Shelving Pieces of Ourselves

When we moved from LA to Santa Ynez, most of our belongings went into storage with the exception of what we’d need to get by: a few pieces of furniture, kitchen items, toiletries, and capsule wardrobes. I anticipated reuniting with the rest of our possessions in about ten months, which was the initial timeline for renovating our soon-to-be new home…but ten months turned into fifteen, then twenty, and eventually twenty-six months. Two plus years after watching our life load up into one big truck on a Hollywood Hills curb, it finally arrived on our new country doorstep.

I learned a lot about how little you need during those two plus years. And on the contrary, really appreciated reuniting with the beautiful things we had worked hard to collect over the years. Two things can be true: you can enjoy living with less and appreciate living with more. But the word “more” most certainly changed for me. “More” was less about the amount of items and more about how much I enjoyed being surrounded by particular things. The vintage rug in our Hollywood Hills great room for example. There it laid elegantly with its pink, brown, and blue hues grounding two couches, a coffee table and a plush Danish chair for years, the backdrop of so many great memories.  When it arrived and was placed just so in our new house, the exact amalgamation of furniture felt like home. Having furniture never felt better than it did in that very moment. 

I unpacked the rest of our life with this philosophy in mind, giving away what didn’t have functional purpose or emotional significance - I’d never had more clarity about what I did and didn’t need. That is, of course, until I came across the boxes of my shoes. With great enthusiasm and excitement, I dragged the big boxes into the bedroom and plopped down on a chair to carefully comb through the heels, sandals, flats, and sneakers I had accumulated in what felt like a previous life. Shoe bag after shoe bag, I carefully opened each soft cloth duster, eager to discover what was inside. Upon each reveal, nostalgia unfolded. Ohhh, the bright mustard Sergio Rossi satin mules, the studded Chloe boots I saved every penny for, my beautiful wedding shoes, the wildly uncomfortable Celine’s I’d nicknamed ‘ankle crushers,’ my first pair of Manolo’s, and so many more, each with great memories. When I reached for the last pair of shoes remaining in the moving boxes, I got the same feeling I get when finishing the last episode of a favorite show or reading the final page of a wonderful book. A wash of sadness because the process of rediscovering my previous life was so great, I didn’t want it to end. And once it did end, one single Margot Robbie in Barbie tear rolled down my cheek.  Suddenly, I fell homesick for my old life. A life where I needed and wore beautiful shoes, something I didn’t need much of in my new life. Boots, on the other hand, those you need in variety.

I looked around at the room full of shoes, wiped the tear off my face and stood up to get back to work. It was time to put the shoes away.  As I placed each pair on the shelf, I couldn’t help but feel like it was a metaphor. Was I placing little pieces of the old me on that shelf? Girl boss me, luncheon me, drinks at Sunset Tower me, Oscar party with my husband me, packed social calendar me, wildly ambitious me, LA me. Would those pieces of me sit untouched as they wouldn’t have much use in my current era?

Moments later, the girls ran over and said it was time to go to dinner. “Great! This mama needs a break.” I  said as I grabbed them both for a squeeze. That night, I laid in bed thinking of my old life shoes as well as the shoes which I’d acquired since we moved here: riding boots, cowboy boots, rain boots, allll the boots for all the adventures. And that’s when I made peace with the emotional tug of war I’d been playing. You see, I loved this new era, and the new shoe collection it required, even though it was wildly different from the last. Seeing my dusty boots by our front door next to a pile of my girl's boots brings me immense joy. Their cute little boots with splatters of paint from art projects, mud from our last adventure, and worn soles from their very active childhoods. Perhaps I was shelving pieces of the old me, but that is what made space for this new era and that is not only okay but it is beautiful. It means I’m living and going and doing and evolving and growing and changing and experiencing. And just like I still had the shoes, I most certainly had the pieces of me that walked in them once. Pieces that collectively make me, me, no matter what footwear I have on. 

The next day, I grabbed my favorite old pair of Jimmy Choo’s and drove to LA in my dusty boots to meet a girlfriend for dinner. I pulled up to the valet, swapped out my boots for the heels, and walked into the Sunset Tower as though nothing had ever changed. A good reminder that you can always find your way back to your old self if you simply reach for her and take her off the shelf.