Sole Searching

As I was cleaning my apartment today in preparation for my departure from Norway on Tuesday morning, I got to the entrance of my apartment that has dried and dirty footprints from my shoes. I’ve got two pairs of shoes—an American pair and a Norwegian pair—and I couldn’t help but feel a little nostalgic.

I knew in my soles that these would be the shoes I’d take to Norway. I’ve had a pair of shoes like this before, but I wore them for almost an entire year before they started falling apart. Because of all the walking I’ve done since I got here, I’ve worn the soles down to nothing in some places, and the white parts of the sole have actually fallen out of the shoes.

These shoes have been with me in every step of my adventure. They’ve seen the western and eastern sides of North Dakota, and they’ve flown with me out to Pennsylvania. After that, they bounced with me from Pittsburgh to Boston to Reykjavik, Iceland to Oslo, Norway. These were the shoes that nervously paced back and forth in the Gardermoen airport waiting for my bag, then sprinted outside to the bus stop to travel south to Moss. I even wore them as I hiked through Mosseskogen, the forest north of Moss—that’s where I tore a hole in the side of my right shoe, I’m pretty sure.

Come to think of it, these shoes have gone through every leg of my European journey. In August, they walked the streets of Oslo when I first arrived in Norway and took me through the biggest city I’d ever seen. In October, they took me across Belgium to the city of Bruges, striding over cobblestone streets to view windmills and towers. Later in October, they slipped their way through the largest city I’ve ever enter—London—and I walked in the paths of kings! In November, I realized how much I took my shoes for granted as I walked through Auschwitz and saw an entire room full of shoes stripped from Jewish prisoners. 

I came back from Poland feeling straight-laced, and I figured I should buy a new pair of shoes, seeing as the hole in my shoe kept ripping wider. I walked to the mall and bought a pair of Norwegian shoes, and they’ve been very nice so far.

If I had to tie this post up in a nice bow, I’d say that you shouldn’t take your shoes for granted—think of all the places you’ve been, and now think of all the other people (and shoes) that have walked there before you. I’ve walked in the footsteps of millions of people, nobility and peasants, old and young. The idea is almost too much to wrap my mind around.