I've been trying to answer the question of who I am lately, and coming up befuddled. I've always been... I hesitate to use the word "cheap," so let's say "economical." There really has never been any other option in my life. Now, however, I own this store, which is driven by people buying things. I NEED people to buy things. Not just things that are on sale, but preferably the full priced merchandise. The thing is, it goes against what I would do personally, so I feel conflicted in the process.
When a person looks around a while, then leaves without a purchase, I find myself questioning what went wrong. "We have so many lovely cards and fun gifts, why didn't they get anything?" I ask myself. But how many times have I done the very same thing, never once thinking about how the person behind the counter might be feeling.
On quiet Saturdays, like today, I find myself willing people in off the streets, hoping they'll be overtaken by a need for fudge or a truffle, envisioning their delight in pop up cards, colorful scarves, or the beautiful photos in the cookbooks we have on display. But if I was in their position, I'd likely look around a while, then convince myself not to spend.
In this era of crisis, I keep finding information on how to save more and go without new things. That's all fine and good, and I do it all the time, but how can I justify that attitude next door to the need to keep our store running? Baffling, no?
Then I think of writing, I see my sad, neglected blog, my dusty journals, and my still unpublished manuscripts. Can I claim to be a writer? Am I still justified in longing for someone to buy a card, while denying myself to even enter a shopping mall? So many things to ponder as I sit and watch a fly buzzing along the shop window without a care in the world...