I’m blessed to live in a house that’s only a few blocks away from my parents’ house, and in between is a park. The terrain is therefore varied, ranging from concrete and asphalt to sand and grass. Being a bohemian at heart, I sometimes enjoy walking from one place to another barefoot.

It’s an interesting thing, walking without shoes on. Every time you take a step, it’s a risk. Will there be a sharp stone? A piece of glass? Something slippery? If you aren’t used to it, you can actually lose your balance if the ground is uneven. There’s no substantial weight under each foot to steady you. There’s no comforting stiff surround for you to grip. Half of the time, all that is beneath you is…air.

This evening, as I walked home shoe-free, the grass in the park was damp and the chill of the night was setting in. My feet in a short amount of time felt half-frozen. The cold actually hurt. I’m out of shape, you see, as I’ve been working down in San Francisco the past several weeks and my feet have been living inside of leather and vinyl and rubber for nearly all of my waking hours.

But you know what? I’m now inside where it’s nice and snug — and warm — and my feet, still naked, feel like they’ve just had a relaxing massage. All the grime of the asphalt, all the wet of the park lawn, the rough scrape of the doormat…all but a distant memory. My feet are finally at peace.

When you’re wearing shoes, you’re safe. You’re secure. You’re comfortable. But every step is the same. Every time you walk, it’s the same in the next moment as it was in the last. Your body may be moving, but your feet are still seeing the same thing, like an iPod on track repeat. But without shoes, when your feet are exposed to the elements and nothing is certain, when anything can happen (and probably will), every step is a new sensation. There is no single step that is like the one before. A thousand nerves, working in concert, telling you where each little grain of sand and each little blade of grass lie. The ground becomes more than a surface…it becomes a work of art, and your feet convey the meaning.

Shoes have their place, and I’m thankful for the protection and the comfort they provide. But at the end of the day, I want to have lived life to the fullest. The definition of my time on earth is made up of my experiences. And, oftentimes, experiences contain great joy as well as great suffering. Yet without having lived through then, can I say I’ve ever truly lived?

Shoes may have their place, but without them, every step is a new sensation. I want to go barefoot.