I resurrected this old pair of brown shoes (old in shoe years; it's not even been 1 year since I got them) that I've had sitting in my closet for months. I so loved (yes love, I can more easily attach that word to inanimate objects; they are less complicated) these shoes. When I just got them I wore them practically everyday, they made my old clothes look and feel new, they put an extra bounce in my step; even when it started to show signs of overuse, I still loved those shoes.
My brown, beautiful shoes; I wore it till it broke, then I packed it aside. But I still loved them and missed them, so I never discarded them. Recently I got them fixed, it's no longer new, still creased and scuffed, they feel different now, new in a familiar way.
These old shoes actually got me thinking about people, how they enter our lives and sometimes bring such joy. They walk through our lives, some leaving a greater impression than others, some we treat with care, some we toss aside being indifferent to the contribution they have made, and yet there are some while not actively part of your life they're still there. Out of sight, but never out of mind, always being part of your life.
I always have a hard time throwing away my stuff, I use them till they are so worn out that the right thing to do would be to throw them away; but I develop attachments, we have a history, a story to tell that no one else will understand (like my old pair of three quarter jeans my wife has been trying to throw away for years now, I have had them of over ten years and they are so frayed you can see the pockets) and even though they are no longer usable, I like to have them within my reach, within my memory. Every now and then I would go back to them. They're my old stuff, and I will always want it because it is mine.
People are not possessions, but when a good person enters your life no matter what you go through with that person, how damaged that person is, you should never toss them aside and forget them. Even through the ugliness you can find some beauty.
I have of late taken the view that no matter how rebellious, unconventional, non-conformist we would like to think ourselves, we are at some point always part of a similar grouping of people. We are never truly leaders, but followers. Followers, I prefer to refer to us as sheep; because at one point or another in our life we are all sheep. This is a place to express myself, vent my frustration with the sheepdom, and relieve my boredom. It is my therapy for all that contributes to my neurosis.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
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