Sometimes I Say Hi with My Feet…

Sometimes I say hi with my feet—not because I want to be strange or funny, but because it’s just who I am. It started when I was a child, barefoot in the backyard, waving my toes at butterflies, lifting one leg in the air as if to greet the sun. There’s something delightfully silly about it, but also something surprisingly profound. For me, movement is a form of expression. While others speak with words or wave with their hands, I often find myself greeting the world with a wiggle of my toes, a stretch of my sole, or a quiet tap-tap on the floor.

To some people, it might seem odd. But let me explain. Feet are incredible. They carry us through life, often without praise or recognition. They walk, run, dance, skip, and jump. They feel the textures of sand, soil, stone, and wood. They react, balance, and endure. Feet are strong yet gentle, grounded yet expressive. So why not say hello with them?

In moments when words fail or hands are full, a foot can do the talking. I remember one day at the beach, lying on a towel with my best friend. She was telling a story, her arms stretched behind her head, eyes closed. I wanted to tell her, “I’m here, I’m listening, I love this moment.” So I reached out my foot and gently tapped hers. She smiled, eyes still closed, and we stayed like that—talking with our feet, saying everything without saying a word.

This little habit became part of how I connect with people and the world. When I see my dog in the morning, still sleepy on the floor, I gently nudge him with my toes instead of calling his name. When I dance, it’s my feet that tell the story. When I practice yoga, my feet press into the mat with gratitude, grounding me in the present. In all these ways, my feet speak a quiet language of presence, affection, and awareness.

There’s also a playful side to it. Imagine being in a room with your closest friends. The music is soft, the laughter is flowing, and under the table, someone taps your foot in a secret hello. It’s subtle, simple, yet intimate. In these moments, feet become messengers of joy and connection. They reach out when words aren’t needed, or when words are too much.

I’ve said hi with my feet to new people, too. On the dance floor, especially, feet introduce themselves long before a handshake or a name exchange. A step forward, a retreat, a twist—they each say something about who we are. Sometimes, even in everyday life, a little foot tap in greeting can break the ice or bring a smile. I once startled a toddler in a waiting room by wiggling my toes in a playful hello. She stared at them, giggled, and soon was wiggling her feet back at me. No words, just joy.

There’s a deeper layer to all this, one tied to self-expression and the human body. For many of us, especially in modern life, we forget that our bodies are not just vehicles—they are voices. We often live in our heads, speaking only through typed messages or spoken words. But our bodies want to speak too. And my feet? They have stories to tell. They’ve walked through rain and over warm stones. They’ve leaped in celebration, dragged in sorrow, tiptoed in quiet awe. So sometimes, they simply say “hi” to the world, in gratitude.

I’ve also said hi with my feet when words weren’t allowed—during silent retreats or moments of quiet observation. A gentle heel tap to let someone know I’m near, a light toe nudge to share presence without speech. In such moments, my feet become a bridge—not just between people, but between awareness and connection. They remind me to stay grounded, literally, and to meet each moment with openness.

Even in relationships, this language of the feet has meaning. Lovers lying side by side often let their feet touch before their hands. A light brush under the sheets, a playful nudge in the kitchen—these small gestures say, “I’m here. I see you. I care.” In long-term relationships, these quiet touches become daily rituals of love and connection.

Of course, not everyone understands. Once, during a formal meeting, I jokingly tapped someone’s foot under the table when I recognized them from a yoga class. They stared at me, confused, and I quickly realized the setting wasn’t quite right for foot greetings. I smiled sheepishly, and we both laughed later. But that moment reminded me—just as with any language, timing and context matter.

Still, I’ll never stop greeting the world this way. It’s a part of me now, and it brings me joy. Whether it’s saying hi to a dog, to a child, to a friend, or to the earth beneath me, my feet have a voice. A wiggle of the toes can be a hello. A firm stomp can be a declaration. A soft tap can be reassurance. And every now and then, when the world feels distant or overwhelming, I take off my shoes, place my feet on the ground, and say quietly, “Hi, I’m here.”

There’s something healing in that. Grounding, they call it. The practice of reconnecting to the earth, of letting your bare feet touch grass or soil or sand. It brings you back to yourself. It reminds you that you’re part of something bigger. In those moments, I don’t just say hi to the world—I feel the world saying hi back.

Sometimes I wonder what life would be like if more people greeted each other this way—not with formality, but with playful, mindful presence. Imagine a world where we didn’t always have to speak, but could simply tap our feet together in acknowledgment. A world where children were taught to express kindness and curiosity not just with voices, but with their whole bodies. Where dancers and yogis and everyday walkers could all say “hi” in their own quiet ways.

In truth, we all speak with our feet more than we know. Every step we take is a conversation—with the floor, with gravity, with ourselves. Whether we’re sprinting toward something, dragging from exhaustion, or pausing in stillness, our feet tell stories. So why not let them say hello too?

So yes—sometimes I say hi with my feet. It’s odd, maybe. But it’s honest. It’s how I connect, how I express, how I listen. It’s how I stay grounded while reaching out. And maybe, just maybe, the world understands more than we think—because sometimes, in response, it says hi right back.