She saw the shoes in the window.
Bright red. Not burgundy. Not wine. Not the tasteful shade of red that could almost pass for a neutral if you wore it with the right pants.
The kind of red that entered a room before you did.
She stopped. Then kept walking. She had absolutely nowhere to wear red shoes like that. Three stores later, she was still thinking about them. This annoyed her.
She had come to the shopping center because she needed a birthday gift for a friend and a new white blouse for herself. She had already found the gift. The blouse was proving more difficult, but she was committed to the mission.
She walked into another store. Looked at two white blouses. Thought about the shoes. “Oh, for heaven’s sake.” She turned around.
The woman working in the shoe store smiled when she came back through the door. “I wondered if we’d see you again.” She laughed. “Was I that obvious?”
“You stood outside staring at those shoes for a very long time.”
“They’re ridiculous.”
“They’re red.”
“I don’t need red shoes.”
The woman tilted her head and said, “I didn’t ask if you needed them.” That stopped her. She looked at the shoes again. For most of her adult life, need had been a perfectly reasonable standard. Children needed things. The house needed things. Work required things. There were groceries, tuition and mortgages and weddings and repairs and all the unexpected expenses that seem to arrive five minutes after you’ve congratulated yourself for finally getting ahead.
She had never thought of herself as deprived. Quite the opposite. She had a good life and knew it. But…she was practical. Practical had served her well.
Practical shoes went with several outfits. Practical purchases lasted. Practical women don’t spend money on things simply because they made them smile.
Or apparently they did, because ten minutes later she was sitting in front of a mirror wearing bright red shoes.
She looked down at her feet and grinned. Not smiled. Grinned.
She stood up and walked a few steps. They were comfortable, which almost disappointed her. She had been prepared to use discomfort as the reason she couldn’t possibly buy them.
“Well?” the woman asked. She looked at herself in the mirror again. The shoes didn’t make her look younger. They didn’t make her look thinner. They didn’t make her more sophisticated. They didn’t improve anything. They just made her happy. And strangely, that seemed harder to justify.
She began doing what she always did when she wanted something she didn’t need. She negotiated with herself. She could wear them to dinner. Maybe with black pants. There was an event next month. They were actually quite well made. Red was practically a classic.
She caught herself. Why was she building a legal case for a pair of shoes? She started laughing. The saleswoman looked at her. “I’ll take them.” “Good.” “And I’m not going to tell you why.” The woman smiled. “Even better.”
She left the store carrying the box and feeling slightly irresponsible. It was wonderful. On the drive home, she thought about how easily adults learn to explain away delight. Children don’t do this.
A child doesn’t pick up a yellow balloon and explain that yellow coordinates well with several things she already owns. She wants the yellow balloon because the yellow balloon makes her happy.
Somewhere along the way. We become more sensible. And certainly, some of that is necessary. But she wondered when sensible had become the gatekeeper for joy. When had everything she chose for herself started needing a reason?
She thought about the flowers she sometimes wanted to buy but didn’t because there were flowers growing outside. The dessert she declined even though it looked wonderful. The music she loved but rarely played because no one else in the house liked it. The afternoon she once wanted to spend reading but instead used to catch up on things that could easily have waited.
None of those moments mattered very much.
Maybe that was precisely the point. Not everything that adds something to a life has to improve it. Some things are allowed to simply delight us.
When she got home, she put the shoe box in her closet. Then she took them back out. She slipped the red shoes on again. She was wearing jeans and an old T-shirt. Her hair needed fixing. She had nowhere to go. She walked into the kitchen, made herself a cup of coffee and stood there in her ridiculous shoes.
She laughed out loud. There was no lesson in this. No breakthrough. No new goal. Nothing she needed to write in a journal. She simply loved the shoes. And for the first time, she let that be the whole reason.
A few days later, she wore them to lunch with a friend. Her friend looked under the table. “Are those red shoes?” “Yes.” “Where are you going in those?” She smiled. “Apparently to lunch.” Her friend laughed and somewhere between the bread basket and ordering their salads, she realized something.
For years she had thought a meaningful life was built from the things that mattered most. Love. Family. Purpose. Work. Friendship. Contribution. She still believed that. But maybe… tucked between all those important things were hundreds of completely unimportant things that made a life feel like yours.
A song played too loudly.
The good china on a Tuesday.
Flowers bought for no reason.
Dessert before dinner.
And a pair of bright red shoes with nowhere particularly important to go.
Maybe delight didn’t need to lead anywhere. Maybe it didn’t need to teach her anything. Maybe it didn’t even need to make sense. Maybe delight was enough. She crossed one red shoe over the other beneath the table. And smiled.