All right, I'm big enough to admit it. I have a problem.
And yes, narrowing that down to just one problem is a bit of an effort, at least for those who know me well. We could start with blurting out snarky responses at inappropriate times or not being able to back a boat into a lake if the ramp were as wide as a football field. Not connected, but definitely problems.
However, the issue de jour is much more of a personal observation than hanging offense (OK, maybe the boat thing really isn't that serious. I mean, I could just let someone else do it, while offering up snarky comments at inappropriate times.). In fact, the issue I'm talking about might just be a problem to me. But since it's all about me (potentially another problem to be discussed later and with more professionally qualified people, perhaps), it will rise to the level of tragedy.
I have too many pairs of shoes.
I know: It's very "first-world." But bear with me, because I can trace the sudden over-population of my closet floor to larger issues that affect us all. Now, what was that definition of "narcissism" again?
Traditionally, on at least the male side of my family, we didn't own too many pairs of shoes. Likely because we were challenged enough to match shirts and pants without having to throw in choices surrounding belts and shoes.
I realize what follows may sound incredibly sexist, but it's more of an observation ripped from the headlines of my life, so you'll just have to take it in the spirit intended: The women in my family tended to own lots of pairs of shoes, many of them what could best be referred to as "single use." Men bought shoes with the idea that they'd potentially be buried in them.
We tended to ignore Mark Twain's directive to never engage in an activity that required special shoes and bought golf shoes. But those didn't really count since, at least in the days of metal spikes, you couldn't wear them anywhere else unless you wanted to make a lot of noise or tear up someone's carpet.
So my shoe choices tended to be "the black ones or the brown ones." And then the plague descended.
There's nothing specific about covid that led to my shoe explosion. New shoes are definitely not the latest version of horse de-wormer or fish tank cleaner or whatever the quack cure of the moment is. The illness, or at least the working-from-home byproduct of it, has led to some questionable choices on my part, none involving the covid-inspired popularity of sourdough bread making.
When we first were compelled to work exclusively from home, I was one of those who decided the best way to stay focused was to act as if I was going to work every day instead of just wandering to my makeshift office and turning my laptop back on.
So, I've been wearing actual shirts with collars and pants with legs for two years now. But the idea of putting on hard leather shoes to wander around the house seemed odd. So I started wearing tennis shoes. Or athletic shoes. Or trainers. Or gym shoes. Or whatever you call those shoes you could easily do something athletic in if you were so inclined.
Once you head down that path, you begin to notice they come in different colors and degrees of comfort and even, dare we say it, styles. And while there are obvious and ridiculous exceptions, they are relatively inexpensive, which allows people locked in their houses with few other outlets to do stupid stuff like shop online for athletic shoes.
Now, to bring this around, I've started going to the office again. And what I've noticed (other than it's a much longer way to the bathroom than I'm used to), is that my footwear choices are somewhat universally accepted. We're all wearing tennis shoes.
Which I'm going to say is a good thing. They're comfortable, allow you to make a statement or start a conversation (no brand-related turf wars yet, which is good). If we're all going back to offices now, at least we're doing it – to some degree – on our own terms and keeping our personal comfort in mind. We're making the workplace a little more our own.
So from now on I may just always have a lot of shoes. Which will make for one last remaining problem: Now. my next of kin won't know exactly which shoes to bury me in.
One more reason for cremation.