New Shoes

I smile at the impossibly small Mary Janes in my hands. Now as an adult, I find it hard to comprehend once having a routine where I clasped the ankle strap and set off into the world. If my mind could imagine it, these shoes could take me there. In those days, wealth was what I found when I defeated sinister dragons on my elementary school’s playground. My only worry was avoiding getting little pebbles and pieces of mulch stuck under my socks. I laugh and wonder why they make such sturdy shoes for the part of life that has so little to handle.

I blink and suddenly the glossy black flats turn into the worn out pair of black Converse I donned throughout my teenage years. As I packed for college, I remember seeing the torn soles and frayed fabric peering at me from deep within my closet. I knew that when I left, I would shut the door on late nights at Waffle House after football games and rushing through hallways in the five minutes I had to get to class. They fit perfectly for the girl from Effingham, but I knew they would be snug on the woman heading to Athens. 

Throughout the last several years, I have realized that growing up is the process of realizing two moments: when life was too tight and when it seemed a little too roomy. When relationships or past ambitions wouldn’t work out no matter how hard I tried, I realized I was chasing old dreams with sore feet. Eventually, I found the courage to trade sentiment for success as I stepped into newer, bigger shoes. They belonged to the woman I hoped to become. I knew that even if I felt a little awkward and clumsy now, they would inevitably become the perfect fit. 

With graduation around the corner, I find myself lovingly untying laces for the last time. My Bandos are scuffed from the astroturf of many stadiums. My go-to heels for career fairs are ready to retire. Along with others, I set them aside and step into a pair that seems just a little oversized. 

I smile.