Chuck Taylor Vs. The Alchemist

Yesterday afternoon I purchased my first honest-to-goodness pair of Converse All Stars. I'm 30 years old. Part of that stems from the fact that my parents wanted me to have good shoes as a child with, you know, arch support. As a result, they spent a fortune on good shoes for my brother and I, all of which were outgrown before they were worn out. We never had cheap shoes. At least until I became a grown ass man and decided, "hey, I kinda like these uncomfortable, flimsy pieces of canvas."

I actually started with the concept a couple of years ago. I read about the fine folks at No Sweat who started an effort to bring fair trade sneakers to market in bold defiance of Nike's plan to make a profit by selling sneakers. I bought the fair trade sneakers. I wore them everywhere. I started wearing them to work. With a suit. It was pretty ridiculous. If it is true that you dress for the job you want, I apparently was angling for a promotion to VP of Schizoid Behavior.

But as with all things that make people happy, internecine conflicts between Indonesian shoemakers brought it all to an end, and the No Sweat shoes we No More. I've been able to find some red high tops on remainder for ten bucks, but to find my signature black sneakers (I do wear them with suits, after all), I finally turned to the home of the Chuck's: Nike. At the age of 30 (yes, I really like typing that out) I finally have the signature "ALL*STAR" on the back of my heels.

Okay, here's where I struggle to turn my miniscule personal experience into some kind of revelation about life.

I think maybe a person should have Chuck's (and lower back pain) at some point. It's one of those decisions that isn't the greatest and that everyone makes. I wish I had worn them when I was younger, when it was maybe a little less ridiculous. It's the same way that I wish I had gone to L.A. after college and tried to be a writer. I would have been a terrible writer. I had nothing to say at 22, but it would have been a great time to make bad decisions. Instead I got an M.B.A. and an M.A., a pair of facts which still surprise me sometimes.

But then I think about Paulo Coelho's version of The Alchemist. One of the characters, The Englishman, has wasted a decade of his life in pursuit of a fruitless goal before finding direction and starting on his life's master work. He does not lament the decade he lost, but is joyful that it wasn't two. I guess I don't have much to add to that sentiment, except to say that it's never too late to make bad decisions.

Or good ones.

And here's another crap joke: "Why is it such a big deal that our baseball players are taking performance-enhancing drugs? Athletes are entertainers. So what if drugs were involved? I don't see anyone putting an asterisk next to Chris Farley's name."