A Tale of New Sneakers

featuring guest artist Maxwell Danger Jayne

Five-year-old Max got a new pair of sneakers.

It wasn’t on his mother’s shopping list.  Max, his infant sister,  two of my sisters— one of whom is his mom—and I made a field trip to the outlet mall. He was so patient while we tried on walking, running and hiking sneakers. We sisters clomped about the store, envisioning the level of perfect fitness we’d achieve in the different sizes and variations we laced on. Max did too. 

His mom couldn’t say no to new sneakers for him, especially after seeing how methodically he made his choice and how polite he was to the sales associate. We agreed to let him wear the new shoes out of the store. 

Holly’s first new sneakers in over a decade. Photo credit: Holly Jayne

Everybody is getting over Covid, and suffering from various maladies that cling on for weeks at the tail end of the virus. Poor Max really wasn’t feeling himself, he was quiet and reserved, which is unusual for him. I dragged him with me into Foodworks, my favorite Guilford, CT grocery store, for some fresh squeezed juice on the way home. He stood a few feet behind me at the checkout, not at all interested in the selection of sugar-free, fair-trade and organic chocolates at his eye-level. (We have a tacit agreement when he accompanies me shopping in which I am ok with getting suckered into buying weird stuff he finds.) In the quietest voice I’d ever heard from him, he announced to our cashier, “I got new sneakers today.”

She remained silent behind her clear partition; her head bowed looking up a price. She made absolutely no indication that she heard him—not a nod or a shift of her gaze. I looked back at Max’s expectant little face. Say something, I silently commanded her.

The universe (via his mom) had just bestowed upon him the most magnificent gift of speed and swiftness.  He wanted to put it on blast. He wanted the whole world to know about and delight in this new superpower—beginning with Kayley the cashier. 

Say anything, I thought-commanded her again, your job as an adult human is to honor the joy of the tiny humans. She loaded my tofu salad in a bag and looked up. “You did,” she beamed. “How fast can you go?”

Thankyouthankyouthankyou I screamed from inside my brain. 

Max shined and straightened up, “I’m not sure yet, I’ll test them when I get home.” 

“I bet it’s pretty fast,” she quipped back.

batman

Back at his house, he proudly showed his new sneaks to his Dad, who immediately made appropriate oohing and ahhing sounds, asking “How fast can you run in them?” My sister and I pointed out that we, too, got new sneakers. He did not ask us how fast we could go. 

Screw it, we decided. Let’s figure it out. With the three of us strapped into our new sneakers we commenced a series of very unscientific races to determine whose were fastest. Of course Max won, of course he had the fleetest feet of the fleet. It’s ok, my sister’s and my sneakers are way cuter. In fact, Max’s new sneakers kind of vibe a little like an old man. They’re black with lime green piping. No sharks, no glow-in-the-dark, no glitter or lights. Boring—but fast— old guy shoes for a little guy.

Over the next few days, everywhere we went, whomever we saw, Max announced that he had new sneakers. Gratefully, everyone understood the assignment. They all responded “Wow! How fast can you go?” or something of the sort. 

On the fourth day of the new sneakers, Max and his dad went mountain biking, or whatever version of that you can accomplish with someone who’s only been riding a bike for 2 years. Max got some mud on the new sneakers and didn’t want to get them dirty, so they aborted the mission. Immediately upon entering the house, Max grabbed paper towels, spray cleaner, and a sponge. He set about cleaning his new prized possession--even the soles. 

He’s never seen this behavior patterned for him. No one in his realm is either a shoe or a cleaning fanatic. Sure, they wear shoes and they clean their house, but neither to a degree where they clean their shoes daily. This was his own thing. 

Inspired by the enthusiasm Max managed to drum up in people when he shared his happy new sneaker news, I tried it out. Upon meeting up with friends for a walk, I proudly proclaimed, “I got new sneakers.” They’d look down in acknowledgement of what I said, maybe comment nice, or cute, then continue with conversation. No one, of the dozen or so people I experimented on, asked me how fast I could go. 

I’m not as interested in speed as I am with how many miles I can comfortably walk in them. But no one inquired as to how far I could go in them, either. 

I’m not telling you this story to brag about my adorably precocious nephew, or to shame my friends for not doing backflips over my lilac Asics. Nor am I attempting to shore up some concept of materialism or capitalism that everything is great when you buy yourself new shit. 

Nah. I want to shine a light on that fleeting sense of magical empowerment that comes with new sneakers. Or a new pen (how many poems can you write?). Or a new whisk (How delicious will your cakes taste?). Or a basketball, gardening shears, a book.

Or I could sum it up more succinctly: joyjoyjoyjoyjoyjoyjoyjoyjoyjoyjoyjoyjoyjoyjoyjoyjoyjoy.

It’s not about the buying or possessing. It’s not just feeling the feeling:  it’s embracing it, owning it, inhabiting it.   Encouraging it in ourselves and others.

We are trading our life— the hours we work— for these pleasures. As grown-ass adults, we owe it to ourselves to revel in the joy when it hits. We also know that the buying and owning doesn’t guarantee joy. Look at buyers' remorse. Look at how many clothes in your closet you ignore when you go out and buy more. There are so many ways to find this joy: seeking, making, doing, piggbacking off of others’s joy.

This is your reminder to be on the lookout for these moments of deep joy. Not just for you, but with anyone who’s willing to share it. Explore this joy, exploit it even. See how far you can draw it out. How many people you can share it with. 

You have so many secret superpowers for sniffing out and providing joy in your sphere. Maybe you’ve forgotten how special they are, even if they have a little mud on them. Maybe you need to connect with your inner five year old to root them out and revel in them.

And whenever anyone tells you they got new sneakers, always, always, always ask how fast they can go.

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All artwork by Maxwell Danger Jayne on Affinity Designer for iPad, June 2022.