My complicated relationship with shoes.
I enter the store with a single thought in mind. “I need to buy a pair of shoes.”
I’ve always been reluctant on buying new shoes just for the sake of buying them. The number of thoughts I have racing through my mind plummets on top of each other —
“What if it breaks easily?”
“What if I bought the wrong size?”
“What if I settle for less?”
I wonder when I’ll be able to buy them, to have them, just because I wanted to.
I look around and ask for assistance. I have a size in mind, the purpose of buying the shoes vivid in my head, and the budget I have in place. The people smile at me with confidence and ease. I return the smile. My mind races, wondering if I exuded the same confidence in returning, fearing I gave my uncertainty and doubt away.
The thought of “This is all I have. I’m spending my money, my time, and my effort on this one pair. I’m aware I’ll enjoy it until it begins to wear off, and even then. But God, I hope you’re worth it. I hope you’re worth every high hill and every low descent. I hope you’re worth every ‘Why are we even doing this’ and every ‘Wow, this view is worth the climb.’ I hope you’re worth every tear I shed in the mountains and on the road. I hope you’re worth every embrace with great friends. But I really do pray you’ll be worth all of the hard work I’ve sacrificed for. I hope you stay, you don’t wear off, and you don’t break because of me. I hope you stay with me, for months, for years, or hopefully even more. I hope you stick with me until then.”
I try the pair of shoes they suggested. I put down my bag and take a seat. I wear the footwear, one after the other. It felt just right. It didn’t feel constricting, or too loose. It felt comfortable at the first touch, and it felt like I belonged, and the shoe belonged with me. Still brimming with uncertainty, I stand up. I take a step forward, and then another, and walk around the store, trying to get a more accurate feel.
Because here is the thing. I break shoes. Easily. It’s not because it’s low quality, or whatever reason you have in mind. It’s me. For some reason, my school shoes never last more than a year, and every pair of flip flop breaks after a few encounters with the sun. But it’s not their fault. It never is. It’s mine. And that was when I decided to settle for less. The ones you see outside the street, outside of Quiapo, or even the streets along Espana. And when I finally decided it’s time to get something I deserve a little bit more, I felt the fear begin to rise again. Because what if this doesn’t work out? What if after a few mishaps, these shoes, one that I’ve worked hard to get for, one that I’ve invested in, get broken after a few bumps in the road? What then? Would I have regretted the decision I made? Or would I look back and be thankful, that at least we tried?
I look at the pair of shoes in my hand. Months of hard work, and months of investment, turned into this. But then I wonder. Would I be worse off if we hadn’t tried to make it work? Or would I be thankful for the journey we agreed to partake? Would I be grateful that despite everything, we gave it our all? Or would I be mourning in regret for the chance we didn’t take?
I place the pair of shoes in front of the cashier. It’s better to take a chance than suffer the regret of now knowing, right?
I smile. “I’ll take this please.”
