing Scottish accent is the invitation to join him for a drink. By appearance a long-lost cousin of Billy Connelly and Irving Finkel, this elderly gentleman is your regular homeless man on the streets of London. One of many, one seemingly the same as every other in his category. Or so I think as I speedily scan him: garments in fifty shades of stain, unkempt yellow fingernails, bottle of hard liqueur beside him. I am touched by his invitation, but as usual I, like the rest of London, am in a hurryhurryhurry|busybusybusy. To my own surprise I deviate from my course and decide to stay. ‘I won’t have a drink, thank you, but I’ll sit with you a while’. So I do, taking my place next to him on those mucky steps much to his delight.

 Although slightly abuzz from whatever is in that bottle, he is neither incoherent nor unintelligible. On the contrary, we begin to have a fascinating conversation. His wife died almost two decades earlier and he spiralled out of control quite quickly after that, he tells me. He has seven children. When I discreetly inquire why next to seven adult children he is on the street, he mutters something about not having been a good father and not wanting to be a burden. I do not press further. As our exchange unfurls word by word, sentence after sentence, I realise I am in the presence of somebody entirely different than I had initially imagined. I am immediately chastised, repentant and curious. We speak of this and that and he effortlessly throws in French phrases such as de rigueur and à la mode, as though he were ordering takeaway from a well-worn menu. Like unexpected windows flung wide open those few words make me aware of the complexity of this person I am seeing. Who is this man? Who was he in his former life? It does not stop with the French; he continues to surprise me when he asks my name. ‘Belinda’, I tell him, and he almost begins to cry. ‘Ah, Belinda… she was the beautiful Valkyrian beauty of my youth’, he tells me, moist eyes sparkling, gaze wandering off into a distant pocket of time. Valkyrian?! I think, Where is this coming from, who is this man?! Not even most of my friends would reach for that. He tells me about this Belinda, this woman whom he loved, tall, blonde, a dream. Oh how he loved her. Oddly enough he proceeds to ask for my other name, Edith I tell him. He cannot believe it. His favourite aunt was named Edith; he loved her very much and he shares some of his fond memories of her. As we continue our pleasant and unusual interchange I sense his frustration at being seen as a ‘homeless person’ because beyond that decrepit exterior he is a man, a father, a widower, and much more, and he longs to be seen as such. To think of the disservice I would have done both him and myself had I not stopped to look a little closer!  To sit a while, to see.  On this particular morning I left my credit cards at home so I have no money to give him when we part and I apologise profusely. With an affection tinged with melancholy he says ‘Oh my darling, you have given me so much more.’ In that moment I know I have, but what he probably does not realise is that he has given me equally as much, if not more. I hold back the tears as I walk away, pondering the oddities of life.

There is a shoe, and a foot, that fits. I know that meeting Paul that day was not a random encounter because it was not just a shoe, it was a shoe that fit. Who I was spoke deeply to him, reminding him of different kinds of beauty he had once known, of loves he had once experienced, of a version of himself that perhaps he, too, had forgotten along with the many passersby. Who he was spoke very deeply to me too, and on that dirty London pavement a bit of magic happened.  

When have you experienced the shoe that fits? What have you been trying to squeeze and make happen that just won’t quite fit? Whatever this coming month brings you, remember there is a shoe, and foot, that fits. You are that shoe or that foot for someone, you are just what somebody needs and they are exactly what you need in a given moment. I am not talking about nice deeds, I am talking about a way of being; one that is open to diverting from well-trodden paths, willing to entertain the unknown and there experience an exquisite beauty, a gift. So next time you go shopping, make sure it fits because as you know, when it does, it is spectacular.

(c) Belinda É. Samari

 RECOMMENDATIONS

ONLY ACCESSIBLE TO THE CREATIVE EXPEDITION CREW.

For those of you who are part of the creative expedition, be sure to check out my other recommendations in your newsletter. If you are not already part of the crew, join the creative expedition (sign up below) and regularly receive inspiring, informative and practical content in your inbox. Experience the full benefit of the journey!