How to tie shoelaces

Sometimes, in an effort to be more compassionate and present with the person in front of me, I glance at their shoelaces.

Sometimes, in an effort to be more compassionate and present with the person in front of me, I glance at their shoelaces. I remind myself that, at some point in the day, regardless of their stature, or lack of it, they contorted their back like Quasimodo and bent low, or perhaps raised their leg in an awkward high-lunge, to cross their laces and tie a bow.

All that ambition and all those grown-up to-do lists, poured over a pair of laces, just like when they were a child, with their tongue to the side of their lips, as focused as someone cutting the correct wire of a live bomb.

I learned to tie my shoes later than most. In the end, it was my Scottish Granny who showed me how. For some time, I wore Velcro shoes, which offered a sense of independence, yet quietly revealed a more profound need. I didn't want my parents to tie my laces for me, but I knew I couldn't do it on my own

Some of the men in the prisons where I run workshops wear Velcro shoes, mostly it's a safety measure but sometimes it breaks my heart because for all the reasons they are there, I wonder if somewhere inside them is a little boy who never learned how to tie his shoes and perhaps never had someone to patiently say: cross one lace over the other and pull it tight, make a bunny ear, wrap the other lace around it, push it through the hole to make another bunny ear, and then pull them both tight.

---

Join The Huddle
My Substack is completely free, but I’d love to invite you to join The Huddle — a circle of people who value and support the work I do in the world. It’s where I share exclusive recordings, writings, discounts and behind-the-scenes updates. We meet online each month for a time of reflection and encouragement. Through their support, I’m able to keep creating: building community, writing essays, recording podcasts, making music, and finishing books.