Why I Love My Sambas
In June of 2010 two major things happened. Firstly, I promised myself that I would find a way to move to NYC. And secondly, I bought my Sambas.
In the 31 short months since then, life has left its mark on my shoes.
High school graduation. Change. Goodbyes. Happy tears. Sad tears. Long bike rides. Laughter. Love. Late summer nights and longer summer days. More change. College. New Friends. Boyfriends. Parties. Mayhem. Reuniting with old friends. Studying until sleep physically takes over. More goodbyes, some regrets. A lot more change. Moving 2,713 miles to New York City. More tears. Internships. Coffee stains. Work. University. But most of all, joy. And lots of it.
I love my Sambas. I've lived life in those shoes. I can't stop now. They may get old and torn, but they will endure in the same way memories endure. For-ev-er and ever and ever.
People Watching in SoHo
Five minutes ago, I ordered a small spiced latte at La Colombe on Lafayette Street. The barista who made my latte was handsome, well put together and very efficient. I gave him a smile and a gentle thank you nod.
The latte is scalding and spicy.
I'm seated in the front right corner, adjacent a tall glass window. The sun shining through the window is extremely warming. My burgundy Everlane backpack is sitting directly across from me. This is the perfect place for people watching, I think to myself.
To my right, outside, a woman glides past the small cafe clad in a navy skirt and matching heels. She's wearing a light blue oxford underneath a white knit sweater. Our eyes meet for a split second. Oops. I immediately glance away.
She could be some sort of creative type, I discern. Maybe a community manager of a tech startup, or a designer at an ad agency in SoHo. Just as I start to develop a backstory for Ms. Navy Heels, Mr. Ombré comes into my line of sight. He walks over to the queue and waits to order his coffee.
He's furiously texting and shaking his head. He obviously has an upset girlfriend, I think to myself, poor guy can't get a cup of coffee without being harangued by his partner. He is wearing a white-blue ombré shirt underneath a simple black cardigan.
My latte is less scalding, but just as spicy as before. I check my email and then glance at my Twitter feed. Before I know it I'm reading an article entitled, 16 Actors With No Teeth on BuzzFeed. I audibly LOL. Ugh, Buzzfeed.
While trolling BuzzFeed, my eye wanders over to the table in front of me. An older woman is occupying it, sipping on what I presume to be a foamy cappuccino. Her hair is gray. She's wearing a matching gray tweed jacket with burgundy trim overtop a black knee length dress. I nickname her Ms. Tweed. Ms. Tweed is a college professor. She's reading the International News section of the Times, obviously a political science lecturer.
My latte is lukewarm. I gather my belongings and stuff them into my backpack.