I bought a pair of boots 5 years ago. They cost me $160, the most a piece of clothing has ever cost me. They were beautiful. They fit my runner's calves, and the zippers up the sides were very unique. I could wear them over jeans.
In the time I had them, I had them fixed 4 times. First some wobbly heels, then the soles started to talk back. After that, the wobbly heel just wouldn't quit, and finally a few months ago the glue separated from the soles and boy did they talk...
This was a huge problem for me over the last few months. I kept on debating between: do I pay the $40 to fix them again, knowing that they fit, knowing that one day they will break, or do I make peace with the time we've spent together and buy another pair?
My mom and I both tried to repair the talking soles with industrial strength floor glue. She tired first and they held for about a day. We thought, it's just the weather. Edmonton had gotten a huge dump of snow, more in that week that it has had the previous winter. So I tired and again, it worked for about a day, until the weather decided to test them.
During this time, I continued to wear them, wobbly heel and poor attitude and all.
Last week I decided to go looking. I checked 7 stores. Out of those 7, only 2 could fit me (wide feet/calf runner). Out of those two, there was only 1 pair that had what I was looking for: calf height, stretchy, leather, flat riding boots.
So I bought them.
Then my right hip started to hurt. Then my back. Finally I realized it wasn't my new boots, it was my old boots. I had developed a walk to compensate for the wobbly heel. These shoes were not broken. They didn't have a heel. I didn't need to compensate. I could just walk normally.
I was walking around with a broken shoe. Having fixed it. Having replaced it. I still had the jaunt.
When someone asked me if I was excited about moving on I would say: I'm too busy to be excited. Or, ask me tomorrow, I will have an answer for you then.
This is because I have been waiting. I have been waiting to wake up one night and "reality" to hit me. I have been waiting for my other voice to be right. The little bitch inside me who told me, you're such a silly girl, you're just reacting. You will be on the plane and it will hit you, just what an insane thing you are doing. You will fail. Again.
And yet, I'm almost to Milan. Ive done 14h and have 7h more to go. And I'm not panicking. Not when I didn't understand how my bag would go through customs, not at the 3 hour long security lines, not when the only working ticket machine stopped working.
Instead I feel strangely normal. I felt relief at not having to explain why I needed to physically go to the gate before I ate. My mind was just about to formulate the thought when it realized it was unnecessary. So instead I got a table for 2: my Backpack and I, in the fanciest restaurant in the airport. It was nice spending $12 on a ridiculously expensive (but boy was it good) glass of wine. It was nice because I wasn't calculating.
On my journey here, for the first time in a long time, my first compulsion was to do the healthy thing. Eat a salad. Who cares if it costs $12 and you just eat the beans and tomato. You don't have to finish it. In fact, you don't have to check your messages on your phone either.
It doesn't feel like a huge accomplishment, it just feels like my life. The same feeling you get when you brush your teeth. You just line up for the gate.
At one point I heard all the Italian around me and I braced myself. This is it! This is the moment when you realize what you're doing!
But I knew what the girl was asking her friend. She was wondering why the rows of baggage were one behind the rows for sitting. And I just turned to her and explained it in English. It was fine.
Both shoes are still there.
It turns out that I have 2 boots firmly planted on my feet, and one of them is not about to drop after all.
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