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“Go To” Travel Shoes

I have a shoe problem. I love shoes. I love buying shoes. However, my lifestyle and workstyle are not exactly conducive to the shoes I want in my life. I think I want fancy, fun, & colorful heels but let’s face it – I have two small children, travel weekly and only go out to dinner a few times a month. Somehow I still have managed to purchase over 70 pair that fill up the bottom of my closet even if there are only 7-10 that I wear on a normal basis. When I first started traveling weekly I thought there wouldn’t be much walking. I’m not sure where I convinced myself that was true but I can say that when you have to go from C5 to H(pick a gate) in O’Hare Airport in Chicago you learn quickly that shoes are important. Weather is also a component of shoe selection. Have you ever not paid attention to the forecast and ended up in Minneapolis in 6″ of snow in peep-toe wedges? Not exactly my proudest moment. (Sidenote: I didn’t have gloves or a hat either and it took hours to get all the feeling back in my extremities.) I have been told on several occasions there is no bad weather only poor shoe (and attire) choices and I’ve finally given in. 

My friend and coworker Lisa, who has a similar travel schedule, does not let anything interfere with her shoe selection. In fact she always wears heels or wedges but has been known to slip into travel flats occasionally. Flats are currently my go to. Unfortunately, I typically wear through flats within 2 – 3 months. Literally, sometimes I wear holes in the bottom of the shoes or the start to separate from the sole. I was in the habit of spending a ridiculous amount of money ($200 on Tory Birch Flats, no problem) on shoes that I would wear through quickly (within 60 days!!) and I was getting frustrated. A friend of mine mentioned Paul Green boots were her “go to” travel shoe. I looked them up – $350! I thought about it for a few weeks and decided to give them a go. Cayanne Leather Peep Toe Sandal in Cuoio Leather were added to my closet and quickly became a staple. The neutral color match almost everything. The shoes themselves are incredibly comfortable, they fit perfectly, are true to size and have a ton of arch support. They have about a 2″ heel but it’s shaped more like a block than anything you have to balance on. Even after practically running through O’Hare airport on multiple occasions my feet never hurt. I have worn them so much that they now have some permanent wear but I think it adds character, I still try to clean them at least once a month.  I’m even considering getting them in other colors! One side note is these do buzz in the metal detector at the airport approx 50% of the time so I proactively take them off before as to not hold up the line. 


Then I kept seeing ads for Tieks on Facebook and Pinterest so I decided to take a leap, I was already spending about the same and replacing flats every couple months so why not. If they even lasted four months I would be #winning, right?!

My first pair, matte black, I decided to size up based on the sizing recommendations (only available in whole sizes) and they were comfortable but a little big in the heel, but not noticeably. I started wearing them consistently on travel days where I walk around 5,000 steps in a few hours. No issues. I bought a second pair in clover green down a size. They were perfect! After a year neither pair looked severely worn, have held together and are still as comfortable as the first time input them on. In June and September I walked 3 miles around Las Vegas and my feet didn’t bother me at all. Recently I splurged on a pair called lovestruck, multicolored, that add a bit of flair to every outfit. I also don’t have significant toe cleavage, an annoyance of mine. 


Of course, if I travel with the kids I will wear my sketchers flex appeal, toms or adidas baseline sneaker if I’m not in my reef or rainbows flip flops. 

I haven’t found consistent, durable, cute and comfy shoes to wear in the winter to some of my less desirable climates but I’m working on it! These brands are my go to but I would love to hear about other recommendations. 

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Dear Non-traveler,

I recognize you from a mile away. I can see you reading all the signs before you even get up to the airport door, fumbling around, blocking the entrance. I see you, hesitating to check your bag wondering which counter to go to. I am so glad that I paid the extra fee to get Pre Check and I cringe, sometimes viscerally, when it’s closed. I watch you take 11 bins and unpack half your suitcase, which will inevitably contain 1 large (full) tube of toothpaste. I will wait patiently behind you, smiling, reminding you that you have to take out liquids and remove your shoes. It’s not that I have a secret wish to be a TSA agent, I really just want coffee before my flight and more than likely I got here with only about 15 min to spare because I assumed Pre Check would be open. 

