The broken shoe

I was 24 when I arrived in a new city with nothing but one suitcase and a pair of worn out shoes. I had left everything behind family, friends, even a steady job because I believed there was something more waiting for me.

The first months were brutal. I shared a small room with two strangers, worked in a restaurant kitchen until 2 a.m., and sent half my earnings back home. Some nights I cried quietly, staring at the ceiling, wondering if I’d made the biggest mistake of my life.

One rainy evening, walking back from work, the sole of my left shoe finally tore open. I stood there on the sidewalk, soaked, frustrated, and broke. And yet, something inside me shifted. I thought: If I can survive this moment, I can survive anything.

I saved every euro I could. After three months, I bought a new pair of shoes. They weren’t expensive, but they were mine bought with sweat and sacrifice. Every step I took in them reminded me that progress, no matter how small, is still progress.

Five years later, I manage a team in the very same restaurant I once cleaned tables in. Those broken shoes? I kept them. Not as a reminder of struggle, but as proof that beginnings don’t need to look perfect to lead somewhere beautiful.

- Alex