Getting Edumacated (10 Years Later)

A decade ago I wrote a post recommending college courses for anyone who wanted a more formal education for the game trade. I say this as a guy with a scant business education at best, my bachelor's and master's are in far less worldly pursuits, but you don't need a business degree to spot the skill sets that keep a store alive. The courses were simply a convenient place to go get those skills.

Ten years on, I care even less about how you pick these skills up. There are a dozen ways now: YouTube, online certificates, a business owner willing to talk your ear off. What matters is that you actually get them, in some useful fashion, before the market teaches you the expensive way. That's how I learned.

What's different this time is personal. I have a son working in the business who's expressed interest in learning this stuff, whether through community college or somewhere else. For him, in-person classes work best. He may never chase a formal degree, and honestly that's more a personal decision than a job requirement around here. But who knows what happens once he gets a few of these under his belt. So I went back to the Diablo Valley College catalog to see what a year of coursework looks like today.

Turns out, a lot has changed. I feel the 2016 courses were a bit behind the times, while the 2026 courses seem right on the money. That said, I'm probably a little behind the times. There are also a lot more courses that seem tantalizing today, and my one year of courses could easily balloon to two. 

Then (2016)

My original list ran 28 units, about a year of credits:

• BUS-018 Microsoft Excel for Windows (3)
• BUS-027 Small Business Management (3)
• BUS-096 Time Management and Goal Setting (0.5)
• BUS-294 Business Law (3)
• BUSAC-181 Applied Accounting (3)
• BUSAC-185 QuickBooks Accounting for Business I (1.5)
• BUSMG-167 Writing and Presenting a Business Plan (0.5)
• BUSMG-168 Customer Service (0.5)
• BUSMK-255 Advertising (3)
• CIS-108 Introduction to WordPress (2)
• CIS-130 Adobe Photoshop Elements (2)
• ECON-221 Introduction to Microeconomic Principles (3)
• MANGT-050 Introduction to Supervision (3)

It was heavy on do-it-yourself web and design, WordPress and Photoshop. You still couldn't go wrong with this education today.

What I'd take in 2026

31.5 credits — Foundation 12, Money 7.5, People 3, Selling 9.

If I were building the year over from scratch, I'd organize it by the skills instead of the catalog. Here's where I'd point my son.

Foundation. BUS-109 Introduction to Business, BUS-250 Business Communications, BUS-294 Business Law, and BUSMG-120 Introduction to Management Studies. 

I took a community college business law class in high school and it formed my foundational understanding of how businesses operate.

Money. BUSAC-181 Applied Accounting and BUSAC-185 QuickBooks I, enough to read your own statements and keep your own books. Then BUS-161 Personal Financial Management, the course that speaks to my old sermon about 40% of owners retiring with nothing.

I took a year of accounting in high school mostly to satisfy a math requirement, but it was also foundational. It allowed me to drop into a Quickbooks ledger like it was nothing special. Quickbooks I is enough to get the fundamentals down, since I probably use 10% of that program (there is a Quickbooks II if you really dig it). Part of my educational goals for others is that you should finish knowing more than me.

People. BUSMG-121 Supervision is the place to start. There are additional HR management courses that make sense if this topic excites (not me, thanks). 

Selling. This is where things change the most. BUS-210 Introduction to E-Commerce, BUSMK-256 Marketing, and BUSMK-259 Digital Marketing Fundamentals. Advertising (BUSMK-255).

That's the core. Line it up against 2016 and the difference are obvious. A decade ago, half my year went to being my own webmaster and ad man: WordPress, Photoshop, and a handful of half-unit skills courses that have since been folded into meatier ones. The 2026 version hands that time to selling everywhere at once, e-commerce, digital marketing, and social media, plus the people side I skipped entirely the first go-round. Business law and a little accounting haven't moved. What changed is that the focus is no longer brick and mortar.

There's another year of courses I think are applicable. See me after class, once you've got these down.

The Expense Post

The Expense Post (Or: Why I Stopped Posting My Numbers)

I was at a game convention yesterday, hanging out with industry friends, talking store numbers. One of them said, "You used to post your actual numbers, but it looks like you stopped. Is that because you're making too much money?"

It took about a nanosecond to say yes. I hadn't put it in those words before, but I knew it immediately. It's not that I'm wildly successful. It's that I'm successful enough that I'd prefer the business to keep running over having people come at me to take it away. For many years, either outcome would have been fine. Burn it down or turn a profit, whatever. Now? I'd prefer what it provides me and my family. 

