So a friend of mine is a scout of sorts for a major online shoe company. His job is to scan the lastest mens' shoes from all makers, make selections, have a small army of guys test drive them, then make his recommendations for what the company should carry. As part of his compensation he gets a number of shoes for free. Some are headed my way.
We're not talking about the stuff you'd find at the average mall; we're talking high-end shoes, the kind that you can walk into Nordstrom wearing and not get snickered at, the kind GQ magazine has full-page spreads of.
I've generally been one who tends to the utilitarian in clothing. Most of my stuff comes from Target. Between not having much cash and not having much opportunity to wear it, I've shied away from anything particularly nice. The one thing I don't skimp on is my running shoes, but that's because of the particulars of my orthopedic disposition (a flat footed pronator carrying more than average body mass) more than anything about fashion.
I told my daughter about the new shoes in the mail, and she looked at me funny. "What?" I said. "How's that fit with being a Zen priest?" she asked. "I don't know," I answered, and I don't.
In this, as in so very many things, I keep on stumbling upon the fact that there is no road map here, no guidebook, no Manual for Successful Priestly Living. I suppose in the end it comes down to something like "some days you get a gift of nice shoes, and some days you don't." As long as those days can be lived without attachment in either direction, I'd probably say that's just fine.
We're not talking about the stuff you'd find at the average mall; we're talking high-end shoes, the kind that you can walk into Nordstrom wearing and not get snickered at, the kind GQ magazine has full-page spreads of.
I've generally been one who tends to the utilitarian in clothing. Most of my stuff comes from Target. Between not having much cash and not having much opportunity to wear it, I've shied away from anything particularly nice. The one thing I don't skimp on is my running shoes, but that's because of the particulars of my orthopedic disposition (a flat footed pronator carrying more than average body mass) more than anything about fashion.
I told my daughter about the new shoes in the mail, and she looked at me funny. "What?" I said. "How's that fit with being a Zen priest?" she asked. "I don't know," I answered, and I don't.
In this, as in so very many things, I keep on stumbling upon the fact that there is no road map here, no guidebook, no Manual for Successful Priestly Living. I suppose in the end it comes down to something like "some days you get a gift of nice shoes, and some days you don't." As long as those days can be lived without attachment in either direction, I'd probably say that's just fine.
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