Four months ago, when I leased a booth to feature my furniture, I knew nothing about retail. To get the booth open, I imitated the successful shops around my space, coloring my walls dark because their booths were dark, painting my floor gray because their floor’s were gray. As I spent that first week painting and configuring, customers would walk past, causing me to look up from my work, and few said anything. I waited for a “Hello”, “How’s it going?”, or “What will you sell?” and got silence.
December and January were solid months. February was a horrific month. March has been middling. Last Friday I rearranged the layout, then stepped to the front of my space to assess things. “I hate how this looks”, I thought. “I hate how it feels too.” My vision had transformed into antique dealer, with porcelain I’d never give my grandma and art I’d never hang in my living room. Because of the tough months, I’d overstocked the booth and obscured my most valuable furniture pieces. I’d fallen into the trap playing not to lose and losing anyway.
Sunday evening while on a walk with my wife, I complained about how awful the booth looked and how the furniture wasn’t selling for the first ten minutes. Then, she grabbed my arm, pausing the bemoaning, and said, “Hey, go be you. Bring you to the booth. Fully.”
This Tuesday, I was back in the booth with my vision. I painted the floor and walls to my liking. If it didn’t highlight the furniture, I took it out of the booth. By Wednesday afternoon, I had a new booth. My booth. And while I worked, I was continually excited and continually interrupted by conversation. Not because they spoke to me, but because I started conversation with them. “Hello”, “How are you today?”, and “Is the sun still out? I said to the customers. None of it was forced. I was just proud to be there surrounded by my work. And over those two days, I had a dozen awesome conversations with complete strangers.
All because I finally brought me to the booth.
To livin’ a life we love,
Ryan Fightmaster, MD