I watch you ask for directions to your gate even if there are 3 signs and 2 sets of monitors. I listen to you talk to the agent about whether or not you have a seat. (On Southwest flights, this part is the best) I wait when the gate attendant talks about preboarding to watch how quickly you line up even though you are probably in zone 8 and won’t board for 40 more minutes. (Again on Southwest, I have seen so many people confused by the cattle call that is the boarding process – how difficult is it to understand A comes first, then B and last C – which stands for Center, no you can’t make people move, if you wanted an aisle or window you should have paid the $40 for early bird (ok, $15) or business select) I listen as you try to convince that same agent that your purse doesn’t count as an extra carry on, even though here have been about 262 announcements that prepare you. 

As you board the plane I watch you attempt to shove suitcases that obviously will not fit into the overhead compartment and then watch you leave it there for the flight attendant to handle. I see you fumbling around trying to figure out where to sit or where your seat is. I watch you ignore the safety information (or intently read the section around water evacuation when we are flying from Nebraska to Chicago). I watch you as the plane begins to take off and hits air pockets on the way up, breathing deep but still managing to take pictures out the window.  I hear you ask for a sparkling water and get frustrated if it isn’t your brand. I see you. I watch you stand at the front of the plane waiting to use the tiniest bathroom ever when, if you had just paid attention to the safety commentary you would know you can’t congregate up front. 

I love how you ignore the fact that I have earbuds in, am reading, watching a movie or working. You still ask me 30 questions about where I’m from or where I’m going. You don’t hesitate to tell me your whole life story. I listen to you complain about the cabin temperature. Usually, being too cold – a way to keep nausea down. Trust me, this is a benefit for all of us! You sometimes tell the flight attendants they need to get the speaker system fixed or turned up bc you couldn’t hear the captain’s announcements. They don’t mock you or tell you it’s because your ears haven’t popped and you won’t be able to hear for another 45 min after you land. 

When we land you jump up and try to get in the aisle ahead of at least 3 rows. Didn’t anyone tell you it’s proper etiquette to wait until your row is next – unless of course the flight attendants make special arrangements because you have a tight connection and, well, that’s good customer service. 

I see you non traveler. I’m sure I made some of the same mistakes as you once. All I ask is that you don’t cause a scene, don’t jeopardize my flight leaving on time and please get out of my way on the jet bridge when my bag arrives so I can get home. 

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F*ck Cancer

I’m going to talk about grief for a bit so if you are looking for uplifting, inspirational quotes and “it will all be okay” nomenclatures then you may want to look elsewhere today. This is a personal story about my mom and I share it to help others who can’t conceive the unthinkable to recognize there is hope on the other side. 


I was 26 when my mom died. She was, without a doubt, the foundation of my entire being. Not only was she my guiding light on all things, my best friend, and at times my conscience; she had a class about her that was difficult to capture in a description. She genuinely had passion for growing and developing others (through Junior Achievement as well as professionally.) She was thoughtful, allowed you to think for yourself all the while helping you see multiple paths and ways to achieve them. She was beautiful and strong, she didn’t back down from challenges and she always seemed to know when it was the right time to hold her tongue and the right time to fight for what she believed was right. She had grit. 

My mom, Becki, was diagnosed on Aug 2, 2006 with breast cancer. At the time the only person I had ever known that had cancer was my grandfather, who had passed away in 1997. I felt like it was an immediate death sentence for her too. I felt helpless and really didn’t know what I could do to learn more or to help her. I started researching breast cancer (Fun Fact Alert: there are three main types of breast cancer ductal carcinoma in situ, invasive ductal carcinoma, and invasive lobular carcinoma.) The research only scared me more. I was working for an amazing company (still employed) and was able to work out a system where, through using 3 companies, enough support was transitioned around that I could go work from the office closest to my mom for 12 weeks following a double mastectomy in September of that year. Treatments have changed over the years and the procedures have become less invasive and don’t always include 100 staples from armpit to armpit across what was your chest. It was during recovery from that survey that I really started to see just how strong my mom was. 

If you have ever been a caretaker for someone following a major surgery then you know there are a few different types of patients or maybe just different stages. The first, don’t want you there at all, feel ashamed they need help and resent you. The second accept the assistance because they physically have no other choice but they may hold resentment and shame but are grateful. The third, welcome the company, take advantage of the support and may prolong the healing process in order to continue the bond. My mom fell, for the most part, into the second category. She hated not being able to do things on her own but would ask for help when needed. She battled through the post op, chemo and radiation like a champ and she was was listed as cancer free, in remission, the following spring. It was the best we could have hoped for. 


