These Shoelaces
There’s this ongoing feud I have with my shoelaces. I’ll tie them tight, double-knot them, make sure they’re perfectly secured, and then two minutes later… loose again. Always. Without fail. Like they’re not on my side at all. Like they want me to trip. And sure, it’s annoying. But every time I bend down to fix them, I realize there’s a softness in the interruption. Because in that moment, I have to stop. I have to pause the rush of wherever I’m going, crouch down, and tend to something small. And somehow, that pause feels like an unexpected kindness. Maybe shoelaces are metaphors for everything in life that refuses to stay neat. The routines that fall apart, the plans that come undone, the feelings that unravel when you least expect them. We think things are secure, permanent, locked in place. But life, just like laces, loves to remind us: not so fast. So instead of getting mad at the messiness of it, I’m trying to see it differently. If something comes undone, maybe it’s not a failure. Maybe it’s just a little reminder to breathe, to stop sprinting, to take care of myself before I keep moving. Because no matter how many times they untie, the truth is—I can always tie them back again. And keep walking.
- Story
- Life
- Laces