I own a pair of brown loafers that fit my feet perfectly, mostly because I have worn them for nearly seven years. One shoe has a hole in the toe, and the other has a hole in the sole so I can’t wear them in the rain anymore. These loafers have been a part of my life through the roughest times of junior high and high school and have now endured one year of college. They have traveled with me all over California, and have been my steady companions. They have been to numerous beaches, mountains, retreats, museums, libraries, college campuses, debate tournaments, and restaurants. The beat-up brown loafers don’t simply hold my feet; they hold more memories that I can fit into any journal.