In September of 2009 it came back. She started to have significant pain in her hip and knee and prior to going into a partial hip replacement they did a PET scan. I remember when she called me, I was on my way back from lunch with Dave (whom I had just met a few months prior but is now my husband) and I got a call. I pulled over in a parking lot with soccer fields and listened as she told me it was worse than we could have ever anticipated. Stronger this time, spreading to her hip, lungs, liver, and arm bones. I remember I lost it that day, the day my grieving began. I couldn’t focus, couldn’t focus, couldn’t stop crying for her – or for me. It was the beginning of the end but with her determined spirit she started fighting again. A true army of support from family, church, Sysco, junior achievement, soroptimist, and friends created an environment where she could cry or laugh, be uplifted in song or scripture, be fed with delicious home cooked meals. Cards, flowers, books of encouragement poured through my parent’s home. My mom’s coworkers and friends had created a money pool to help me travel from St Louis, MO to Salisbury, MD every 3-4 weeks. An unbelievable gift, of time, that was bestowed by those who gave generously and loved her so deeply. 

She was accepted into a trial for a different chemo and had started that when, during a physical therapy visit, they noticed stroke like symptoms. Her face was dropping and her speech slurred. Following a hospital visit we found the bitch had spread again, to her brain. Radiation started immediately. She was so tired. Her strength started to diminish even if her spirit was intact. Her faith grew stronger. I hated watching this woman, my role model, be worn down by a disease that we couldn’t (and can’t) figure out how to fight. I began mourning, only this time it was pleas to God to save her. But from what, death? If you believe in God and have lived a righteous life then why fear death? I pleaded for me. Selfishly, I wasn’t done. I needed more time. She had so much more knowledge to give. 


The call came, a bit unexpected, in the early hours of April 3, 2010. Trouble breathing, ambulance, hospital, on life support. I had to get home. When you live 1000 miles away, that’s the hard part. You are at the mercy of others.  When I landed in Philadelphia I called my dad. My mother had taken her last breath as my plane was taking off from St Louis. I was now stuck in an airport for 3 hours with no one. No matter how sick someone is, how long their illness lasts – you can’t prepare yourself for that moment. I was so glad I had heard it from Dad. In today’s world we share, everything, just like I’m doing here. We share moments from our lives, glimpses that allow people to perceive us in a certain way.  That day I didn’t have anyone to share in my misery, or so I thought, when my dad spoke on the phone I dropped my Vera Bradley weekender in the middle of the walkway. I slumped my shoulders and I sobbed. This amazing thing happened then, time stood still for a moment and several strangers stood around me with their hands on my back. It sounds odd, uncomfortable even but it wasn’t. It was comfort, it was compassion for a loss they would never understand the impact on me. 


In the days that followed, the visitation, burial and reception brought sympathy givers from near and far. Telling you how sorry they are, how everything will be ok, that time will heal all wounds. They never tell you that after the first few weeks people stop checking in. The time frame that I have commonly referred to as “the quiet after the storm” is brutal. It’s the time when meals and cards stop coming to the house, when people go on about their lives and on to the next tragedy. It’s not their fault, it’s a time for you to start picking up the pieces. If you can breathe. No one tells you that you will still pick up the phone two years later to try and to her you’re getting married or six months after that to share the news of grandchildren. Time doesn’t heal wounds, time makes them smaller as other new, fresh wounds appear. Time impacts memories though every now and then you will smell sweet cinnamon and think of her. But there was hope. 

On May 16, 2014 I was blessed with two healthy, vibrant, beautiful little girls and I started telling them about Grandma Becki right away. Of course, I went through a stage of anger and frustration after the girls were born that Mom wasn’t there. That I couldn’t lean on her. My emotional journey following the girls being born is a whole different story but there are certain times you “need” your mom and childbirth and the days, weeks, months, etc immediately following are one of them. Even during that time the hope lay in the stories I was able to tell. In the learnings I had and the ability to teach values that were instilled in me. My mother lives on through me, and someday through my children. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think of her, how she would handle something, how she would inquire, her ability to love and when I see those things in my children it makes me smile.