How many pairs of shoes do you need to be happy? by Andrey

How many pairs of shoes do you need to be happy? by Andrey - October 2016 Scholarship Essay

I need four.
When I get home from school, I slide my feet out of my pair of brown Converse shoes. They are comfortable, and I spend most of my time in them outside of the house. I put them next to my other three pairs of shoes, and it makes me smile to see them all together.

Here are my tennis shoes. As I put them on before my tennis lesson, I take the time to carefully tie the shoelaces. I look with pride at the wear and tear they have endured; over the years they have taught me how to work diligently even in times that looked absolutely hopeless. I started playing tennis years after my friends started; I had to catch up. But even when people half my age and size could beat me during tennis matches, they couldn’t extinguish my desire to improve. I worked more vigorously, ran more swiftly, and thought more quickly than what was required of me, and my shoes took the brunt of it. As I have kept playing tennis, competing at higher levels and surprising my friends, this intense work ethic has become natural to me. Whenever I set a goal for myself, I am confident that through resolute work I will be able to accomplish it. I’ve realized that it is never too late to start and plan for anything.

The next shoes in the row have had many reincarnations. They help me transform into a different person, whether it’s Puss-in-Boots, the King from Cinderella, a nineteenth-century coquette, or a bride-to-be from Nikolai Gogol’s play “Marriage.” Over the last ten years, I have acted in more than twenty roles in my studio theater, developing empathy toward my characters that has shaped my beliefs. Today, these shoes are black leather military boots that support me in my most difficult and emotionally challenging role yet. When I put them on, I become a forty-year-old Russian sergeant on a bloody and terrifying battlefront of the Second World War, protecting my country by leading soldiers toward inevitable death. Although we have been rehearsing for months, I still struggle to feel the pain and suffering of the sergeant. Again and again, I put on these heavy boots, pace around my living room, and try to transform myself into my complex character.

The doorbell rings, bringing me back to reality. It is seven o’clock, and after waiting for a long half-week, my robotics team is gathering again. It is time to change into another pair of shoes, my cozy slippers, and descend into my basement. I love everything here—the robotics field, the workbench with rows of tools, and even the strange smells of hot aluminum shavings and heating oil. They all are part of the magical process that combines the efforts and ingenuity of each team member in transforming a heap of metal parts into an almost-living creature. Robotics has become my passion, in large part because of my team. Through brainstorming and vehement arguments, bringing our ideas together into one major project, feeling the joy of victory and the bitterness of defeat, eating pizza that kept us going during late evenings, we have become the closest of friends. I often lose track of time while modifying the design and editing the code. In moments like this, I feel truly at home—I do what I love to do with my friends while wearing my cozy, furry slippers, and my family is just one flight of stairs away.

My life is made up of several different parts, each equally valuable and significant to me. Thanks to my four pairs of shoes, I effortlessly slip into each sphere of my life that together constitutes the complex environment in which I am perfectly content and fully myself.