In shoes, as in love, you really only have one shot at the big time. The pair you found by chance, that went on to be the pair you could always rely on, fitting in with any sartorial combination and making your legs look fabulous in the process. Sure, you might find others that you lust after, even love. Ones that walk stoicly with you through life, with which you create beautiful memories or that captivate your imagination for a fleeting moment, taking your dreamy, Summer getaway in their stride. But as balmy days and sultry night give way to ochre landscapes and cruel Autumnal winds, our passionate infatuation fades. Finding appropriate trans-seasonal footwear is a tough task.
Mine were a pair of tan leather sandals with a five inch heel, a one inch platform and a buckled sling back. I found them at humble Sportsgirl, and they were only 120 dollars. Sure, there may have been more glamorous, more comfortable, or more sensible heels out there, but somehow when I put this pair on I felt the Earth shift; they rocked me to my very core. Three years of joy, challenges and remarkable adventures later, they broke. I was so sad and angry that I threw them in a council bin in the middle of Surfers Paradise and stormed back to my hotel barefoot. I didn't even pause to consider that they might have been repairable; that with a bit of skill and understanding, just maybe the strap could be reattached to the sole and we'd continue our trek through life together.
While time heals wounds, it also creates myths and casts a fog of doubt over our reality. Were my memories of our time together the reality, or was my reality being coloured by my broken heart? After all, this wasn't the first time these shoes had broken - the buckle snapped in the first year I had them. With youthful hope I'd repaired the buckle and we were given a second chance, but from then on every time I wore them they dully rubbed at my skin. Sometimes, if I wore them for long enough I'd have a tiny cut on my ankle that would take a week to heal. So, were they even worth repairing in the first place? Was I an idiot for thinking they wouldn't break again?
While I ask the questions, do the soul searching, get angry, reminisce happily or plunge into despair, I will never shake the basis feeling I have for those shoes. Just thinking about them makes my heart flutter, and on the odd occassion when I've seen the same style on someone else's feet I can't help but smile, remembering how much joy they brought to my life, while breathing through the vague twinge of sadness that sometimes rears it's head from the pit of my stomach.
I will never know whether those tan leather sandals from Sportsgirl were broken beyond the point of repairation, and that is a regret that will cut every time I get dressed. But I believe with my entire being that there's another pair of tan leather sandals out there for me. And if by chance we find each other, it will be beautiful.
Mine were a pair of tan leather sandals with a five inch heel, a one inch platform and a buckled sling back. I found them at humble Sportsgirl, and they were only 120 dollars. Sure, there may have been more glamorous, more comfortable, or more sensible heels out there, but somehow when I put this pair on I felt the Earth shift; they rocked me to my very core. Three years of joy, challenges and remarkable adventures later, they broke. I was so sad and angry that I threw them in a council bin in the middle of Surfers Paradise and stormed back to my hotel barefoot. I didn't even pause to consider that they might have been repairable; that with a bit of skill and understanding, just maybe the strap could be reattached to the sole and we'd continue our trek through life together.
While time heals wounds, it also creates myths and casts a fog of doubt over our reality. Were my memories of our time together the reality, or was my reality being coloured by my broken heart? After all, this wasn't the first time these shoes had broken - the buckle snapped in the first year I had them. With youthful hope I'd repaired the buckle and we were given a second chance, but from then on every time I wore them they dully rubbed at my skin. Sometimes, if I wore them for long enough I'd have a tiny cut on my ankle that would take a week to heal. So, were they even worth repairing in the first place? Was I an idiot for thinking they wouldn't break again?
While I ask the questions, do the soul searching, get angry, reminisce happily or plunge into despair, I will never shake the basis feeling I have for those shoes. Just thinking about them makes my heart flutter, and on the odd occassion when I've seen the same style on someone else's feet I can't help but smile, remembering how much joy they brought to my life, while breathing through the vague twinge of sadness that sometimes rears it's head from the pit of my stomach.
I will never know whether those tan leather sandals from Sportsgirl were broken beyond the point of repairation, and that is a regret that will cut every time I get dressed. But I believe with my entire being that there's another pair of tan leather sandals out there for me. And if by chance we find each other, it will be beautiful.
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