Even with a cracked sole

Can I just say, where the hell does self-confidence come from?  Because I, honestly, have no idea.

Well, maybe I have one idea.  Let’s talk, for a moment, about my obsession with boots.  I once thought my boot thing began in New York City, but, of course, it goes back much farther than that, to when I began riding horses.  On that level, I feel confident in riding clothes because I feel so comfortable.  Everything has a purpose, and, more importantly, a certain level of resilience.  I find a weird satisfaction in wearing riding clothes out in public, where people will inevitably give me weird looks.  This is also utterly hilarious, because I’ve seen countless non-riders in imitation breeches (with knee patches and everything!) and equestrian-esque boots.  But, of course, if you are wearing them for an actual purpose, people simply cannot fathom it.  I have nothing against this whole “equestrian chic” thing, but that double standard is a little odd.

Anyway, back to the whole boot thing.  I really started wearing them in New York, and that’s because they are absolutely essential.  You walk EVERYWHERE, and you are never guaranteed that any of the paths you will tread will be even relatively clean (especially in winter).  Therefore, boots.  Protect yourself from urban grunge.

I have recently become hyper-aware of the fact that boots have become a pivotal part of my constructed persona.  I wear boots literally every single day.  I wore my boots from New York City until the sole of one was cracked and the other had nothing short of a canyon carved all the way across its width.  I still have those, but I got a much more resilient pair for Christmas this year.  As in, the kind that I could pass on to children, if I ever planned on having any.  The New York boots also found their way into a poem in my SIP: “I didn’t take my boots/ off for days, walked over the carpet in them,/ showered in them, climbed into bed.  Maybe/ that was a mistake.  They’re always reminding/ me it’s possible to keep going even with a cracked/ sole.  Wearing clothes does not mean you stop/ feeling anything, but it helps.”

I really couldn’t tell you exactly what it is.  Maybe it is the fact that I feel protected in a strange way, or maybe it’s because I’m comforted by a constant reminder of horses.  Maybe it’s the strange sense of power that borders on confidence, because it’s easy to feel like you’re sure of your steps when you’re stomping around in boots.

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