Rather than talk revenue, I want to walk through some of my expense categories, because people are wildly off base when they try to imagine what running a store costs. You can do your own math to understand my income, if that's your goal. 

A customer recently asked if my rent is like a mortgage payment. Sure, if you have a multi-million dollar house. My rent is over $10,000 a month. This is normal.

I used to talk about three buckets: rent, payroll, and other. Three roughly equal buckets after your cost of goods. It's a restaurant industry model, so don't blame me. At one point my buckets were equal, which is why the framework resonated and I kept using it. Now those buckets are a bit absurd.

Bucket One: Payroll — $375,000 (61% of post-COGS expenses)

This is where the money goes. My payroll is lean, and if there's any guilt associated with running this business, it comes from worrying I don't have enough staff, or that I'm not compensating them enough, or that I'll wake up one day to a revolt because I sleepwalked through something important.

That $375K includes my salary of $80K, which is what's reasonable for someone in my position in this industry and is only part of my total compensation. Payroll is where you find your poverty, either by over-investing or under-investing. You need adequate staff, well compensated and well managed, or your sales simply won't reach their potential. I don't think we've reached our potential yet, but I really hate laying people off, so I'm cautious.

Bucket Two: Rent — $135,000

Much smaller than the compensation bucket, and thankfully it grows at roughly inflation while wages grow at a completely different rate. Rent doesn't include any repairs or maintenance inside the building or insuring what's inside. Door breaks, toilet leaks, AC units fail, that's on me.

When I look at expansion, I try to calculate how much additional revenue I'd need to cover new rent, the utilities it requires, the staff time it consumes. I am just as in the dark on that math as a new store owner. I am speculating on my sales expectations. There's no spreadsheet that makes it obvious. We have 4,300 square feet now, which includes our 1,000 rent free mezzanine level. I would like another 3,000. We are full. We will continue to add product for three more years or until my staff cry uncle.

Bucket Three: Other — $100,000

This is the catch-all, and it adds up faster than you'd expect.

• Utilities: $35,000. Escalating, always. Electricity is insane, averaging about $800/month and peaking at $1,500 in the summer. Trash is $650/month.
• Office and operational expenses: $16,000. Every consumable thing. Toilet paper, product labels, you can imagine.
• Insurance: $15,000. I have more policies than I can keep track of: liability, property, workers comp, key person, and since the business owns my truck, auto insurance too.
• Advertising: $11,000. I say I don't advertise, and yet here we are. It's now mostly convention related.
• Miscellaneous: $18,000. Outside services, meals, permits, taxes, bank fees, lodging, parking. The long tail of running a business.

One thing not in this list: credit card processing fees, which are probably $60,000-70,000 a year if I tracked them properly. I don't, because it's just money I never see. It doesn't feel like an expense so much as a haircut on every transaction.

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What I've learned from watching these buckets over the years is that some are more elastic than others. Expenses that once felt impossible to cover, like rent, recede into the background as you grow. Expenses like wages are permanent friction, always present, always pressing.

At one point I tracked every office supply purchase and wrote a blog post about it. Now that $1,400 a month is just a fact of life I don't think about. Meals are a morale expense that I think have gotten out of hand; I let it slide, even as my accountant scolds me for spending more than I should. You might assume your sales eventually outrun your expenses, and that's partly true. But my profitability over the last ten years has hovered around 6%. The last five years, with what I'd call blockbuster sales, pushed that to 7%.

You can perform your way out of the tent. But you'll always be a clown.

Remotely Managing Your Brick-and-Mortar Hobby Game Store: A 5-Step Guid

Step 1: Have your business model down.

You should know what your store is about and be able to feed it continually. The danger is always a shifting business model, which is practically guaranteed, so change will always be on your mind.

Step 2: Have your policies and procedures settled.

Policies are how you handle day-to-day operations, and they tend to only emerge over time. A living document of P&P that staff can add to and subtract from is critical. Obsolete policies are a telltale sign of an absentee manager, like ghosts going through the motions of their past life.

Step 3: Have well-compensated, trusted staff.

You can't go anywhere while your staff remain untrained, and you can't stay gone long if they're always looking for a new job. Being away requires better compensation, more leeway with expenses, and generally lots of carrots and few sticks.

Step 4: Have a clearly profitable store.

