If the shoe fits it might fix your problems (and other bad advice)

Why we shouldn't save things for special occasions.

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At the start of this year, or the end of the last one, my lovely friend

Soph

wrote an article about finding silly new year’s resolutions - ones that feel like they might actually stick as opposed to disappearing into a Milky Way, far, far, away. Following this, I decided I would make a promise to myself: I would make a special effort to wear the nice shoes that sit collecting dust in my cupboard.

At first, the weather wasn’t supportive of my new goal. My nice shoes are, one might say, impractical. They’re mostly Mary-Janes, heeled, pastel and not for splashing in puddles or walking along cobblestones on a dark winter night. So, out came my trainers once again - my lace-up, flat footed and slightly mucky alternatives, ready to get me by until the downpours stopped.

The glimpses of sunshine we’ve had over the past couple of weeks have dared me to open my cupboard door and rummage through the treasures inside. Patent rosewood pumps, red velvet flats, monochrome gingham slingbacks begging to see the light of day. Lucky for them, I was still committed to my new year’s promise.

The way slipping into a different pair of shoes made me feel was laughable. I felt like a brand new woman. Each step felt lighter than the last, I was delicately bobbing along the pavements. I could have been soundtracked by Colbie Caillat in a 00s rom-com starring Matthew McConaughey. I don’t mean to sound ridiculous, but it felt like magic.

I stopped for a cinnamon bun before work, and made plans with a friend for later in the week. I spoke to myself nicely when I made a mistake, allowed myself five minutes to get up from my desk and make a cup of tea instead of sitting there stagnant all day. People looked at my shoes and complimented them, and I took the compliment gladly, because I agreed. Wearing my nice special shoes was making me feel nice and special, and I was treating myself accordingly.

I even feel a little silly writing this, because at the end of the day, I’m claiming that wearing a different pair of shoes has changed my life. Of course they haven’t, however I have allowed myself access to something I wouldn’t otherwise because I deemed them “too special”. The fact of the matter is if I don’t wear these shoes to boring places like the office, then I may as well get rid of them, because I really don’t go anywhere that warrants wearing special shoes for special occasions. Perhaps once every five years, but that just seems like a waste.

Giving myself access to the shoes almost made me believe that this painfully average day was something special. Maybe it’s because I simply can’t walk as fast and frantically in them like I can in my trainers, but I started to slow down, think more optimistically, and pretend that I live a life worth dressing up for. I say pretend, but reading that back feels a little harsh - we all have a life worth dressing up for, and I don’t care how cringey you think that sounds.

We limit ourselves access to things we love for no good reason.

The other night I was reading Sunrise on the Reaping and I was glued. I wanted to demolish it, to read it all in one night and satisfy the craving. I never do that, though, because…. I just don’t? But I wanted to, and a couple of Wednesday nights ago, that seemed like a good enough reason to me. I finished the book at one o’clock in the morning on a work night, and didn’t regret it at all. The next morning as I ate my granola at my desk my head was still dancing with the joy I felt the night before, indulging myself in page after page.

Last weekend I was scrolling through Pinterest and swooning at pictures of back-garden movie nights in summer. I remembered I have free will and make my own money, so I hopped on Amazon, bought myself a projector and now I can do the same thing. Movie night with friends will be planned in due course, and in the meantime I have turned my bedroom into a cinema room, which has given me more joy than I’d anticipated. You’ve got to find your own fun in the little things!

Maybe it’s the sunlight reappearing that’s making me think this way after the longest winter of all time, but I think we all need reminding. We’re grown-ups, and although it can be scary, it does come with its luxuries. Wear your special shoes, stay up late reading your favourite book, watch one more episode, buy the tickets — whatever it is that you’re telling yourself you’re not allowed, you are. You make the rules.

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