Well, hello. Where to even begin?! A lot has happened since I last wrote.
Since I last posted here, we moved from our tiny laneway house into a sizeable three-level townhouse outside the city. Though a little farther from an abundance of “proper” coffee shops, we are are definitely a whole lot happier. We vacationed with good friends in Maui in early August, and after coming home settled into new routines, new projects, and the comfort and joy of our new home.
I’ve done my best to share shop and life updates over on Instagram, but it’s been sporadic at best. Only now as the frenzy of school startup begins to die down (for those of you who may not know, I’m a teacher so September and early October are very full), am I ready to settle back into the routine of writing here, and wholeheartedly pouring myself back into The Story Kept.
And while the whole of summer still plays in the back of my mind like a flashback dream sequence—it really was quite remarkable in both its lows (one of which included our mattress flying from the back of a U-Haul into the street), as well as its highs—there is a particular memory that keeps popping up, inspiring me and propelling me forward in a way I haven’t felt in a while.
It’s not really my memory to share. It’s the memory of a (to me) nameless child, one who will certainly never read this, and who may not even find this particular story quite as memorable as I do.
Let me explain.
Story time…
Our last day in Maui in August, after a week in a comfortable Airbnb where we ate dinners together family style and shared coffee on the patio hammock first thing every morning, our group of six decided to be a little extra and rent a cabana at the Maui Kea Lani Fairmont for the day. (Did you know this was a thing? I most certainly did not, but it this was a luxurious experience that felt so worth it!) Our poolside setup was decked out with all we could possibly need, and the facilities included everything from private beach access to cocktails served in pineapples to an all-ages waterslide.
Pushing away the end of vacation blues and the emotions that come along with saying goodbye to international friends for an indefinite amount of time, we embraced our inner children that day. We trudged up and down to the waterslide again and again between cocktails, poolside meals, and naps on the cabana bed.
It was at the top of the waterslide on one of our runs that we noticed a girl, maybe four or five years old, in a state of panic about taking the slide down. She was clearly terrified, and her dad coaxed her gently from the side of the queue. Our next time in the lineup, her mum had joined the cheerleading squad. As I positioned myself for my third trip down the slide, I heard the girl’s lovely parents telling their frightened child, “It’s okay if you don’t want to do it. We can still have fun in the other pools, so how about we walk back down and go swim?”
The girl, however, looked into her mother’s eyes and shrieked. “BUT I WANT TO!!!” Her screams echoed in my ears as I sloshed down the slide. Our group lingered in the pool below while I pondered this moment we’d all just witnessed.
Eventually, we saw our little friend come squealing down the slide. She looked scared and, honestly, not altogether pleased with the experience. But (and I may have been imagining/projecting) I think we all saw a glint of pride in her eyes. She was terrified, but she wanted to. So she did. (Whoops, that got a little Pinterest quote-y there for a minute. You get why this was a beautiful moment to witness anyways, right?)
I’ve kept the memory of this little girl close, or maybe more so the way witnessing that moment made me feel, since that day.
How many times have I been on the verge of something I so badly wanted to do but was just too scared? How many times have I told myself, It’s okay, just don’t do the scary thing and it will still be okay, only to internally shriek to myself, BUT I WANT TO!!!
Many times, I have chosen the safe path. The one where I stay safely hidden away, two feet firmly on the ground… More times than I could count, I’ve found myself frozen in fear and leaned into the freezing rather than the fear.
I’d like for that not to be my story, though. And that’s the beauty of our stories; we get to write them ourselves.
Reflecting on the ways that I’ve avoided fear for so long has been interesting. Certainly I’ve done things that others would find frightening: working inside the wire of a federal prison, moving across the world with a new love (now husband), teaching a classroom full of “alternative program” teenagers day in and day out for half a decade.
But those things have never made me bat an eye, really.
My own brand of fear is very specific: fear of losing control. It shows up in the way I don’t like being in vehicles I’m not driving myself (airplanes, cars, trains, etc.), amusement park rides I’ve not built myself (ie. all of them, obviously), and putting myself out there for the opinions of people I cannot predict.
And I’m setting the intention now to work on it. In life, and in business.
I’d like to have the same satisfaction as a slightly disoriented child who has just been flung frightened yet completely wittingly down an all-ages waterslide as she comes up for air.
Here are a few of the ways I’m chasing my fear in little ways lately:
In-person markets. I’m bringing a selection of pieces to two local IN PERSON fall markets in coming weeks, a concept that once totally terrified me! Having rarely taken the shop offline, I’m nervous. But of course, I know that it’s a lovely way to bring more eyes to the shop I’m so proud of. The first is at the East Side Flea this coming weekend on October 8-9. The second is the following weekend at Heritage Hall with Vancouver Popups. If these go well, hopefully there will be more to come…
New lines in the shop. Up to now, everything I have done with The Story Kept has conveniently kept me behind the camera and somewhat in the shadows. But more and more, I want to share my passion for vintage and preloved fashion and the other ways I’m influenced by thrifting, teaching, and design. A far cry from the shy bookish account I started years ago, I want to be more of a main character in my own business. Think style and outfits, thrifting tips, and a line of curated vintage and preloved clothing. The thought is deliciously scary.
More behind the scenes. One of my best friends has been experimenting with TikTok, and I’m so inspired by how she puts it all out there. I’m experimenting with the same, and if you’re on TikTok and you’d like to follow along, you can find me here. Don’t worry, I still hang out on Instagram far too much as well.
Taking a leap in my teaching career. This week, well after I started drafting this post, I was presented with an opportunity to apply for a Masters degree that feels perfect for me. Despite all the rest of what I’ve shared here, this might just be the scariest endeavour I’m considering at the moment. Which might just mean I should definitely do it?
Writing these words here feels both like something I really want to do and filled with just the right amount of fear. You could say these are the metaphorical waterslides I’m pondering at the moment. I’d love for you to join me.
x Sarah
I love the story of the little girl's fear and wanting to do it anyway, and how you described her pride in what she did - and yes, I recognise that internal voice myself! I've been coming up against a lot of moments where fear and "for heaven's sake JUST DO IT!!!" face off with each other, and generally the satisfaction is all the greater when I do overcome the fear - if I can do THAT, I can do ANYTHING! It's a real lesson in gaining the confidence from taking action, rather than waiting for it to work the other way around.