I've been on a trip where we simply ran out of money and I was a day late on payroll. A healthy cash buffer and backup funds aren't strictly necessary, but they remove the stress considerably.

Step 5: Find the pulse and stay engaged.

For me this means being the buyer, but that's probably not required for everyone. Buying is how I sense change in the business, so it's a natural fit. You could delegate buying entirely and just watch the finances. The level of engagement is a sliding scale, from vacation coverage to partial retirement to having more or less handed the store over.

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A remotely managed store is rarely a dynamic, industry-leading one. The arc tends to run from Unique Value Proposition to Useful Value Proposition to quietly questioning its value entirely. That's why remote management works best when paired with active business development goals: larger locations, expanded product lines, event growth. For me right now that means saving for an expansion while growing inventory, something I can do easily from afar. Staying away doesn't have to mean standing still.

Nobody in the trade really likes to talk about this. It's not glamorous, and stepping away doesn't exactly signal high standards. But if the recent boom in hobby game retail has any longevity, remote management will become far more common. 

The Myth of Rational Animals

A game store is, at its essence, an expression of a particular time and place. You decide to open a store now. “Now” is a moment with strict limits on where you can put that store. You’re constrained by what’s available right this second, or maybe what will be available during a tiny window, and you’re forced to build within whatever competitive landscape exists. If you’re smart, you might wait for something ideal to open up, but in the back of your mind you know you could wait for years. So eventually you compromise.

When I moved my store to its current location, it happened to be during a lull. One competitor was between one of his regular cycles of opening and closing, because shenanigans. My long-term “five hundred pound gorilla” competitor had just retired. The local Games Workshop store closed soon after. The stage was as well-set as anyone could hope, and I had no idea any of that was coming. And even then, that “quick success” took another five years to materialize. Is success sudden or gradual? Yes.

Location is necessarily self-limiting. Most people will place their store within a reasonable drive of where they live. That’s almost everyone. A few exceptions exist, usually people in limited markets, who think of themselves as retailers rather than gamers, and who make a dramatic personal move to build something better somewhere else. That’s exceedingly rare, but I have friends who did it. 

People will subsistence-farm rocky ground for years simply because that’s where they’re from. Some will manage a chain of stores across regional towns because there is no “there there” in their home community. The game trade isn’t lucrative enough for most people to uproot their lives, start over somewhere more fertile, and rebuild their social world from scratch. People dramatically change their lives to start a business, but rarely do they dramatically change their location.

The location funnel narrows quickly. You start with the country, which already brings issues with distribution, leases, and labor. The game trade is US-centric, and every other country is essentially along for the ride, with a lot of limiting variables. Then you have the state or province. Some store owners wince when I describe doing business in California, but you can’t deny the money is here. I practically need an HR director for ten employees, but I get to go on nice vacations. Even the city you choose can make or break you, beyond demographics.

Then comes the neighborhood, and finally the exact spot on the street. Is it a busy corner or a forgotten alley? You can live or die by that last choice, and the good corner might be forever out of reach financially. Small landlords dream of corporate tenants so they can raise the rent for everyone. When I scoffed at the rates from one landlord, he told me a Starbucks was about to take the corner, so the rent was now 25 percent higher. Each layer constrains the next until you’re down to whatever keys a landlord is willing to hand you today. And sometimes they just say no. My first landlord was going to turn me down until I showed him my bank account had six figures.

Time is the prime variable. Where can I put a store right now? It’s a moving target. And when your current location mostly works, you tend to stick with it.

All of this is to say that stores have countless variables, and store owners are largely self-limited by time, place, and capital. I have friends who started at the same time as me who are doing twice my business. Did they hit the right market at the right time? Are they smarter than me? Better retailers? Better capitalized? The truth is far less grand. We all looked around one day, checked our bank accounts, researched where a store might work within a reasonable commute to where we lived right then, and made the best decision available. Deliberate, decide, move on. An expression of time and place. And yes, some of them are probably better retailers. Sometimes you turn down money for peace of mind.

It’s only in retrospect that we pretend there was more choice than there really was. If I decided today to move my store, I’d look at property listings, find fifty retail spaces, narrow those to twelve by size, then to three by cost. I’d discover that two are in terrible locations and one is merely alright. It’s rare I actually get excited about a location prospect. If I had to move today, I’d take the alright location. In fact, I’d be forced to or risk losing my livelihood. I would make lemonade out of those lemons, which is essentially the job description.

