Have you ever accidentally
donated something to the thrift store only to realize you’d made a mistake?
That happened to me in a big
way, or at least I thought.
Several months ago I was
cleaning out my closet. Preparing to
sell our home, we had new carpet put into the bedrooms and everything was being
shuffled around.
Typical night in our home.
Piles and piles of
clothes, toys and other miscellaneous “how did I acquire so much junk” items
ended up going to Goodwill. It felt
great decluttering, a task I could have never accomplished without the amazing
skills of my determined husband.
Through this process, we
would fill the truck with “I’m never going to buy that again” items and off my
oldest son would go to Goodwill. He got
pretty good at that, picking up giant black trash bags filled with “way too
much stuff” and dropping them off at the donation center.
But wait! Where were my shoes?
When I cleaned out my closet,
I put almost every pair of shoes I owned in a giant black trash bag, the same
bags we’d been using for “get that junk out of here” donations. I got busy again and that night, looking for
my flip-flops my heart filled with dread.
Where was my bag of shoes? I
asked my son Chandler
and he insisted he hadn’t seen any shoes when making his daily “Holy heck, Mom
has a shopping addiction” drop off to Goodwill.
I had hope. I had faith, but
after looking high and low that bag of at least 20 pairs of shoes – running
shoes, boots, high heels, sandals, slippers, flip-flops – many of which were
still new, was gone.
Sometimes, an unexpected
life-lesson comes when all your shoes are lost.
Not quite a depression, but I did some deep soul-searching over
this. Why had I acquired so many shoes? Did I really need that many? Could I be happy knowing they at least would help
someone else in need? I’ll admit, I
thought of going to the thrift store to see if I could find any of my shoes on
their shelves, but I had to let it go. I
wasn’t going to grovel.
Somehow, in the dark corners
of the home, almost like the ghost of shoes past, I did find an old pair of
TOMS, my pink running shoes, a pair of black books and a pair of sandals that
had never fit me quite right, but they would do. I could get by on four pair of shoes, right? I mean if a man can go to the moon, I could do
this. To make matters direr, I’d made a
promise to myself and my all-supportive, loving, decluttering husband that I wouldn’t
bring anything else into the home until we moved.
Funny, looking in every
picture I’ve posted on social media in the last three months, and you’ll see me
in one of those pair of shoes.
Those
black boots weren’t meant for many of the outfits they were worn with, but if
the shoe fits . . . I’m not sure if this analogy really fits here, but you know
what I mean.
Well, we decided not to move
(you can read about that here), but we still had one more clean out to do. It’s like our “I need serious help” junk was
breeding. Our garage was still full of “I
just might need that later” stuff and we started one more decluttering project. Honestly, I couldn’t face
it. I was so burned out on going through
trash, I gave Derek the green light to just get rid of whatever. My defeat was a victory to finally parking a
car in our garage when later that night, I noticed a big black bag in my closet. Yes, my friends. This story has a happy ending. In his greatest moment of chivalry, my
husband like a knight in shining armor found my shoes and like a kiss on a
sleeping princess, he slipped those shoes in my closet in the stillness of the
night. Has there ever been a more
romantic scene written?
It’s been three days since all
my shoes were returned and I haven’t even opened the bag. I’m wearing my holy pair of TOMS. I call them holy because they have
holes. I did learn a valuable
lesson. I don’t need that many pair of
shoes, black boots can look pretty good while wearing a silk dress (please tell me you're picking up on my sarcasm)
and uncomfortable
sandals eventually mold to your feet.
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