Those who have played sports with me over the years know I don’t like to wear shoes. I do while I’m actually playing, of course, but otherwise you’ll find me walking around in socks. My logic is this: if I’ve just finished volleyball practice or just gotten out of a boat, why would I ever put my dirty socks back into my clean shoes? If it’s raining, I’m walking in socks. When I have to help carry a 200-pound four boat across the gravel, I’m in socks.

Not many people get it. The rowing coaches worry that I’ll step on a rusty nail. That’s fair. My mom hates it, because she tries to wash them, and then has to buy a new pack. People know I’m a practical person, so it surprises them when I do something “stupid” on purpose. It doesn’t bother me — it’s pretty weird.

I don’t like to wear shoes because I never did growing up. Before I moved to Boston, every house on my street had someone my age, and we never played inside. A summer day might go like this: wake up at 7:05. By 7:15, you are already at Mira’s house.

You’re shoulders-deep in her freezer drawer, looking for the last Eggo waffle or a stray Trader Joe’s yogurt. She’s sitting at her island, reading some fantasy, dystopian epic that she’ll try, and fail, to make you read next. Both of your ankles are stacked with ratty friendship bracelets that should’ve been cut off months ago. By 7:25, you’re out the door, on the way to Liv’s house across the street. And so you go around the neighborhood until it’s 8:00 and you’ve got a band of 15 kids ready to build a treehouse or play fase-ball (football-baseball).

You might be really lucky, and Charlotte Ford’s parents forgot to take down her blow-up waterslide. The last thing you are thinking about as you race down it is how dirty you’re going to be after.

To be clear, you’ve been stepping on acorns, avoiding twigs, splashing into mud pits at the bottom of slides, and of course, tracking all of that grime into every house you pop into to get a snack. By the time you get home at 5:15, your hair is sweaty, and you’re ready to watch “Dragon Rider.” Your feet are so grubby your mom makes you soak them in the bath.

I was lucky to have a magical childhood. When my family moved to Boston in 2020, I felt like my childhood was over, and I would never have fun like that again. I had to grow up and spend my afternoons in front of a computer instead of a swing set. I had to worry about transcripts instead of my budding tie-dye T-shirt business.

Yet, I wanted to keep some of the magic of those days. That looks like walking around in socks instead of shoes. It’s a way for me to remind myself that I’m bigger than the worries I have. In the end, the real goal is to be as happy as I was when I was running around my neighborhood, carefree and barefoot.