When I look at where I might expand, it’s thirty minutes in the opposite direction of my current store from my house, turning my commute into an hour each way. I don’t want to put a store there. But the underserved market demands it. Anywhere else would be significantly sub-optimal. As an established retailer with some success, I might be willing to move closer to bridge the gap, but most people wouldn’t consider that viable. If I had a Spouse With a Good Job, it would be out of the question. Most people, unfortunately, will enter a crowded market simply because the commute is shorter.

From the outside, you look at game stores and assume they had a business plan and raised $100,000 or more, so surely they picked their location based on a comprehensive market analysis and a sober assessment of need. In almost all cases: nope. It was near my house, available at the time, in whatever competitive market existed that day. We like to joke that customers are not rational animals, but it’s not like store owners are any better.

The Quiet Mind and the Cracked Pot

I was looking at my LinkedIn profile the other day, something I hadn’t done in years. Dear god, I thought, who is this guy? I scrolled through my work record from the decade before I owned the store and saw a pattern of job-hopping in search of the next intellectual challenge. My immediate reaction was I would never hire this guy. However, every move came with more money and the same question: Why do you move around so much? Followed by a job offer.

I was always rewarded for impatience, usually, I suspected, by companies desperate to fill seats, government contractors and startups looking for warm bodies. My behavior shaped who would hire me, and that pattern shaped my idea of the corporate world. The specter of returning to it, what I thought was a nightmare despite the high pay, kept me in the game trade far longer than reason alone might justify. That was over twenty years ago, and I don’t even recognize that guy.

Those first five years of running the store without real profit were, in hindsight, about escaping the corporate fog of vague directives and unsatisfying contributions. In the beginning, it felt transgressive. I was sure someone would walk in one day and drag me back to work. I felt like I was disappointing people, like my old boss. I even had nightmares about forgetting to turn in my time sheet. I still have them. Later, it struck me that for the first time in my adult life, I had to decide exactly what to do. How does one make profit? Maybe it was in a book somewhere, so I read everything I could find. The game trade was a backwater back then, compared to now where you can hit a vein on your first attempt, if you do enough research.

It took years before I realized that the money moving through the store, the tens and hundreds of thousands of dollars (there were no millions then), was my money. Too many people told me not to take it personally, but I had to make it personal to move on to the next stage. You should absolutely take it personal. Only then did ownership become real. Running a store wasn’t just a business, it was a psychological transformation from being a cog in an incomprehensible machine to owning every problem and, eventually, every profit.

That transformation, combined with the difficulty of cracking the code of the game trade, is what kept me hooked. I was talking with friends about meditation recently, and a teacher’s story came up: there are two types of students who don’t stay with a Zen practice:

There’s the cracked pot, no matter how much instruction and wisdom you pour in, it leaks out the bottom. They can't benefit from it because they're in their own way. And then there’s the student whose mind goes silent too quickly. Meditation is supposed to teach you to quiet the mind through the struggle of your internal dialogue. If the thoughts stop right away, an incredibly rare occurrence, you learn nothing. You have been deprived of the struggle and thus the transformation. Some might think that’s a nice problem to have, except it completely short circuits real progress. New store owners can sometimes be both types.

Some are cursed with the empty mind. They hit the market at just the right time, sell a million dollars their first year, and think, well, this isn’t so hard. They’re like those rare meditators whose minds fall quiet without effort. However, tough times are coming and the struggle of the trade is the training to survive tough times. I hope they’re learning something, but I often wonder if the struggle itself is the point. And of course, there are plenty of cracked pots in this trade. No matter how much money rains down into their bucket, it just leaks out the bottom. Perhaps they are there For The Community, folks who are allergic to profit.

Profit came with its own kind of guilt, so it's not like there's a free lunch. Starting a business is, at least in theory, about making profit, that’s the point for most people. I’ve written about buying my first new car, a Volkswagen, and how it quietly created a divide between me and some of my poorest customers. My staff never said anything, but I felt it, the tension of earning real money while they made minimum wage. 

That Volkswagen was hard earned, paid for with years of risk and struggle. I was around forty at the time. Isn’t that what a successful business is supposed to look like? Yet as my staff has grown older, from part-time students to working adults with real responsibilities, their needs have become more pronounced: higher wages, and the promise of living wages, with the understanding that building that future takes time unless I want to give up the very gains that have propelled me ... to a middle class income.

