I believe in dirty shoes.

Case in point: a particular event in my middle school life in which everything that could ever be changed did in fact change. It was the first day of school, and I had this particular pair of perfect, not-quite-brand-new, Converse high-tops. I had gotten them during covid and hadn’t had the chance to wear them to school, though they had been worn religiously throughout the summer, accumulating a rather thick layer of dirt from hiking, biking, and adventure. My shoes suffered greatly. Ten minutes before the bus was due to arrive, I decided that I needed a freshly cleaned pair of shoes to go with my first day outfit. So, kneeling on the bathroom floor, the porcelain tub digging into my stomach, I scrubbed furiously at my shoes. Water splashed all over me and the floor, soaking through the outfit I had meticulously picked out the night before.

I missed the bus that morning.

Case in point: a particular event at my work, a day camp, a few weeks ago (that is a lie it was like two months ago but still), in which my campers decided to make a mud puddle next to the water cooler outside their bunk. Granted, they were three and four, so they didn’t listen very well when we told them the previous 4,837 times to keep the water in their cups and NOT on the ground, please. But of course, they weren’t listening – surprise surprise, toddlers don’t listen- so they were making a mud puddle. I, realizing the error in my ways too late to change the outcome, had worn my favorite shoes to work that day, and would come to regret that decision. I told the boys to back away from water station, since we decided not to listen to Ms. Lee today, and to step or jump over the muddy puddle so as not to make a mess of anyone’s shoes.

Scotty, angered by the fact that I ruined his fun, jumped into the puddle out of spite.

I decided not to clean my favorite pair of shoes after that. Or my other pair of shoes I got muddy hiking with my family. Or my Docs, scuffed and dirty from constant wear. Because each pair of shoes holds a different story, a different stone I've stepped, a different path I've walked.

I’ve learned a lot about dirty shoes. I’ve learned about myself, learned about how bad I am at time management (spoiler alert: I will continue to suck at time management; no matter how hard I try, I’ve never gotten any better at it). Most importantly, I learned about the amount of effort cleaning shoes requires (a lot) and the success rate of having perfectly clean looking shoes (low). Actually, the most important thing I’ve learned is to enjoy the adventure that made your shoes dirty in the first place. Life is far too short to care about dirt on your shoes when you could care more about how funny the experience is of a child jumping in a mud puddle during tantrum he had because you couldn’t let him jump in the big kid pool. Or, you know, something like that. Find your own experiences, ones where your shoes get dirty, because the adventure and path that got you to those experiences is more important than a little mud.