Each day I put on my shoes in preparation for what is to come- whether it’s the good or the bad or anywhere in between. Shiny new shoes are everyone’s dream, and yet, the wear of a shoe becomes its character and purpose. To the shoes I’ve loved, worn down, and broken in: You were my comfort and Stability. Support. Memories. Friendships. 

The first memorable pair of shoes I’ve called mine were The Iconic Twinkle Toes™. As I stomped, ran, and stumbled, flashing pink and purple lights sparkled from below me. These shoes were the definition of glitter-packed, and ultimately the source of my lifetime glitter addiction. They were tennis-shoe style with white capped toes and a stripe of pink rubber towards the bottom. More importantly, they gave me new-found confidence. I knew that it was an easy talking piece for kids my age, motion censored “magic” shoes, and therefore they became the common ground that created many of my  friendships. I enjoyed the femine aspects of these shoes, which helped me understand my identity as a young “drama queen”. They were the go-to shoes for a long time, through multiple pairs, and became a fallback for my parents in the era of tantrums. As I strapped in my velcro tabs, I knew I would be okay. A few shiny pieces of embedded plastic was all it took to give me gratification and serotonin- a source which I continue to long for as I face becoming a young adult. How easy it was to be present and happy as a child who wore Twinkle Toes so frequently that it became a nickname of my own. These shoes remind me of such childish simplicities, which have been scuffed over time by looming shadows of distress. 

Those worries and anxieties can be often symbolized by a pair of red Crocs gifted by my grandmother, otherwise known as Granny. As I traveled to fairytale-esque Florida, I wore classic red rubber shoes with giant holes that were as clumsy and clunky as my six year old self. My devotion to pleasing others can be granted and partially traced back to these, as they began to rub against my ankles and create a new experience for me— blisters. I did not want to admit the discomfort these brought, and so I winced every time I stepped unitil I began to bleed. I would have rather hurt myself physically than the feelings of others, even over two pieces of rubber foam. From this I learned to understand that your well being should be highly regarded rather than pushed away due to fear of uncomfortable situations.  

One of those situations that I encountered sooner than preferred, even as a child, was the idea of growing up. As I entered the school system, my parents taught me to become an independent girl who could confidently make connections. What was the source of many of my pre-school connections? My knee-high, rainbow zebra print, lace-up boots. They were unique and a start of a trend- namely, learning how to tie your shoes. Little did others know, these shoes were my biggest insecurity and a primary source of the fear of failure. I would ask those around me to double or triple-knot before I trekked to school, and would hope they wouldn’t come undone before the end of the day. The idea of tying my own shoes terrified me because of the way others would tell me “you’re doing it wrong” or the idea of even considering failing such a simple task. Everything I did, even as a child, had to be perfect and able to please others. If not, I considered myself invaluable and unlikable. Little did I know these ideas would become some of my biggest challenges as they continued to dictate my life. 

This continues into every second of my current life, as I identify as a recovering perfectionist. I see this in school, relationship dynamics, and most commonly my passion for dance. Dance is a constant  battle against perfectionism through technique and artistic expression. My dance shoes are equivocally symbolic of such struggle, as without them my longing to entertain others would be lost. Dance allows me to cultivate a unique style, but is also a way to get sucked into a comparison mindset. I was always too concerned about how I was perceived by others that even owning such shoes was a step in the deep end. I yearned to be a dancer as I performed in my living room on a regular scheduled basis with my co-performer sister. However, the courage to admit my passion took longer to accept and find. The canvas jazz shoes granted me people I consider to be family- my fellow dancers, coaches, and supporters- as well as a world of opportunities I wouldn’t have otherwise considered possible. Passions are unique to one’s own, and they aren’t true without a struggle or understanding of what life feels like without them. 

Another passion of mine has become the outdoors. I have watched waterfalls in awe summer after summer and recently have found a higher level of that passion— backpacking. As a young teen I wanted to do something that scared me and impressed others, but simultaneously created connections and taught me new skills. So, I signed up for a backpacking trip with 12 teenage strangers. I know, many may see that as a warning sign to future issues, but that trip altered my life in countless ways. However, I couldn’t have begun such an adventure without my trusty hiking boots. The day that I obtained the high-tech and ultra-researched piece of gear, I was overcome with a sense of hope. It was my first step towards self discovery and a sense of adventure. My trek across Yosemite Valley and Half Dome came with its own set of hotspots- both metaphorical and literal. In every backpacking trip, especially the first, you will feel some urge to quit. Tension pushes you to give up, ultimately emphasizing the importance of resilience. Shoes are the foundation of a hiking experience- the support for when you can’t support yourself alone. Rolled ankles and blood dripping down the sock, my boots still understood that I was determined to continue. So I did, venturing onto the Appalachian Trail for the infamous 100 Mile Wilderness after two years of preparation.  I could never forget summiting Katahdin with strangers I felt more connected to in a span of weeks than others I had known for years. Bursting into tears, I had found a passion and a second family. 

However, summer eventually comes to an end and many days worth of hiking boots become replaced with school shoes. My uniform allows me to be connected with the past and future legacies of my school, even down to the ankles. As I transformed from the white (and eventually gray-stained) shoes allotted to middle schoolers into the sleek and more pristine black of high school, it finally impressed onto me what little time is left and the importance of keeping previous memories alive. The black reminds me of what little time I have left before I have to choose the color of my shoes, and to savor that consistency while it continues.  There are specific privileges that come along with the darker shade, but so does responsibility and the foreshadowing of college looming ahead. It can be easy to feel overwhelmed, but those shoes taught me to take every day one step at a time and to be okay with uncertainty towards the idea of growing up and out of places. 

Everyday, I walk not in one of these shoes, but all of them. These aspects have become influential pieces of who I am today, the person I have become, and the passions that interconnect and create me. Never forget where you have walked before. However, when it’s time to grow out and buy new shoes, acceptance is the key. Find the shoes that fit your soul and wear them until it’s time to grow into new roles.