Story time: Two years after moving to Santa Ynez from LA, I unpacked my boxes of shoes from what felt like a previous life. Shoe bag after shoe bag, I carefully opened each soft cloth duster with great enthusiasm. Ohh, the bright mustard Sergio Rossi’s, the studded Chloe boots I saved up for, my beautiful wedding shoes, my first pair of Manolo’s, and many more, each with great memories. When I reached for the last pair, I felt a wash of sadness as 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. Sitting in a sea full of shoes, I wiped the tear off my face and began 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 pieces of the old me on that shelf? Girl boss me, drinks at Sunset Tower me, Oscar party with my husband me, wildly ambitious me, LA me. Would those pieces sit untouched as they wouldn’t have much use in my new era? That night, I laid in bed thinking of my old shoes and new life shoes: all the boots for all the adventures. And that’s when I made peace with the emotional tug of war. You see, I love this new era, and the new shoes it requires. My dusty boots next to my girl’s boots brings immense joy. Their cute little boots with splatters of paint, mud, and worn soles from their very active childhoods. Perhaps I was shelving pieces of me, but that’s what made space for this new beautiful chapter. And besides, 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 the 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 my boots for heels, and walked into Sunset Tower as though nothing had 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.