MISFITS.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 17745, 15 January 1926, Page 9

MISFITS.

“WHEN THE .SHOE PINCHES.” But it does matter! When I read that cynical remark the other day I became filled with depression. It hits off so beautifully the entire futility of most people’s existence. At their doors the wide world, wtih all its holds of enchantment, danger, glory—but they are busy limping about their own little homes, moaning because their shoe pinches! The shoe is too narrow—it’s a misfit! And so "life’s poisoned, and the glory of the world eclipsed and the far horizon blotted out by the grey mists of evety day! And yet—one can always change one’s shoes. Perhaps one can't afford a new pair. Then one can change them with someone else. If one can’t do that, one can play the cobbler oneself—clumsily perhaps, leaving rough edges, but ridding oneself of the ghastly cramp that comes in one’s soul living a life that never was meant for one . . . The miserable wearers of misfit shoes are those who are being engineers when they ought to be artists—or spinsters when they ought to be mothers —or mothers when they ought to be spinsters. It doesn’t matter! It's something Nature never meant them to be, and try as they will they can’t drill their protesting souls to the loathed routine. And this continal, agonising effort to adapt themselves to their surroundings poisons their whole lives. The word “impossible” becomes the most used word in their vocabulary instead of the only one that never should be admitted. They have forgotten that the world is wide. The world is wide, my friends! Yes, however narrow your own life, however wearisome, however bitter ! The world is wide if only you dare to step out into it-—if only you dare fling away that vilely misfitting pair of shoes —even at the risk of going barefoot. The world is wide—is it just a curt phrase of four words to you, or does it open a little door into the realm of glamour? I would choose it for my family motto, this phrase! It should give me hope -when my heart failed me, spur me to fresh endeavour when I gave up forlornly, remind me there’s no such thing as a lost cause —that the dreariest To-Day precedes the most marvellous To-Morrow —that nothing ever finishes —that the world is more than wide, it is illimitable! But what of those who will never have the courage to change those illfitting shoes, and so must go footsore all their days? ' What of those weary little typists who must tap out their dreams on lifeless machines, until they dream no more? Or the women married to the wrong men. who know enough to know that something passing sweet is lost to them for all their days? Let them not forget, these others, that the world is wide —somewhere the maddest dreams are being realised, the fondest hopes, the wildest ambitions. Not yours? No, but someone’s—somewhere people are leading the life you wanted. Let it show you that life was not impossible—somewhere are far countries and strange sights and terrible perils and thrilling romances —somewhere in the infinite width of that wide world. You can read, you can listen, you can look on. It is better than nothing. It is better than listening to the plaints of your neighbour, whose shoe also pinches. Poor and narrow may be 3-our little house —bxit through its open doors and windows you may glimpse all the wonders of the earth.