Once upon a time, I wrote letters and I remembered people's names. Last year I determined to do so again. I want to be thoughtful; to put the right thoughts into my heart. Somebody told me, "How are you able to offer what people need if you're not putting yourself in other people's shoes?" Feeling misjudged, I wanted to retort, "But why must my own shoes not matter? Am I only to be judged by how I'm failing, my own insecurities disregarded?" I never said those words, but I felt them for a long time. Bitterly. Part of me did want to be kind and understanding. But a large part of me wanted to be understood . And so, I stubbornly kept my worthless shoes on and refused to try on anyone else's. (Isn't this a weird analogy? I mean who seriously wants to swap shoes? I don't want most people putting their feet into my shoes, I know. And my sarcastic self keeps thinking, "And it would be so pointless to try and walk around in some of thos...