They were crammed with other discards on the back rack of the second hand store near my house.

It was a love affair at first glance.

A pine green shade of corduroy pants you would've seen my dad wearing in the 70s - and, so too, now me, apparently.

They were, so I thought, just the right mix of style and alternative-class.

I didn't realise it then, but these cords would teach me about the subversive act of repairing as a rejection of our society's throw away mindset.

It seemed from the start we were one, the green cords and I.

They were the perfect pants for, well, everything.

They become synonymous with me, like skin. Often I fielded questions regarding when - if ever - they were washed. I won't disclose the answer here.

Over the years they boogied with me on dancefloors, boarded my solo-flight around the world, saw me through my university degree and third-wheeled on my first date.

When I moved to Batemans Bay on the NSW South Coast as a journalist, of course, they came too, for a world of new adventures.

Then one day, while exploring a rockpool down the coast wearing my cords, my heart was broken.

The tide had rushed in while I was absorbed in the underwater world of sea-urchins and star fish. A waterfall of ocean swell blocked my path.

In a desperate leap, my cords were strung too taught. I heard a horrible sound.

I can still hear that searing tear if I close my eyes, or maybe I have just convinced myself I can to sooth my torn heart.

A small slash, on the inside thigh. An ugly tear that frayed - multiple rips running perpendicularly off the inseam.

I felt naked without them. I could never throw them, but I knew I couldn't sew them - not with no knowledge of sewing and all.

My local sustainability community group Southcoast Health and Sustainability Alliance run a Repair Café in Moruya. They meet weekly, to fix things and give them a second, third, or sixth, life.

An army of volunteers were working to repair clothing, a toaster, a bicycle, fishing rods, clocks and even a Nerf gun the day I took my torn cords.

Anita MacAdams was one of a team of four behind sewing machines, and I opened up my frayed heart. I didn't want to hope.

"That is one of the easiest jobs I have ever seen while I've been here," she said.

She has volunteered at the café for two years, but has been sewing for 55.

"It's great because you don't have to throw something out and buy another one."

The Repair Café fixes about 90 per cent of all damaged goods that come through the door.

Now, too, they can add broken hearts to the list.

My cords took Ms MacAdams just 20 minutes.

It made me wonder what would happen if we treated all our clothes this way.

What would become of the 92 million tonnes of clothing ending up in landfill every single year?

What would that mean for our planet?

It's why the Repair Café was created, and it models a lifestyle we all need to adopt more.

As Ms MacAdams told me, "we don't have to live in a world of constant consumption".

I don't know how many owners my green cords had before I found them in that thrift shop. I don't know the day when their life will finally end. But with a few more repairs, I know they'll live to see at least one adventure more.

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