My Shoe Closet

My closet holds a variety of shoes, each of which has taken me down a different path. The miles I have covered in them have led me through experiences that have shaped me into the person I am today.

My New Balance running shoes have been with me since middle school. Every day, rain or shine, in Paris or in New York, I set a time to stop what I am doing and lace myself into these shoes for a jog. Sometimes I dread this daily routine, but I have continued to run over the years because of the satisfaction the training brings me. After winning my first cross country race in middle school, I felt that I had accomplished something through my own hard work. This feeling is so rewarding that I have kept running ever since. Because of the many miles I have jogged throughout the years, I qualified for the New York State Champs in my freshman and sophomore years in the U.S. and for the “Championnat de France” last year in Paris.

My Birkenstock clogs are another pair of well-worn shoes in my closet. These shoes have led me along a path that opened my eyes to the inequities of the world. In these comfortable, easy shoes, I walked up and down the corridors of Cornell Hospital, where I met many cancer patients with heartbreaking stories. I remember one young man who checked into the hospital with a cancer too developed to cure because he had not been able to afford health insurance. I witnessed this man’s slow and unnecessary death, as well as the preventable deaths of many other patients. In my familiar Birkenstocks, I felt ashamed of humanity for turning its back to these people and I realized that even in my own country, the land of opportunity, life can be cruel and unfair.

The black heels in my closet represent my life in Paris. Having grown up with a French father and a Polish-American mother, I never felt like a typical American. During my sophomore year in high school, I decided that I wanted to leave Rye for school in France. I did not know that along with that decision came formal “Rallye” soirees thrown by aristocratic Parisian families for their teenage children. I felt lucky walking into chateaux, meeting new friends, and adapting to new customs. However, before long, my pretty black heels started to hurt my feet, and I am now ready to change them for more comfortable footwear. I’ve discovered that I’m neither a typical French girl, nor a typical American, but I feel part of many cultures.

My dusty, worn out hiking boots took me all over Peru. I wore these boots on Amantani Island in the middle of Lake Titicaca between Peru and Bolivia where I met Yachay, an indigenous, Quechua speaking woman. Like most Amantanians, Yachay has never left the island where she was born. Yachay’s typical adobe lacks windows, electricity, and running water. She has never seen a car and does not have an iPod to listen to her favorite music. However, she enjoys a warm, fire-lit home, good health, and a loving family. I could tell by the peace in her old eyes that she had everything she needed. I found tranquility in the slow and easy life of Amantani, and I realized that like Yachay, I have everything I need for a truly happy life.

My shoes, whether mud-stained or polished, elegant or humble have taken me on many important journeys, and I look forward to the undiscovered paths I will walk in with the variety of new shoes I am yet to acquire.