When I started working from home, another realization hit me: I’m never going back to work for someone else, at least not because I have to. Sometimes I daydream about taking a job pushing a broom at Home Depot, and my friends look horrified. For me, it’s just about getting out of the house, moving around, letting someone else take the lead. I’m not financially independent, just stable. COVID taught me I could come back and do it again if I had to, and my Home Depot fantasy tells me that maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

Monday Morning Workflow

Here’s how my Monday morning ordering workflow goes. The first question is always: do I have money to buy anything? If you pay COD, that means real cash waiting in the bank for when the shipment arrives. I buy on terms or by credit card, so I ask a different question: is there room in the budget?

That budget is my Open to Buy (OTB) worksheet. With steady sales and discipline, if I only spend what’s available in OTB, I’ll pay my bills and stay profitable. Spend too much and profit slips. Spend too little and sales drop, which also hurts profit. When I delegated buying for a month while on a trip, my manager struggled to spend the full amount, which surprised me. It’s harder than it looks.

So what do I have to spend today? October is my slowest month, impervious to even the strongest new releases. Publishers seem to mark it off on their calendars. My store, like most, thrives on front-list releases. We can limp along on restocks and evergreen sellers, but we really come alive when there’s new hotness. October’s hotness is back loaded, all coming next week. But for now, I’ll ignore that storm on the horizon.

Looking at the numbers, I have $7,800 to spend today. That splits into restocks and new releases. Restocks are straightforward. I generate purchase orders based on reorder thresholds for each distributor. These thresholds shift constantly as items sell. Some go up, some go down, some disappear entirely. Inventory is a zero-sum game. I can’t add new things unless old things come off the list.

I prune throughout the day, but I also notice oddities when I see them on a PO. “What the heck is that?” Usually something from a first order that never moved. Most restocks are the usual suspects. Quantities might shift, but they’re safe bets.

I start with my CCG supplier at $3,100. They often have the best price on supplies, so I get that in first before higher cost suppliers get a bite. CCGs are my biggest category, so this is my biggest restock. Next comes my primary distributor at $650, but I pre-order everything from them, so that number can jump depending on new releases that ships. Budget-wise it averages out, but I often look overdrawn for a few days.

My secondary supplier is steady at $800. Then come the specialists: Games Workshop at $2,800, which I may get cut in half. If I'm really lucky, I'll get an invoice before it arrives. Then there's Asmodee with a "stub order" of $325 in restocks. I call it that because it's enough to get the ball rolling with new releases added on top of that.

That adds up to $7,625 of my $7,800 budget, assuming Games Workshop ships everything (they won’t), not counting $200–400 in new Asmodee releases, and not knowing what surprises my primary distributor might send. It’s messy. If I paid cash terms, it might even be stressful. My budget is rarely balanced, but it works.

If you call plus or minus $1,500 balanced, I’ve hit that mark four times this month. OTB is mostly a trailing indicator, something you check to understand how you’ve behaved, not predict what you’ll do next. In the past month I’ve been $15,000 over budget. Today, oddly enough, I’m sitting on my biggest surplus in the last 30 days.

Am I done ordering? Not quite. I just got a tracking code from a tertiary distributor, probably a CCG item that wasn’t on the calendar. I also have a $5,000 Asmodee order for Star Wars: Unlimited and League of Legends that might ship early. I'm told the League of Legends will ship in waves; I wanted a lot more. If it does ship, I’ll be $5,000 over budget for a week, until it sells out next Friday. That’s how it goes.

There’s nothing fancy about how I order. Most veteran store owners are doing the same thing this morning, some with a quarter of my resources, some with four times as much. The smart play is consistency. Have a system. Follow your best practices. Order often with the right depth. That takes experience, and it’s one of the last things I’d ever hand off.

Am I good at it? Buying assumes a few things. Do I know my customers’ tastes? Do I understand sales velocity? Do I know how well my staff can move product beyond stocking the shelf? Do I have an exit strategy when something needs to be clearanced? I could be better at all of it, especially if I spent more time hand selling or keeping up on product knowledge. I tend to err on the side of FOMO, over-ordering to make sure I never disappoint customers. That keeps them happy, even if it makes my OTB twitch. I can live with that.

Edit: Forgot my $2,125 new release order from Games Workshop. Looks like we're over budget again.

Warding the Game Store

I once asked a shaman if working at a game store could attract spiritual problems. The answer was, “Yes, but not necessarily.” I was reminded of this interaction today while a customer was attempting to cast a spell in the back. We discussed it amongst the staff. Maybe we should have wards like one would have in a spiritual ceremony? Well, in practice, we already have them.

