Going barefoot

and loving it.

Confession: My first time to go barefoot on grass and soil was about three weeks ago, three months or so shy of my 31st birthday.

My Airbnb host and neighbor Eliza had mentioned “grounding,” also known as “earthing,” to me and my husband. What started as a question about whether she turned off the router past midnight (versus losing internet connection because of the telco provider) turned into a conversation about being connected with the earth. How physical contact with the earth can help the body heal.

I was nervous at first. The Airbnb was on the slope of a hill, and I was standing on earth where grass and tiny leaves and flowers whose names I didn’t know grew. And although I didn’t see them, I was sure that worms, ants, spiders, and other animals that crawled would be everywhere too. I didn’t want to feel the prickliness of blades of grass, nor did I want to be bitten by a creature that felt crossed.

I didn’t have to slip off my shoes and socks and stand barefoot on the ground. In hindsight, I wish I knew what it was that made me do it. Curiosity? But I was never really the curious type. The novelty of it? Yet for as long as I could remember, the earth was filthy to me. A breeding ground of parasites and bacteria. Dirt. Disease. Things that could make my body sick. Things that could hurt me.

All I know is that I stared at the earth, at the different plants and marvelous, intricate patterns that sprung from it, then let my feet make contact.

The earth was cold. And moist. Maybe last night’s frost was still melting in the sunlight. The cold shot through my spine, and I felt alive. The grass bent and crunched as I stepped around. Nothing hurt.

Standing barefoot on the ground felt like the most natural thing in the world. Like I was home. Meant to be here, thanks to some cosmic miracle or grand design.

I was confident on my feet. Surefooted as I went to the slopier sides of the hill. My body seemed to know what to do, but my mind was confused, not able to keep up with the body’s newly-found-but-likely-promised freedom. My body trusted the ground, as well as the system of roots, to hold me up.

The soles of my feet had flecks of soil, and I surprised myself by not minding it at all. My younger self would have shrieked or cringed, despite the fact that I could easily wash my feet.

I’ve been grounding myself for the past weeks. I want to say I’m consistent, but I’m not able to on cold rainy days. Still, planting my bare feet on the ground is all I can think of, whether or not I’ve grounded myself right after breakfast. Is my body longing for the sort of childhood it didn’t have, where playing in the dirt or running barefoot gets a kid roaring with laughter? Maybe there’s something to going barefoot in itself? A psychologist I’ve interacted with has said that when a child’s speech is delayed, she advises the parent/s to let the child walk barefoot, and “speech will just bubble up.” Or does the earth have its own pull on a body?

My pet cat, who’s been an indoor cat since I had him three years ago, begs me multiple times a day to let him out. He runs to the grass, munches on the grass, and twirls around, rubbing his back onto the ground. Maybe he too feels what I feel: this urge to keep being with nature, to be grounded in the earth.

That the earth can heal and improve one’s mind and body, via grounding, isn’t lost on me. It’s easy to think that this was architectured. It’s too incredible to not have been conceived by a thinking being. And yet, I don’t think nature is here to heal anyone or be a catalyst or backdrop for one’s new life. It is what it is, and I’m just grateful to be more connected with it and feel a few aspects of it with my own soft body.