On my To Do list for today was:
sink — figure out why my bathroom sink drain is completely clogged;
mice — check the traps in the attic for mouse corpses;
carpet — work on the dog's spit-up carpet stain on the basement stair landing, again. So no surprise, at least for starters, I skipped those gems, and went straight to
shoes: get those that don't fit out of your closet. I had high motivation for this task. I love shoes. But with pairs numbering in the dozens, buying more seemed excessive. I needed to lower my numbers so I could comfortably buy more.

Minutes out of bed (who needs food when there are shoes), I trip into my closet. Last night, I mentally pinpointed where to start—the pointy blue suede shoes I've had for decades and haven't worn for years. I can attest that feet really do spread with age. My feet were already wide.  Now they're headed toward flipper territory. Shoes I got years ago, especially if snug then, are like sausage casings now, especially pointy-toe versions, not my best cut. So I figured I could start out with a bang — easy out, my blue suede shoes. Standing on my barefoot tipi-toes, I manage to knock them out of their stack on the top shelf. Shoebox in hand, I turn to head out and try them on, only to find myself tripping out of my closet for real. My ankle rolls, the kind of intense turn you remember because it only happens once or twice in your life. I clunk to the floor hard on my knees as the pain runs up the side of my leg.  I crawl out of the closet, shoe box still in hand, scrambling over to my night table for my first aid of choice, homeopathic arnica, Traumeel and some expedient massaging.

I don't like being slowed down by physical ailments. I'm annoyed at this tick in my schedule. My first day home in over a week and I want to get stuff done. I am not, however, immune to the irony of what just happened. I fell in my closet because there were so many pairs of unboxed shoes cluttering the floor, I couldn't find a flat space to put my foot down. Okay, universe, I get it.

But how many shoes are too many? When does abundance become overabundance? Women with around 500 pairs of Christian Louboutin shoes think they are among Christian's biggest clients, according to a recent article in Vanity Fair. According to Christian, not so. Danielle Steel has 6000 pairs of his shoes. She is a big client. Clearly, abundance is a relative term. But I think we humans are wired to like abundance, and fighting this tendency is probably counterproductive. Abundance makes us feel wealthy, privileged, rich, prosperous, glamorous, lucky, chosen, special.

Abundance isn't about being sensible. Abundance encompasses letting go and living it up. But I do think we can be smart, even classy, in our abundance. Abundance across the board—cars, jewelry, properties, partners, clothes, gadgets? Crass, boring, and indiscriminate. Choose your battles? I say, choose your abundance. For me, it's shoes.

And I think each of us finds our own point where abundance becomes overabundance. No one is going to be able to tell us where it is if we don't see it. Six thousand anything sounds like a lot to me. But when I'm in Danielle Steel's shoes, having made as much money on romance fiction as she has, maybe that number will be just right. I can't convince my son that six pairs of the same style of Van's sneakers is overabundance. But then, hey, I don't have much of a leg to stand on when it comes to talking about too many shoes. (Figuratively and literally at the moment.) I do know that for some people, one pair of shoes is abundance.

I think one pair of Christian Louboutin's, at several hundred dollars a pop, would be overabundance for me right now. My new Coach sneakers, purchased on sale at the Saks Fifth Avenue outlet store with my Off Fifth discount card for $59.99, make me feel plenty snazzy. I'm not in it for the price or the brand. For me, the kick is going to the closet and finding the perfect look, the perfect pair of shoes for what I'm wearing. And right now, in this season of graduations and weddings, I'm coming up short. I want more shoes. But I want to enjoy my abundance of shoes, not feel hoardy and overindulgent. So as soon as my ankle's up to speed, I'll be back in my closet sorting through, and hopefully sorting out. Because perhaps the one great thing about overabundance is the chance to pass something along in the hopes that my overabundance can become someone else's abundance.