Shoes, Pajamas, and Saying Goodbye

As I strode across the parking lot and into the performing arts center in the pouring rain, my footing didn’t feel quite right.

A few steps into the building, my left shoe stuck to the floor. I lifted my foot and bent my knee to see what I had stepped on. The problem wasn’t the floor. It was my shoe. A piece of the sole under the ball of my foot had broken off, revealing adhesive underneath.

I didn’t want to be late for my concert band performance. I kept walking toward the green room, leaving bits of soles on the floor along the way. By the time I got there, the entire left shoe was threatening to come apart. The right one wasn’t doing so well, either.

Now what? I didn’t have any other shoes with me. I had no choice but to take out my piccolo and start warming up.

I walked gingerly to the stage and took my seat for the sound check. Afterward, I removed my shoes and made a beeline for the stage manager.

“Do you have any duct tape? Preferably black.”

The stage manager inspected the shoes in my hand. “Gaffer tape is better. It won’t leave any marks on the stage.”

Fortunately, the tape repair held long enough for me to make it through the concert and walk back to my car.

I don’t remember how long ago I bought these shoes. They were my go-to pair for band and orchestra performances. About five years ago, I took them to a repair shop to get the heel tips replaced after they had worn down to the metal underneath. Those were still in excellent condition.

My approach to clothing is the opposite of fast fashion. I buy pieces I like and wear them for years, sometimes too many. In recent years, I have started shopping at consignment shops.

A few months ago, my sister called me out for wearing a shirt with holes in it. That shirt was well-loved. It was one of many pieces of clothing I bought when I lived in California and still wear. (I moved to Washington in 2014.)

I heeded my sister’s advice and dumped the shirt into the Threads bag. I subscribe to Ridwell, a service that picks up plastic film, batteries, light bulbs, and textiles. I place canvas bags of items into a metal bin in front of my house, and a truck comes by every two weeks to cart my items away for recycling and drop off canvas bags for the next pickup.

My favorite pair of pajamas will probably have to make their way into the Threads bag soon. That makes me sad. They are super comfortable and also have a story behind them. In 2013, my son Alex and I drove to Harvey Mudd College for my 25-year reunion. He was a junior in high school, and I wanted him to visit the school. I had a feeling it might be the right fit for him.

Since the trip was 400 miles each way, it was also a chance for Alex to get in the rest of his required 50 hours behind the wheel before taking his driver’s test. If he could navigate around semis on the I-5 freeway and deal with Los Angeles traffic, he would be ready to ace that test and earn his license.

When we arrived at the hotel and started unpacking, I realized I had forgotten my pajamas. Fortunately, there was a Target store a mile away.

Shortly after that trip, Alex passed his driver’s test with flying colors. He graduated from Harvey Mudd College in 2018.

My takeaway? Well-loved clothing contains memories, and it can be hard to let go. It is also possible to take reuse and repair too far. I hated throwing those shoes into the trash, but I realized I had to do it.