There are many things that I will and won’t miss about the Navy when I finally leave.  Of this list, some things I can tell you about right now, other things—not so much.

Of aspects that I absolutely won’t miss, the unisex steel-toed boots that I currently clop around in rank quite highly. Once upon a time, I owned a terrific pair of lightweight Red Wings that not only met Navy specifications, but they were also designed for women. I ordered them from a shipyard supplier while working out of Bath, Maine. When the order came in, I couldn’t wait to try them—and indeed, I felt the difference as soon as my feet slipped inside molded footbed. They made moving around a ship much easier. The lower profile was more in line with my frame. The steel toe was still there, but I had learned to find space within the cookie cutter standard.

I wore those Red Wings until the day I transferred to shore duty. Then they were packed into my seabag for some future, unknown assignment. But that never happened, because I never saw these shoes again. While I was deployed to a place requiring desert camouflage, my ex dug them out of the closet and destroyed my Red Wings by wearing them on a hunting trip (yes, I have big feet). I think about all of these life events in brief flashes as I trudge up and down a spiral staircase and into work each day. Then the thoughts blink out of my head because I have modern day concerns that require both my focus and the use of these crappy generics on my feet.

The thing about these replacement boots is that with each step, they remind me of my own density. Over the past 20 years, I think I’ve learned how to maintain my sense of self while wearing a uniform. Right now, however, it’s hard to feel graceful while striding around in layers of leather, steel and canvas. I acknowledge that grace isn’t exactly an objective of this job; military-grade outfits are designed to see a person across the Styx in order to engage in activities that sum the worst of our fears. Me, I’ve spent 20 years trying to balance refinement with necessity. In attempting to do so, I often suspect that I haven’t achieved either. The refrain coming from my lips—especially when my big boots trip over a threshold into concurrent tasks is, “I do many things poorly”.

The boots, no matter how light they were, I won’t miss once I move on from this world. And time will ultimately tell whether I managed to preserve my inner character—or whether those shoes and the military effectively changed the way I move through the world. But regardless of what they have done to me, I know that each version of combat boot has carried me quite far. They’ve taken me back and forth between varying definitions of Earth and Hell. I am grateful to say that I still walk.

I also don’t know whether I will emerge from these past 20 years with a real sense of mastery for anything at all. Other people can try to assure you that you’re a competent human being—but it’s another thing to convince yourself thus. I won’t be able to know how far I’ve gone until I get there. But what I do know is that it’s easier and probably best to focus on the smaller, more immediate aspects of life. The things in the present that will hook into your waking moments. Like the weight of the boots. I won’t miss the boots, but I will appreciate what they’ve done, and everywhere that they’ve taken me.