Like an old shoe

Where am I going in these?

As I prepare for my impending move, I’ve been undertaking the daunting task of sifting through all the objects in our apartment to make the judgmental determination of what is “box-worthy” or not. So far, I’ve thrown out many garbage bags filled with old papers, used-up craft materials, and unused toys without a second glance. Culling the elementary bookshelves to make room for more middle school interests proved slightly more daunting, but was tempered knowing that these favorites may wind up in good hands after being donated. But of all the things that I’ve said goodbye to so far throughout this process, the shoes have been the trickiest.

I have quite an assortment of shoes. Over the decades I’ve collected shoes of all kinds, from character shoes worn in plays long-ago, fancy-dress shoes worn only for moments on special occasions, shoes worn in the clubs of New York and Miami, fantasy shoes with stacked stilettos, and ones with themes from hippy to skank. I’ve got ‘em all! The collection thinned a bit from necessity when we made the move from NH to FL five years ago. Not everything could fit in the U-Haul. But as I dusted off the survivors, I promised them we would be reunited, and someday they would be worn once more.

And most of them have been!

Some have been worn many many times. So many that they are showing it more than I’d like to admit. And some haven’t been worn at all. Because let’s face it, where exactly is my ass going in a pair of six-inch stacked platforms anyway? But whether I’ve worn them just yesterday, or haven’t worn them in over twenty years, I’m finding it just as difficult to say goodbye.

Shoes are so much more than function for our feet. They’re a statement of who we are, and who we want to be. As little girls playing dress up, the first thing we all do is find a pair of heels and pretend to be a grown-up lady, or a princess, or a fancy businesswoman. No fantasy ever started with a sensible flat.

Getting rid of these shoes is more than giving away some inanimate object that no longer serves a purpose. It’s giving up the memory of who I was, and the fantasy of who I could be. I may only be a middle-aged mama going from the bus line, to work, to errands, and back again, but depending on my shoes, I could be so much more.

When we first moved down to Florida, I was totally overjoyed with the promise of not only having the right weather to wear all the clothes and shoes I wanted, but the right venues as well. I loved the opportunity to finally wear everything in my closet! But now, I must admit, I’ve fallen into a rut. More and more the same outfits, comfortable shoes, and hairstyles are circling the rotation.

I could blame my hectic schedule, the workload, the stress, but the truth is the rut is just me. The blow from failing in my novel writing endeavors knocked me down more than a few rungs. It knocked me down flat on my face. There just didn’t feel like a point to dressing-up when the only part I’m playing is of a failure. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not slothing about in sweatpants and matted hair. I still manage to pull together a look, albeit one already in heavy rotation. But basing my style more on function rather than self-expression feels a bit like giving up.

The shoes I was so excited to wear when we moved here are once again covered in dust. And the person who was so excited to wear them, well, she seems a little dusty too. I’ve been rocking the same at-home haircut, the same old workout routine, and the same style choices for the past two years. It may all look okay from the outside, but it sure doesn’t feel okay.

As I throw away the old shoes that served me for so long, I have to say goodbye to the person they belonged to, the person who believed that her story would turn out one way, when in fact it’s taken a bit more of a plot twist than she foresaw. Along with the scuffed souls and split leather, I have to throw away the idea that my life would go one way and accept the direction it’s taking instead.

So, what do I do with all those other fun, beautiful, unworn, totally impractical pairs that remain? Well, for now I’m holding onto them. Because there’s always hope. The woman who saw her dreams of becoming a successful novelist and the shoes she wore each day may be in the past, but the woman who knows that there’s always room for unseen possibilities still lives on.

True, I may never wear my pleasers, go-go boots, or strappy stilettos to a function anytime soon, but I somehow feel better understanding that I don’t really know what the future holds. Possibilities always exist. And if the time ever comes to step into an unexpected opportunity, I’ll have just the thing to wear!