Letting It Go Wasn’t the Hard Part

I got a Daruma doll for Christmas this year. You fill in one eye when you set a goal. You fill in the second when you complete the goal. I gave him his first eye when I decided to let the paint go. This week, he gets his second eye.

I’m packing up the remaining paint to donate to the ReStore. I’m also breaking down all the random Amazon boxes I’ve saved because I never knew what size order I’d need to ship. Now they’re all headed to the recycle bin, clearing a cluttered corner of my office and the space feel lighter already.

I expected that part to feel like a relief. And it does.

What I didn’t expect to miss?

It’s not the inventory. It’s not the shipping. It’s not even the products themselves.

It’s the people.

There was a retailer Facebook group that came along with selling DIY Paint. And yes, it was helpful. You could ask a question and get five different answers from people who had already dealt with the exact same problem. But it wasn’t really about the answers. It was about the way people showed up for each other.

Someone would post a project that wasn’t going right, and people would jump in to help. Someone else would be opening a new shop, and everyone would celebrate with them. And sometimes it had nothing to do with paint at all. It was just people checking in on each other, walking through real life together, offering support when things got hard.

It felt less like a group and more like a room you could walk into at any time and know someone would be there. I didn’t realize how much that had become part of my day until I wasn’t in it anymore.

At the same time, I’ve been paying attention to something else.

First thing in the morning, eyes still half closed, coffee in hand, some people head straight to their studio and start creating. They reach for the paintbrush when looking for a quiet way to start their day.

I don’t do that. With coffee in hand, I sit down at my computer. I open up listings, look at numbers, think about what’s working and what isn’t, and start writing or testing something.

That’s where I naturally go.

For a long time, I thought those things were just the “behind the scenes” part of the business. The part you had to do so you could get back to creating. But I’ve started to realize that, for me, that is the work I’m drawn to.

And I’ve also realized something else. When creating becomes part of the business for me, it changes how it feels.

If I pick up a paintbrush just to make something for myself, it’s quiet. It’s a way to step away from everything else. There’s no pressure for it to be anything other than what it is. But when that same process needs to be photographed, filmed, explained, and turned into something that helps sell a product, my brain switches. It stops feeling like creating and starts feeling like work. And once that happens, I don’t reach for it the same way.

That’s not a criticism of a proven model. It’s just recognition of how my brain works.

I’ve seen what people build in that space, and it’s impressive. There are people who are incredibly good at creating, sharing, teaching, and running a business all at the same time. They make it look natural, and for them, it is. But, for me, it’s not where I do my best work.

What I keep coming back to are the conversations. The back-and-forth. The problem solving. The figuring things out. The moments where someone says, “Here’s what I’m dealing with,” and five people jump in with ideas.

I had a long conversation with Martin from Made by Marley yesterday, and it reminded me how much I miss that part of it. Not just the products, but the people behind them. The relationships that form when you’re all working on something, even if you’re doing it in different ways.

So while the paint is gone, that part isn’t. I’m still here.

I’m still paying attention. I’m still interested in how people are building their businesses, what’s working, what isn’t, and how all of this actually comes together behind the scenes.

And I’m starting to see that there’s a place for me in that. It just looks a little different than I originally expected.

The shop is still open. That part of the business isn’t going anywhere. But the role I play inside it is shifting.

I’m not stepping away from this space. I’m just standing in a different spot inside it.