Why I Bought Light Up Shoes

Ever since I grew out of my LA Gear sneakers - the ones that blink whenever you step - I've been searching for shoes that light up in adult sizes. It took very many years before I found them. I was lifeguarding at a private pool party in my town (woo Orange, CT) when a 14 year old boy sat down nearby. The sun had just set but my vision was still illuminated by bright blue light emanating from the sole of the young man's shoes. I inquired as to where he found them, how much they were, the brand name, and other questions of that nature.

I had to have them.

You see, I've been working summers as a lifeguard since I was 15 (this will be the first summer that I will not, thank God). I started with between 20 and 30 hours a week and by the "Summer of the Shoes," I was teaching swim lessons at one pool and lifeguarding at another for around 70 hours a week total. In addition to this, I was teaching private swim lessons and guarding private parties on the weekend. Needless to say, I was busy.

I subscribe to the philosophy - and I may be alone in actually living this way but have met many people that think it is a great idea - that if you work hard, you earn a little something more than money. You earn the right to do at least one thing completely stupid with it.

I'm not saying one should do anything crazy or that one should spend all the money one earns on a flagrant and ridiculous purchase - what I am talking about is something much smaller, but still meaningful - something sacred and individually important, but still downright absurd in nature. It should be a strict want and not a need. It should be something no one would ever need.

And thus, light up shoes were my stupid purchase of the summer. My shoes don't blink when I step - they have a button on the side that turns them on or off as I please and are powered by a 9-volt battery (big clunky square batteries found in smoke detectors) in the tongue.

Since I've bought them, I've been both lauded and harangued from fraternity decks, lambasted and complemented on their appearance, brought police cars to a halt with curious officers wanting to know where they can get a pair, pelted with empty beer cans, taken pictures with many random strangers, heard whispers and shaken off pointing fingers, moved to the front of lines to get into anything, and been called a complete idiot for having spent as much as I did on them (which will remain a secret).

But I've never once regretted buying them and wearing them around. I feel like they represent that part of me that's always wanted to revert to childhood when I was happiest and the most important thing to me was that my shoes lit up. In this crazy state of studentdom which I've entered, I find that between reading, problem sets, thinking about a future career, working at the court, conducting my research, cooking for myself, grocery shopping, and all that kind of stuff, I need a tiny, bright oasis. I need that reminder - that knowledge - that at any time I can turn the shoes on and awaken that little boy inside of me and escape from trying to be a real-life person; I need to know that there once was and still is that feeling of excitement from something so illogical and ridiculous.

So, here is an impromptu toast to my shoes and to that stupid thing everyone has in their lives - that one island away from it all that represents the wants and not the needs:

I raise my glass to you, light up shoes. Despite making me look insane, you keep me sane and remind me of a simpler time. Your heft and clunkiness on my feet reminds me of the extra baggage I now carry as an adult, but when I turn your lights on, I feel lighter than air. Indeed, you not only aid me in my travels on foot, but also through my travels in life. For this, I thank you.

PS - I had cake for breakfast this morning.