The Thing About Shoes

Twenty years ago, along with people from several departments, I won a Core Values Award.

There was a very nice paragraph read aloud with such nice things written by my co-workers. I got my picture taken with my boss and the CEO. I also got a clock engraved with my name and the year.

During the presentation my boss, the VP of Ops, suggested the CEO ask me about my shoes.

I smiled, and inside I also cringed. Was that the most memorable thing about me? (Maybe this shoe thing had gotten out of hand.)

I had a lot of shoes.

In my office I had a rather large shelf just for shoe-stuff.

• Calendars.
• Statues.
• Pictures.
• Thimbles.
• Magnets.
• Key-chains.
• Scarves.
• Banks.

Even a pair of teeny Japanese lotus foot-binding shoes.

I had a lot of shoes that I wore, too. My boss's favorites were the ones that were baby blue, 3 inch heels, and a “55 MPH” logo on the heel cup. She used to smile every time I wore them and ask me how I got around in them.

Once, I went to Texas for a week and worked hard resetting stores and calibrating inventory. On the way back to the airport the Regional Sales Director stopped by an Outlet Mall. To show me a shoe warehouse. I think I bought 3 pair that day.

When I moved to Michigan from Pennsylvania I was fortunate enough to have a moving service do the packing.

As they worked I talked out loud about setting aside a fancy dress that I would need right away. I was debating between two dresses and one of the men said: “Lady, I don’t know which one you are going to wear, but I’m sure you have the right shoe for it.”

I had about as many boxes of shoes as I had boxes of books. And I had a lot of books.

It wasn’t always that way.

One of the advantages of being the oldest of five kids is that you don’t have to wear hand-me-downs from your older sister. One of the disadvantages is that there is no older sister to hand things down.

My older cousin had the BEST taste, but we weren’t the same size in anything. My older second cousin was a guy, and although I made jeans skirts from his shorts. He was no help when it came to shoes.

I remember in high school, around 10th grade, when I had one pair of sneakers as my day to day shoes. And then I got a pair of navy blue, chunky-heeled, penny loafers that my aunt passed along to me.

They were “leather-like.” And the wrong color. Everyone was wearing black shoes. So I colored them all over with a black permanent marker. It worked really well. I wore them all the time. All. The. Time.

Then the bottom of the heel came off. I learned that this happened when the sound of my footsteps changed from a clop clop clop, to a clop click clop click as the hollow heel hit the marble school floors.

So I did what every high school girl is tempted to do at least once. I stuffed it with toilet paper. The heel, that is. It worked really well. Clop clop clop.

Order restored. No one could tell. Until the snow.

Picture this with me as I remember the moment everything became known. First period. I’m in class. I cross my legs. I’m on the left of the aisle.

I bob my leg a bit as I work. I switch and cross the other leg…and the momentum dislodges the snow that had packed its way into my heel.

The snow -and the toilet paper wad- fly into the aisle. Mortified, I refused to look at it directly as it slowly melted into a doggy heap of sodden TP.

Inside, though, it was my Scarlett O’Hara moment. Never again. As God is my witness: someday I will never have to worry about my shoes again. Someday I will buy whatever shoe I want. I’ll have one for every outfit. They’ll be pretty. And I’ll be the first person that wore them. And they won’t be painted with marker. If I need a black shoe I’ll buy it.

When I got older I maybe went a little overboard with the shoes. OK- that's an understatement. I insulated myself from ever having a repeat incident through acquiring a dizzying assortment of footwear. But.

Things happened. Jobs came and went (Core Values aren't a fungible assets when the company goes under.) I sold most of the shoe memorabilia collection along with the rest of my old office contents.

But inside? I know that girl is still there. The one that thinks that if she has as much as she can of what she thinks she needs then everything will be all right.

• If one pair of shoes is good then 20 are better.
• Like the first book in the series? Buy all of them.
• Find a thimble on vacation? BOOM. Now I collect thimbles. (Seriously. I do.) And sterling silver charms. And tac pins.

I have a compulsive personality. People that work with me now would likely never guess about the shoes. (That would seem odd to my friends from 24 years at Borders. ) Heck. Everyone from Hawaii to Maine knew The Thing About Shoes. It’s not something you can guess at now to look at me in my flats and slip-ons.

I haven’t bought a new pair of heels in quite a while. What you can guess at -just by looking at me- is that I still struggle against “too much.” My very public struggle is self-control regarding food. (I can’t pack that into a box for the next garage sale. )

Can’t color it with markers and hope to blend in with everyone else. No, I’m right out there. Slush in the aisle all over again.

But this time I’m owning it. I'm also trying to work through the generational trauma that cues me that 'buy it once keep it forever' means I'll always have safety and security.

It doesn't work that way, though, does it? Gathering stuff and more stuff doesn't heal the wounds and hunger a person has gathered across their lifetime. It just becomes more that you mentally and/or physically drag around with you.

Do I still have some of those works of art that I used to totter around the office? Yes. But I have fewer. And, bit by bit I am letting go of the things that I've gathered just in case I live the life I thought I'd live.

I'm learning that holding on to all of that distracts me from the life I already have.

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Comments welcome.

(A version of this was originally posted on my WordPress site in February 2014.)