Retirement for Rubber Sole Shoes

I messed up. I failed. For the better part of nearly two years I compartmentalized that failure and made it my life. It became the banner that I carried and I never put it down. It became the requisite for any analysis that I made up of myself and kept me from allowing anyone to assess me. Me. That was a word that I started out any application with. Ironically, it was the same inhibitor that never allowed me to finish one. I sunk. I dug holes and hid. I stayed away from people and set fire to bridges and I’m unsure if I’ll ever be able to put some of them out. I was a douche. I sat in a room and read books. Sulked. Slept. Stared at a wall, but there was a turning point.

Last week I had to retire a pair of shoes. Those same shoes got me through the first six months of my current job. There a shade darker than what they were when  brand new. They have holes and grease marks all over. The tread is mostly gone and what used to be white is now brown. That’s okay. They worked well. They were more successful than any other pair of shoes that I have ever worn. I guess that’s part of the reason why I bought another pair in all white(they match better with khaki). I plan to do better. Organize better. Plan better. Ask better. Be better.  

In my mind I put up doors: a door for my pity, a door for my remorse, a door for my fears, a door for mistakes, a door for my regrets, etc. I keep them half locked; not for lack of trying to completely lock them away but that’s bad for me. So one has to deal with it. I’m learning how. I’ll let you know when I’m done.  

P.S. On a lighter note: The aforementioned shoes in this story are going to be donated (along with other battered veterans) to the converse re-purposing program to be used for charitable causes(new shoes for less fortunate, parks, basketball courts, etc.). I hope you will do the same now also.

Thanks

(Source: Spotify)