Here's the end of the story -
The next time you're on the way to the bus, you notice that there are other people struggling along in great shoes but the wrong size, just like yourself. You also notice that there are others sharing the sidewalk with you, wearing beautiful shoes of many different styles and colors. But they all look terrific, well-fitting, and the people are wearing them comfortably and moving freely and gracefully. They're all different and all special. And they all match the variety of outfits that everyone is wearing, exactly right. You say to yourself, "Man, where are they getting the magic shoes?"
At the bus stop you see the same. You just never noticed because you were so focused looking down at the beautiful gift shoes, that you never looked up. You overhear somebody say quietly, sadly shaking their head, "Oh dear, Jack's been giving the free shoes away again."
You feel embarrassed, you didn't realize you looked so awkward and that people could see you. You thought you looked really really amazing and impressive. You didn't know you looked foolish.
There's a group that rides the same bus as you. They all have shoes just like yours, but different colors and a variety of really beautiful trim, laces, materials. All gorgeous, all perfect, all beautiful.
On the bus, you ask in frustration: "Where do you guys get these magic shoes that are so beautiful and fit you so well?"
One of them leans forward and hands you a pair of plain brown shoes. You're not sure what to do and you don't really want them. You hesitate and take them cautiously. You're thinking you'll just be polite and stick 'em in your pack. The group urges you to try them on. You really don't want to, but you'll go along with it just to be polite. Your stop is coming up and you can get off.
They really insist. Reluctantly, you take off the now-unrecognizable shoes that were once so beautiful and now are just simply ridiculous and stupid-looking. You put on the plain brown shoes and your arm hairs tingle with goose bumps. They are amazing! They might look like nothing, but wow, the fit is amazing! It's like they were made for you. Not only that, they make you feel energized and happy. They make you want to click your heels like Fred Astaire, run through the streets like a 4th-grader and find a tree to climb. Oh, such a relief. Ohmigod, these guys have done you a favor.
You don't even remember the once-beautiful borrowed shoes and abandon them on the floor of the bus. They are so funky and worn, big holes, held together with duct-tape and superglue, that they aren't even gonna fit the guy you got them from anymore. And really, he's not going to want them back.
So you look up with gratitude, a smile on your face, but sadness too, and ask the beautiful shoe people: "Tell me, how come I can't have beautiful shoes like yours? How is it that you guys are lucky enough to have such wonderful shoes?"
They tell you:
"But you do. You have the same magic shoes we do. All of our shoes are exactly the same. Here's the secret of the magic. The beautiful colors and wonderful trim come from the wearer. The magic is that the longer you wear them, the more fabulous and special they become.
But you have to actually walk around in them. The longer you keep them, the more you walk, the better they fit and feel. And each pair of magic shoes will never look the same as the others, but each pair will be uniquely beautiful. You also have to care for them. You can walk through mud, but you can't leave them soiled. You must brush and clean them everyday. When they are frayed, you must repair them. You can't loan them out, as they'll come back to you a different color and a different fit.
See, the reason ours look like this is that we've been wearing them for 10,000 years. You just took yours out of the box. You've been borrowing, trading, discarding shoes for so long, so they've never looked like this."
One of the guys pats you on the back. "Hey man, don't worry. It's not as painful as you think." He holds up his beautiful shoe for you to see. "I threw mine away and borrowed yours for a couple hundred years, but they fit so badly and got so ugly that I ended up barefoot in a snowstorm with no shoes at all. I had nothing else, so I got my own back."
"These are brand new and I'm still breaking them in. I'll run with you for awhile, if you want, and we'll put some miles on our shoes together."
"But please don't steal my shoes when I'm not watching," he says, holding out his hand with a friendly welcoming smile.