A Rambling Raconteur

I was cleaning/reorganizing my bedroom today and I decided it might be a good idea to go through my shoes and set aside those I don't want or no longer wear. A couple times a year, I round up clothes and whatnot to donate. It's about time I did the same with my shoes.

I knew this particular pair of shoes was in my collection still, even though I haven't worn them in years. They are ugly and ripped and no longer comfortable. But I've been holding on to them for a while. These aren't just any pair of shoes. These are a pair of "Orange Popsicle" (the official name of the color), hi-top, Chuck Taylor, Converse All-Stars. I bought them in the summer of 2002.




I went through a lot with these shoes. They've been Sharpie-d, painted, and white-out-ed to death. A few months after I got them, I took an ultra fine-point sharpie and stared writing on them. Song lyrics, lines from poems, quotes from movies and books and the random catchphrase here and there. They were an everyday part of my 14 and 15 year-old uniform: orange Chucks, knee high gym socks, either a pair of guys shorts (that were baggy and came to me knees) or a pair of jeans with the bottoms rolled up a few inches, and a solid color t-shirt that I had taken a Sharpie to. I had a whole set of t-shirts that I had done myself. Memorable shirts included my "Crazy for Swayze" shirt and of course "Nettleton Dance Team Reject: Too Phat."

I see now, looking at these shoes, that I haven't just been holding on to a pair of old sneakers. I've been trying to hold on to who I was back then.


Who was 14 year old Sarah?
She was a Lord of the Rings fanatic, hip deep in her first research paper devoted to the topic. (Okay. So *that* bit still holds true.)
She wrote poetry all the time. It was almost all thematically the same: cool people are stupid, mindless sheep, nonconformity is awesome and being a teenager sucks.
She was trying so hard to be different than everyone else. Oh, the clothes she wore.
She lived with a mom who was battling breast cancer and a dad who was battling a disease she couldn't pronounce and her brother had started college and never seemed to be awake when she was.
She had panic attacks she didn't know where panic attacks.
She did some stupid stuff and said some stupid stuff, but 24 year old Sarah has made her peace with that. I know now that 14 year old me was doing the best she could with what she had.

Even though I bear her no ill will, it is time for 14 year old me to stop living in the bottom of a shoe bin. 24 year old me needs the space. Because life is here and the future is arriving a moment at a time. I think I'm finally ready.