First Person Singular by Wendy Braitman

filed in Fashion Forward, Happy Ever After

Go Go Boots

April 6, 2009 ⋅  Email This Post ⋅  Print This Post ⋅ Post a comment

What does it mean to have a life of good fortune? Do you need wealth, a beautiful face, a big piece of property with views of the mountains and the ocean? Does the definition of good fortune shift depending on seasons, years, generations, geographic locations, ethnicities?  Or is it mostly about accumulating more than the person down the street?

When I was eleven, I was desperate for a pair of high, white Capezio boots. I saw them in a magazine, and for what seemed like a long time, although it’s possible it was a matter of weeks, or even days, I was sure if I didn’t get those boots, I’d be the least fortunate person I knew.

My neighbors around the corner, in the garden apartments, where one family lived upstairs and another downstairs, ate at restaurants a lot more often than my family. I used to wonder why, since we lived in a single-family home (which I supposed meant we had more money), were we confined to the kitchen table eating my mother’s home-cooked meals? It’s not that she wasn’t a good cook, she was. Her specialties were veal cacciatore and grilled steak with peppers. But I yearned for Chicken Chow Mein at the Chinese restaurant a few blocks away, or a burger with fries at the local diner. I couldn’t understand why we weren’t as fortunate as our neighbors who ate out at least once a week.

But because of meals eaten at home, we developed rituals of setting the table together, sitting around after dinner and talking about our day. We wrestled with new ideas and learned to protect the ones we believed in with lively discussion. I watched my mother organize and prep food, sear meat, roast chicken, and assimilated her techniques. We had stability, consistency, something I could count on. Wasn’t I the lucky one after all?

Maybe it’s like marriage. I used to have moments of deep despair and longing over not having a mate, which sometimes reminded me of “my very life depended on it” desperation of wanting those white Capezio boots. I felt less fortunate in my single life, as compared to the friends and neighbors around the corner, who were all paired up (and probably eating out more).

What happened because I didn’t marry? I put enormous effort and enthusiasm into my work and other creative pursuits. I cultivated a wide circle of friends, so I was sure to have companionship for the difficult times like 3-day weekends, holidays and birthdays. I started my own company. I went to plays. I listened to music. I read books.

How do we know if our lives, in the moment, are good? Why not leave the qualitative judgements aside for now, and assume the best. And no matter what, buy the boots, because shoes REALLY do make a difference.

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