Sometimes I wear my big boots to feel big. There is something satisfying about their clunk on the sidewalk, clack in the hallway and quiet power when crossed over my knee. Everyone needs a good pair of tall leather boots.
Even though your grandma tells you that nobody will ever marry you if you’re heavy or have big feet, put your feet down with everything you got. Grace is aimless fluttering without purpose.
Walk with weight. Let gravity and confidence pull your mass through your ankles and the soles of your feet.
My house, creaky and small and old, trembles when I walk. Shakes when I jump. Crumbles around me in a beautiful decay of old plaster and stained glass windows when I sleep, when I dream.
When I say that I am 20 people squint their eyes at me, calculating my inexperience and naiveté. I look back at them wide-eyed in my ferocity and youth. I like to think that my gaze is heavy.
Walk with weight and the people around you will tremble, shake, crumble in your wake. You will not disappear into the cracks because you will be creating them in your wake.
When someone asks you how much you weigh, do not answer with “too much” or “110″ or “295.” Answer with “more than today and less than tomorrow.” Answer with “ambition.” Answer with “as much as I let myself, which is a lot sometimes but most of the time I’m too scared and try to make myself smaller, smarter, older, better, more in-control.”
To be a leaf, to weigh nothing, is to be blown away and crunched under the big boots of the heavy.