Zero Treads to Give

I’ve recently added a new hot spot to my ever-growing list of aches: the ball of my right foot. It started as a dull annoyance, but the longer I ignored it, the more it refused to let me ignore it. The pain started radiating into my toes and I could feel it with every step.

I eliminated the usual suspects like plantar fasciitis, Morton’s neuroma, or a stress fracture. With the help of the internet, I self-diagnosed the issue as metatarsalgia, an overload of the metatarsal area, right in that ball-of-foot region where it hurt.

One of the main culprits that causes this pain? Thin or worn-down shoes.

So I looked at the treads of my sneakers, only to find they basically didn’t exist. The soles reminded me of river bed stones, smoothed by the constant flow of the current.

The raised rubber grips were flat. Once a mountain range, now Nebraska.

How had I let this happen? No wonder I had pain—I had taken up barefoot running without realizing it.

I couldn’t remember when I had purchased this pair of sneakers, which made me think it had been way too long.

But it also just made me think.

I wondered about some of my other treads that might be wearing thin.

What else in my life had lost its original traction?

What was the thing that once had helped propel and navigate me through varied terrain, but now had become threadbare?

What no longer worked for me?

I had a lot of ideas and thoughts, but I settled on one particular thin tread: other people’s opinions. I had been running in those shoes for way too long.

I chose reactive over proactive living. I decided what to say and do based on how I thought others would respond, whether they’d be delighted or disappointed. I worried less about whether I did the right thing and more about whether other people thought I did the right thing.

An outside-in existence will never be as fulfilling or vibrant as an inside-out one.

Sometimes it feels very crowded and loud with so many other voices in the room. But I had welcomed them in for years, thinking I couldn’t do it alone and that anything I did had value only if other people assigned value to it.

Approval. Affirmation. Appreciation.

Those were the grips for me. For so long. But now those grips have worn down. They are no longer carrying me forward.

In fact, they make me unsteady. I even run the risk of falling. Because other people’s opinions are as slippery as those river rocks.

Sometimes old shoes, just like old ways, no longer serve us.

It wasn’t a flash-of-lightning experience, just an accumulation of small moments. A dull ache that turned into real pain. Also, I’m turning 50 this year so I’m extra contemplative.

I think I’ve grown tired of living in anticipation, tired of fretting about how people might react, whether people will like me or like what I say, write, or do. That kind of motivation eventually wears thin and ultimately falls short.

So now, I try to think less about those things. It was never my business to begin with.

Zero treads to give these days. And that freedom feels good.

My path and line of vision have greatly narrowed, but it’s a more peaceful jog without all the chatter.

Running groups were never really for me.

Check your treads. It might be time for some new shoes. Life’s too hard to go barefoot.

My memoir, Piece by Piece: A Life Remembered through Things Lost, is available here.

Have you ever wanted to write your life story but you don’t know where to start? Join me for a one-hour online (you don’t even have to leave your home) legacy writing workshop on June 22, 2026. Sign up here.