I Bought New Shoes

I bought new shoes today.

Brown ones this time.

With black soles. Leather uppers.

They’re so smooth that I’m tempted to match them with my regular outfits. Yet despite how slick they may appear, they were never intended for casual wear:

The outsoles are slip-, oil-, and abrasion-resistant.
The materials protect against electrical hazards.
And they’ve got some of the hardest steel toes I’ve ever seen.

In other words, they’re made for dangerous work.

I grabbed a pair of my normal size 12’s after a try-on. The length fit true to size but the width felt a little wonky. Nothing a few wears won’t solve though.

Overall, I’m happy with the purchase—especially since I barely paid for ‘em.

Yeah, I still picked up the last few bucks on the tab. And I did have to pay in the flesh. But once I finally reached the register, you know what they told me?

“Your name’s on the list.”

I had just told the clerk who I was, and after he said that lovely sentence, he pointed to two familiar words:

“Shepherd, Drew.”

Of course I never signed myself up though. I didn’t even know there was a list. But if I had known, it would have been years before I used it.

My scuffed, oil-covered, arch-inflamers worked just fine.

If anyone needed shoes, it was the new guy who complains about the blisters on his feet. Or maybe my boss who’s worn the same raggedy pair since he was hired.

But mine? They only had a year’s worth of wear and tear.

Yeah, my shoes got slippery at times, but it’s not like they ever caused me to fall. (Well, not since I learned to catch myself after one unspeakable instance.)

Sure the material on the welts was stripped. The stitching across each layer was loose. And the charcoal color only slightly resembled the original black.

But…

Okay. So they weren’t the greatest.

I’ll admit they could have used a patch up. But to replace them? And to do it so soon. It just seemed…wrong.

Lemons and lemonade, right? Make the best of what you got. That’s what I tried to do. And I guess that’s why my feet still hurt.

I got too comfortable in something meant to be temporary. Tried to turn a dorm room into a home.

In contrast, most people in my shoes—pardon the shameless pun—would say they deserved the change. They’d go on about how they’re better than the old pair. That it was about time for an upgrade.

That’s how I thought I’d act—when the time eventually came.

To be honest, I abhorred my old shoes at first. I only chose them because I was desperate for something, anything, to hold me over until I got the pair I really wanted.

But after a few months in, there was a turning point. A time when those shoes began to feel much better than my only option.

Day in and day out, they were the only shoes I wore. And soon they became more than just a staple of my wardrobe. They became a fixture I belonged in.

Hurricanes, blizzards, oil, dirt and grime, they made tracks in all of them. And even when they started to hurt me, I made excuses for them like I do now.

bought new shoes footprint — Drew was here.

I know the old times will never come back though. Those shoes served a purpose then and they did it well.

But now I have a different purpose. One I knew I’d have before I purchased my old pair.

It’s the reason I initially scoffed at my old shoes—I knew they weren’t built for what’s ahead.

It’s a challenge with new goals, new dangers, new responsibilities. And my old pair can’t hold up to that, no matter how much I try to convince myself otherwise.

So today I laced up my new pair. Then all the questions poured in: