I can’t wear non-skate shoes. 

I’ve tried Clarks, Blundstones, and other pedestrian shoes, but they never last past a special occasion. 

Something about wearing them feels like I’m faking it. Like a kid in an oversized suit trying to land his first ‘real’ job, the one he doesn’t want but feels like he should have. 

I’m well aware that I’m a middle-aged adult, but don’t like being reminded of it when I look down at my shoes. 

I can’t decide whether it’s a result of my insecurity around aging or supreme confidence that I’m still a skateboarder. 

There is something about being part of the unspoken conversations between skaters through glances at each other’s shoes. As soon as you put on adult shoes, you’re out.

Maybe I shouldn’t care if the teenager at the airport knows whether or not I can kickflip based on the sickle-shaped piece of rubber missing from my toe. Maybe I should. 

Some would say spending this much thought on shoes and how they make up my identity is dumb. 

They’d probably say dedicating your life to pushing around a toy is ridiculous too. 

I wouldn’t have it any other way.