The things I carried

In the face of time, even rocks wear away to nothing. How many things will you love that just pop in and out of existence over the course of your life? I don’t mean people; I mean literal things. Photographs, stuffed animals, or mementos of things long past. Things with sentimental value rather than actual value. If I were to take an inventory of the things I own, most would have come into my possession in the last 10 years or so. The oldest would be a photo album from when I was born, and the second oldest would be a scattering of my Marine Corps-issued gear. There’s a large gap of time between those two things, but for good… and bad reasons.

I have probably told this story at least once, but when I exited the Marines, I had exactly two sea bags and a small backpack worth of stuff. Most of them were things issued to me, not exactly things I purchased myself. That was the sum of the things I possessed, and it was a jarring experience to walk into my first apartment, unpack the little I had, and realize that I owned nothing in the face of the tiny amount of space I had just rented.

Over the years, I have gained and lost things. I’ve learned that possessions are easily acquired and just as easily, if not more so, lost. Because of my probably jaded philosophy, of the things I currently own, I attach sentimental value to a precious few. For example, I don’t recall how or when I came into possession of my childhood photo album. But I can confidently say it involved at least my lifetime’s allotted amount of luck, and so I am grateful to say that I have several of the small number of photos of my mother that I know are in existence. Of course, this would be an obvious thing to attach sentimental value to. Who among us wouldn’t cherish photos of someone who was long lost? What is probably more surprising is that the second thing on the list of maybe four things that I hold some significant attachment to is an old pair of unremarkable shoes.

Funny what we attach value to, especially since the shoes themselves aren’t what makes them special. They were the first thing I bought after I left the Marines and somehow managed to follow me around through the dozens of moves, times of homelessness, etc. that have occurred in the space between the purchase and now. Frankly, that alone makes them pretty special considering out of my military dress uniforms, I don’t actually own a complete set anymore due to theft(s). Like I said, I traded whatever good luck I would get in this lifetime for a photo album, which was totally worth it.

Because they were one of the first things I purchased, I can date them accurately, even after all this time at just over 16 years old. So to reiterate, a 16-year-old pair of shoes is second on my list of important things. I never once claimed I was normal. But while the shoes themselves are fairly unremarkable, the things I did wearing them are memories that I hold dear. I’ve put countless miles of walking into those shoes because, when I started walking again after my injuries, I took full advantage of it and walked everywhere—miles and miles of walking just because I could. Two sets of shoes that were later purchased around this time were worn completely through due to the amount of walking I did.

The importance of this pair of shoes can be summed up thusly: it was the first time in my life I had secured myself in one place long enough to enjoy it. I was no longer a child at the whim of people that were supposedly charged with my wellbeing, and I no longer had to go where the Marines told me to go. I finally had a chance to put down some roots. Unfortunately, I would be uprooted again and again and again. But like my recent completion of my PhD, it was the possibilities of that new chapter that made it so memorable, not the events that occurred later. It was an important time for me. Frankly speaking, I got to call that city home for the longest period of my life to date, so it holds a special place in my heart even after moving across the country to chase my PhD. I may even return to that “home” one day, but that’s not part of this story.

Because the shoes are important to me, I don’t wear them often these days. Honestly, I haven’t had a chance to wear them since I moved, mostly because the city I currently live in is not walkable at all, so I have no reason to wear my comfortably broken-in shoes for a fun adventure around the town. I’m not upset over this because they will, like all things, wear to nothing and will eventually be discarded. But for now, they simultaneously hold memories of adventures long past and promises of new adventures on the distant horizon. That’s probably a lot to put on a pair of shoes, but they don’t seem to take it personally.

With my recent graduation, I guess the feeling reminded me of the feeling I had at that time. The world had suddenly opened up, and I was no longer contained in a tiny, world-like box. There was possibility, and there was so much to look forward to. Which is precisely why, for the first time, I actually attended my graduation ceremony. That’s right, I do regret not writing about it sooner, but there have been a lot of non-shoe-related life things happening in the background that make writing very difficult these days. I have never understood the excitement behind ceremonies like that, but graduation was one thing I really wanted to experience. I am happy to say that I enjoyed it and can recognize why others may be more enthusiastic about it than I have historically been.

It was also a good time to reflect on the literal steps that led to that day, and I probably don’t need to point out that the roughly 15 years worth of steps from undergrad to PhD are a whole lot of steps. Maybe that’s why, when the day came, I put on my dress clothes, grabbed my cap and gown, and before I left for the event, I donned a 16-year-old pair of shoes that definitely did not match my clothing to celebrate the accomplishment. Maybe I’ve become sentimental in my old(er) age, but if there was one time in my life that I wanted to wear something that important, it would be on my graduation day.

As for the other few things on the list of items I hold important, well, the third thing has been recently (~1 year) removed from my possession, sadly, and I won’t mention what it was. Suffice to say I am still sad at no longer having it and is yet another reminder as to why I do my best to not form emotional attachments to physical things. The fourth and almost certainly only other item that is important to me is a single photograph of my uncle and me taken just a few weeks before he killed himself. Like the shoes, it’s not the events that happened later that matter, but the promise of the moment that was captured. There are probably other things I would be sad to lose, but nothing I would actually cry over like I would losing one of the things on my list.

And that is the story of why I wore a pair of shoes that were not dress shoes and did not match my clothing to my graduation.