I Almost Bought a Bouquet, Gave Up, and Went Home

 

Lately my days have looked like this.

A meeting ends. Lunch begins. And instead of eating at my desk or scrolling through something that will not matter in an hour, I squeeze myself out of my head, out of my home, and into the streets of Paris.

One step closer to bringing this to life. That is the only brief.

To do that, I have to walk into my fear. The fear of no. The fear of rejection. The particular vulnerability of placing your vision in the hands of a complete stranger and waiting to see what they do with it.

I have decided to see it as a numbers game.

The more shops I walk into, the more chances I have of connecting with people who get it. People who are interested in building something with me. And along the way I get something equally valuable — market research.

A pitch that gets sharper with every telling. An understanding of what lands and what does not.

You cannot take the designer out of me, so I even made little cards. Floral, scented, with a QR code leading to a dedicated page where people can learn more and join me on the journey.

A souvenir for the stranger who might become a partner.

Someone gave me a piece of advice recently that I have been holding onto. Associate your identity to the action. I go out and pitch my project on Fridays. That is just what I do.

James Clear writes about this in Atomic Habits. That the most effective way to change behaviour is not to set a goal but to become the kind of person who does the thing. Not I want to pitch my project.

But I am someone who pitches her project. The identity comes first. The action follows naturally.

I have been trying to become that person. Fridays, between the meetings, in the quiet moments stolen from a schedule that was not designed for this. So far, it is working.

The first time I finally spoke with a florist, I almost chickened out before I could muster my first words.

I was standing inside the shop. The pitch was ready. And then something in me hesitated, that familiar pull toward the safe exit, toward just buying a bouquet and making my way home like a normal person.

And then Miley Cyrus came on the radio. Flowers.

I am the kind of person who believes in signs. And this one was loud and clear. I gave my pitch. Without hesitation, the florist told me to come back every week. A bouquet would be waiting.

I walked out into the Paris afternoon with stems in my hands and something new in my chest.

The project had just become real in someone else’s hands. That changes everything.

Not every visit ends that way. The other day I walked into a shop and knew within moments that the florist was not aligned with what I am building. Just a feeling. Nothing I could point to specifically. But my intuition was clear.

I pitched anyway. Because it is a numbers game. Because practice builds the muscle even when the outcome is not what you came for. And because learning to trust your intuition does not mean avoiding the rooms where it tells you something is off. It means walking in, listening carefully, and knowing when to say thank you and leave.

That is a skill worth building. And the only place you build it is inside the shop, not in the warm comfort of your home.

What I did not expect was the kindness along the way. Friends reaching out to send me florists they have passed on their walks. A shop window, a bunch of stems, a message that says this made me think of you. The project becoming real in other people’s imaginations before it is even finished.

I am building in the quiet stolen moments. And it’s a joy to see that people are building it with me.

Where can you face a fear that has been keeping you one step away from something you actually want? Not the big leap. Just one door. One conversation. One moment of choosing the pitch over the bouquet.

The fear does not go away. You just learn to walk in anyway.

Ayan, arum.care