A little over a year ago, I was lying on the floor staring at the ceiling. Crying.
I’d been doing this every day for a week.
The short version is that it’s hard to be self-employed. It requires a hustle that simply isn’t in me. Give me creative work, give me the opportunity to build something, and I’m all in. But ask me to constantly show people that I’m worthy of being hired? Just bury me in the bedcovers now.
Work was slowing as it does, peaks and valleys a part of any business, and my anxiety had been at an all-time high for months. Not only was I worried about income, I was creatively stuck; I hadn’t written a single word in almost two years, and I didn’t know if I ever would again. This added to my sense of being a complete fraud as a writing coach and editor: You can write your story! (But I can’t.)
So I cried on the floor.
Anxiety and depression are my regular passengers. Anxiety comes first, roiling to panic until a crash. Sometimes this is a small wave. Other times it takes my breath away. But after four decades with these two, I know their pattern.
Eventually, I will get off the floor.
The day I got off the floor I emailed a handful of trusted, connected friends in the community. I told them I was looking for work, and asked them to let me know if they heard of anything that fit my skillset. This was, without a doubt, one of the most humbling moments of my life. I’d put a stake in the ground - left teaching public school to write and work with writers - and it wasn’t working.
One of those people was one of the owners of our local independent bookstore, with whom I’d partnered on various projects for writers over the years. He responded almost immediately. What about….
Before I continue, let me acknowledge the privilege in this situation. I am so lucky.
Within a month I was immersed in extensive training on how to work the floor of the store. (For context, it’s a huge store that employs dozens of people and includes a gift shop filled floor to ceiling with every kind of knickknack you can imagine.) Though I was hired to coordinate the business’s ever-expanding offerings for writers in the community, everyone works the floor.
(I cannot emphasize enough the sheer volume of information that was going into my perimenopausal brain during this training. I questioned what I was doing daily. Hourly.)
But it’s been a year now. Most of the things I feared I would never remember now have firmly-formed neural pathways, and I’ve settled into my role serving the writing community.
Things I knew already:
I love books, and I love talking about books, and I love recommending books. I love standing by a shelf of books. Seriously. I could do it all day.
I love writers, and I love creating and sustaining opportunities where writers feel nourished and supported. That I get to do all of this and get paid even a meager amount for it is miraculous.
Some customers are complete asshats, but most are beautiful and lovely and interesting and kind.
Things I’ve learned:
I haven’t read nearly as many books as I thought I had. There are so, so many.
People are really gross in public restrooms. Like, really gross.
I’m older than I thought I was. (The majority of the staff are young enough to be my children.) This is humbling.
There are SO MANY BOOKS. This to me is a positive for writers - if there is space for all of these, there is space for ours.
It took me a while to settle in, because I frankly was just looking at this job as a way to cover some expenses while I fixed my coaching business. I was telling people I ran into that yes, I was working here, but my job was to coordinate the writing community. (This as I hung novelty socks on the display.) I did not own the title of bookseller.
The change has been slow and subtle, as most things are. I can’t even put my finger on what it is, exactly, that has changed. It isn’t the job; there are pros and cons to it the same way there are to every job ever. I think what’s changed is my leaning into being present, witnessing the conversations that come when people are surrounded by books. It’s magical.
It’s also retail. (It’s not perfect.)
But I like it.
My intention is to write about this monthly; the job, the people, the books, the authors, everything that comes with it. Stay tuned!
Here are your independent bookstore bestsellers this week. » For reference, the ABA bestsellers are based on actual sales from independent bookstores (vs. the NYT bestsellers lists, which are compiled in a dark room by elves.)
Here’s what’s on my Pick Shelf this week:
Happy reading!
I won't lie - I teared up a bit reading this. So honest and raw, and so relatable. I'm out here rooting for you, and for all of us who took the plunge and found the water choppier than we anticipated.