You Never Even Called Me By My Name

I suspect some people who know me would be surprised to learn that I am not a natural risk taker.

But being comfortable in an outfit that might give someone else pause and being comfortable opening a business are two very different things. I dreamed about this store for twenty-something years. That is a long time to think about doing something before actually doing it.

With the first anniversary here, I’ve been thinking about what finally gave me the confidence to take that chance. There are plenty of practical answers, and people whose work and guidance helped make it possible. But underneath all of it is something I’ve had for much longer.

A community that allows me to be me, in all my imperfect glory.

My family and friends have given me that gift for years. They know I can be kind and empathetic and also remarkably hardheaded. I can care deeply about someone else’s perspective and still require considerable convincing that mine needs adjusting. And through all of that, I have been loved. Sometimes challenged, occasionally teased, certainly disagreed with, but loved.

There are so many people I could name that I wouldn’t know where to stop. I am blessed, and I am lucky. Having people who love you, believe in you, and give you room to become yourself is an enormous advantage in life. I’ve had that foundation for so long that I can sometimes forget it isn’t something everyone gets.

For all kinds of reasons, people pursue their lives and dreams without that same support. I’ve had people in my corner while I figured out who I was, what I wanted, and whether I had the nerve to go after it. That has made a difference in my life long before there was a store.

There is something freeing about knowing that. About being able to think differently, love what you love, and admit what matters to you without wondering whether it will cost you your place with the people who matter most.

And eventually, that freedom helped me trust myself enough to open the store.

That didn’t make the risk feel small. There were decisions to consider, problems to solve, and plenty I would have to figure out as I went. But I knew the people who loved me would still be there if it didn’t go the way I hoped. Their belief in me went well beyond whether I could successfully sell someone a sportcoat.

This store is personal. My taste is everywhere, along with my music, my sense of humor, and whatever combination of clothes felt right that morning. I get to meet people in a place that reveals quite a bit about me before I’ve even opened my mouth.

Then I open my mouth and remove any remaining mystery.

And over this first year, people have walked in, spent time, come back, brought friends, and shared pieces of their own lives. Some have known me for decades. Others I would never have met if I hadn’t finally unlocked the door.

People who were strangers a year ago now feel like part of my life. I look forward to seeing them. I want to know how the trip went, how their family is doing, what happened with the thing we talked about last time. That growing familiarity has been one of the great joys of this year.

I hope they feel comfortable being themselves here, too. I know what a difference that can make.

A year into this, my community is bigger. And because of that, so is my life.

My name may be on the store, but there is a lifetime of other people in those letters. What you find inside is their love and support seen through my eyes. As much theirs as mine.

-E