A game store draws all kinds of people, many of them deeply attuned to their imagination. They come here after long days in the mundane world and slip easily into the act of transformation. Maybe they’re wizards, warriors, or something stranger, exhaling the energy they’ve carried from the outside. It’s always surprising to see what people choose to become when they’re given permission to imagine. Some need to blow off steam with power fantasies but others are fulfilling deep seated needs missing in their lives. Not everyone is going up levels.

Every time dice hit the table, players cross a threshold between the ordinary and the mythic. Traditional cultures warded such thresholds, doorways, crossroads, and hearths, not always from fear of what's outside, but from respect for the unseen currents that pass through them when they're at their most vulnerable. In a sense, we provide that doorway. We provide permission. We provide a safe space. Our store is a liminal space where people step out of the everyday and into something older and deeper. Warding, in that context, isn’t about magic. It’s about letting people know they’re safe to open up, to play, to create. 

Warding as Permission and Protection

A ward isn’t a wall. It’s a sign of belonging. It says, this is a space where you are allowed to be yourself. In a psychological sense, it’s permission to let your guard down. In a game store, that might look like a pride flag in the window, a posted code of conduct, or a dragon head on the wall. This place is safe. You are amongst the tribe. We protect our people and slay the beasts Out There. These are modern wards, symbols that say your imagination is safe here.

They also mark a boundary. Psychological safety is the foundation of imaginative work. Without it, creativity becomes guarded and brittle. If you’ve ever had a roommate or partner walk in while you’re role-playing, you know how quickly the energy can drain from the room. When that happens, it's really hard to get back. When you post a code of conduct, keep the store clean, and treat people well, you’re doing more than running a business. You’re keeping the ward strong.

The Nexus and the Noise

An open, imaginative environment doesn’t just invite creativity; it attracts chaos. Trickster energy, you could call it. Sometimes it’s harmless, sometimes it’s not. You see it in people who arrive carrying too much, the ones who blur the line between fantasy and delusion. You see it in the erratic energy of certain customers, or just the sense that we've got "psychic residue" left behind after too many stories have been told in the same place. Get out those Clorox wipes.

Any place that deals in imagination becomes a magnet for the unpredictable. The solution isn’t to block it or fight it, but to hold space for it, to shape the current through rhythm and attention.

That’s where ritual comes in. Regular cleaning, lighting, music, and a consistent schedule are quiet forms of energetic hygiene. You don’t need sage or ceremony, but you do need intention. This has always been my instinct at the store. Order isn’t optional. Lose it, and the place starts to come apart. I’ve seen it happen, especially during chaotic events like Yu-Gi-Oh nights, when the energy simply refuses to stay contained. It's so disruptive employees enter a state of distress that's not normally part of our calm, ritualized day.

Practical Wards

You don’t need much to ward a game store.

Threshold markers: A symbol at the door, art, motto, or flag, announcing that this is a place of imagination and respect. A pride flag is both an invitation and a shield, a sign that everyone is welcome and the intolerant are not.

Ritual order: Opening and closing routines stabilize energy as much as they maintain the business. Cleaning becomes a ritual act. When someone skips it, the imbalance is felt immediately. Letting the bathroom go uncleaned or a stain linger is a kind of desecration in a place meant to nurture creativity. Staff know this, they feel it. They naturally avoid the disruption. It's for them as much as the customers.

Sound and scent: Ambient music, clean air, maybe the faint smell of dragon soap or print ink. In older times, people believed foul smells carried disease; they weren’t entirely wrong. Scents shape mood and memory. I grew up with cookware stores that sold games, and the smell of those places still feels like home, maybe not my home, but the home I chose.

Community norms: The code of conduct isn’t just a formality. It’s the living boundary of the ward. Inclusivity isn’t a policy; it’s an active practice, a continual fostering of safety and weeding out of intolerance so imagination can thrive without fear.

Finally

A store like this is a living space, a container for imaginative work and a meeting point of countless stories. Treat it with sacred attention. Warding isn’t superstition; it’s stewardship. If you keep rhythm, care, and intention, the space holds strong.

I feel we "mythologize" our stores, tell narratives that make sense of it all. Deep within that narrative is the acknowledgement that what we do is special, even if we're not sure why. You run a nexus. Give it form. Let it breathe. Keep it balanced. Perhaps you already do this and now understand your work has greater significance.