I’ve written before about Istanbul and about my body becoming home when home was thousands of miles away. But I recently wrote a little essay about the shoes that got me across that city and across my fears of loneliness, and it was published by the very cool blog/project, Worn Stories, which was also published as a very neat book last year. Here’s an except from the essay, but to read the rest, visit this excellent source of personal stories told through the things we wear.
“…For this trip, I bought myself a beautiful pair of dark brown, soft leather sandals, simple, but with a woven pattern over the toes and built to last. They were stiff at first; I didn’t plan to wear them everyday. But the heavy heat and humidity kept me from grabbing my boots. And soon, I was forced to break them in – to tamp down thoughts like, “what the hell am I doing here and why?” I walked. From the moment I woke to sundown, I’d just walk and walk. First, it was about making my body so tired it might quiet my mind. But soon it became about finding my way, becoming oriented in a strange new place and being comfortable getting lost. And then, getting lost became the aim. I wanted to discover what I never could have planned to find, to wander into unknown areas of the dense city, walk up and down the meandering hills, stumble upon graveyards filled with kings and forgotten mosques with crumbling tiles. By getting lost, I could lose myself. And by losing myself, I could patch together a new me: tan from the Mediterranean sun and as confident of my direction in the streets as in my reasoning for flying across the world to combat restlessness….”
Continued at Worn Stories.