The End of an Era

I hate to sound dramatic, but I've incurred a bit of trauma this week. Over the past five or so years, my trusty Chuck Taylors have been with me through thick and thin. They've seen me through three apartments, over half a dozen countries, and their fair share of male competition. As silly as it sounds, these sneakers are easily one of my most prized possessions. They've strolled Soho, stomped through Spain, and saw me through some of the most incredulous times of my short, manic adulthood. When chaos surrounded me, Chuck always had my feet firmly planted on the ground.

I am embarrassed to say that I abandoned my All-Stars before my journey to Australia. They were pretty broken down and I didn't think they were in any shape to make the trip. The soles were cracked, there were tears in the canvas, and you could actually put your finger through the bottom of the left shoe. So, with much trepidation, I left them in the U.S. and headed on my barefoot journey.

I regretted the decision immediately and wallowed in self pity for months without my beloved Converse. Luckily, Kendra's best friend took pity on my poor, pathetic "sole" and brought them to me in March. They've trekked and traveled all around Sydney with me, but as time wore on, they continued to beg for retirement. We've had a wonderful time together Down Under, but this past week I finally had to say goodbye.

Pathetically, I can't part with them, so I packed them in a shoebox and stored them under my bed for safekeeping. As I lay them to rest in their cardboard coffin, I couldn't help but feel like I was burying a piece of myself. To cope with the trauma, I decided on a fitting fix (pictured). I can only hope that my new investment will give me half the treasured memories and exciting times that my original All-Stars did.

R.I.P. old friends, you've done me proud.