My brain has recovered just enough from the long weekend to notice a hole in my shoe.  More than one hole, actually.

We’ve already discussed the fact that I like to throw things away (a lot), so no need to rehash that.  It’s still true.  But there are some caveats to that general rule.

The main loophole in the love for throwing things out has to do with emotional attachment. I’m usually good at only getting attached to things that are supposed to stick around for a long time.  I’m attached to my dog (not necessarily an object, but I did buy him, so he counts for now), some of the art in my house and a few random vases that have been passed down from family members.  There are obviously different levels of attachment in that list, but you get the idea.  All of the things I care about are sticking around semi-long-term.

Then there is a very select group of clothing items that made it onto the list of loved objects.  That’s tricky because clothes usually wear out as a result of favorite status.  If I love my dog too much, he just gets extra walks and belly rubs.  If I love a shirt too much, it eventually becomes hole-ridden or frayed or something.  Anyway, the favorite clothes list includes two pairs of shoes, both of which have seen better days.  One of the pairs of shoes looks like this:

I slipped into that pair of shoes this morning and remembered that there are not one or two, but three holes in their soles.  In all fairness, there’s still one layer of interior liner leather between my foot and the ground, but that layer is definitely not supposed to be in contact with concrete.

What I should do is take these shoes to the cobbler and get them resoled.  Presto, problem solved.  Memories retained, good shoes restored to high-quality status, etc.  (Also, I think they should sell cobbler at the cobbler’s shop… just saying.)  Instead, I’ll probably continue to wear them for another season and retire them next year.  I don’t have any good reasons for that.  It’s just challenging to remember things like going to the cobbler’s shop at any time that doesn’t include trying to find keys and getting to work in a timely manner.

So this is my mental preparation for getting rid of a favorite item.  I don’t really need to remember the gruesome details of my first professional job interviews anyway.  And this is also why you shouldn’t get emotionally attached to inanimate objects.  Have you seen the TV show Hoarding: Buried Alive?  I thought I would love it, because I do like those shows where they take people’s stuff out of the house, totally reorganize it, and change their lives in a day.  No, Hoarding made me very afraid.  It’s like the haunted house version of those other organizing shows.

Now when I try to rationalize wearing a pair of shoes with holes in them, I think about people with boxes of newspapers stacked to the ceiling and hundreds of plastic grocery bags piled on the floor of their kitchen.  There’s probably a dead cat hidden in that mass of plastic.  Then I want to throw all of my shoes away except for maybe one pair.