Now this is a tough one.
Because, truth be told, opening a shop is the last thing I’d ever want to do. Shops mean transactions. Price tags. Plastic shelves full of items we don’t need but somehow buy anyway. Honestly, in my head, we were better off without them. I’m more into the barter system, a dozen eggs for a loaf of bread, a jar of honey for a few kind words, maybe a back rub in exchange for mending a torn jacket. You know, the old ways. The human ways.
It’s easy for me to say that, I suppose, I live in a rural community where you can still trade apples for advice or swap homegrown veg for a hand with the hedge. But even when I lived in more “normal” places, I felt like the shops were selling stuff to fill a hole that things could never really fill. My outlook’s changed. Capitalism lost its charm. I don’t want to push product, I want to nourish soul.
But okay, if I had to open a shop…
It’d be a little crooked cottage tucked off a dirt road. No sign. No menu. People would just know. I’d sell stories and time. Real conversations, hand-written notes, poems for your pain and maybe a laugh for your trouble. A hot drink if you’re cold. A warm look if you feel invisible. And you could pay with a memory. Or a seed. Or a song.
It wouldn’t be a shop, really. It’d be a place to remember we’re human.
So no, I don’t want to open a shop.
But if I did…
It would sell nothing and give everything.
Mae 🧡
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