A Shift In The Weather

It is said that our genius is also our madness. In some circles that might translate to your superpower is also your Achilles’ heel, meaning that the part of us that fuels us forward in life, has the potential to bring us down. For me, this rings true when I think about my optimistic curiosity. “Why?” was one of my first words, and I have never stopped asking it. Working at the Co-op is an ideal place for someone who likes to question and ponder.

Being curious has allowed me to treat most customers with suspended judgment, eager to understand what they are after, I play twenty questions trying to find the supplement they bought here years ago when all they remember is that it had a photo of a flower on the bottle. Wondering about their lives, I find all customers a fascinating puzzle, whether they are cheerful and smiling or brooding and stoic.

Years ago, when I was new to Wellness, I approached a woman in the hair care area. We’ll call her Coral, because she’s tough and beautiful—especially when she wears her coral-colored coat. We had a quick exchange where I tried to understand her request, and she grew more and more irritated with my lack of comprehension. She finally dismissed me with an angry swipe of her hand and a bit of disrespect. I walked away, a bit frazzled, yes, but more than that, curious as to what was happening in her life. Most folks don’t get that upset about shampoo.

Moments later, I walked by Coral as she was paying at the registers and averted my eyes because once bitten, twice shy. But, to my surprise, she physically reached out to me, and apologized sincerely as she looked into my eyes. She acknowledged that she had been rude and shared that she had a terrible headache—a plague I relate to deeply. I forgave her immediately, and that began one of the most rewarding relationships I have with a customer. She showed me that curiosity works best aside authenticity.

By postponing judgment, I left open a place in my heart for hope. Hope allowed something to shift. In an average year, we have about 750,000 transactions run through our registers. Many of those shoppers come to the Co-op with a question. They are fueled by a “what if?” What if I start a juice cleanse? What if I find something healthy my kid will eat? What if I can sleep better?

While each pocket of the Co-op offers an adventure of unknowns, I realize the Wellness Department holds many mysteries, and folks bring a lot of their curiosities to us. More specifically, I would say herbal supplements intrigue people the most. Yes, we have extractions in liquid and powders, syrups and salves, but to really know a plant and see how she might help you, I think sipping a homebrewed tea, or a more potent herbal infusion, is a beautifully pensive way to grow that relationship.

The bulk section has dried herbs, tea blends, and spices. While confusing initially, with some patience and willingness to learn, you might find your best plant ally for pennies on the dollar. You can purchase a tablespoon or a pound. Bring your own clean, empty spice jars or buy some here (any cashier can help you weigh them while they are empty) and indulge your whims—as long as you label them. Really. The Wellness Department does have resource books you can borrow to read up on plants while you are here, and Mercantile has many books for sale, waiting to come live on your kitchen table and be adorned with years of drips and dog-eared pages.

Perhaps Nettles will calm your allergy, Lemon Balm might help you focus, or Peppermint could ease your menstrual cramps. You’ll never know unless you try. At this rate, why not try to grow your own remedies, too? Yes, the convenience of prepared bulk or bottled herbs has its place and I’m grateful we have these options available to us.  Jay, in the garden center, has great insight on what plants you may be able to grow in your garden or even in a pot on your porch. Then you can help the plant thrive in gratitude for what she has done for you. Perhaps one day, you’ll offer a cup of your own special tea blend to a friend, introducing them to a new remedy.

Recently, Coral came into the department just to say hi, like she does. I seek her out, and always find our quick interactions leave me with something more meaningful than just chatting about natural deodorant options (our selection is impressive though). Over the years, we have had talks about everything from addiction to art to toners and yes, shampoo. Today, we chatted about allergies and then, out of blue, she asked me what I thought “hope” means. In that second, my mind flashed to that word tattooed onto a friend’s arm. She had gotten it done when her son was addicted to heroin and she was at a loss of what to do. She felt entirely powerless, and yet, she knew she could also have hope.

I said to Coral something like, “hope is being curious about the potential for things to get better” and surprised both of us at how something as lofty as hope could be broken down into a choice, into a tangible action. There have been times when I have been accused of being too hopeful, too nice, too optimistic—that maybe hope is more of my madness than my genius. Often, those people do not know the dark places I am capable of visiting with “what if” and how at times I have to force myself to look for a silver lining when, really, I have very little hope of finding anything other than a storm cloud. In those moments, I step outside and sing quiet songs to my red maple and count the birds that fly over me. My cats jump on the railing and meow for attention. My dog picks up her ball and looks at me with expectation.

I take a second to be hopeful that something will shift, and then I make a cup of tea. Sipping the tea won’t chase away the cloud, I know that. But it can shift my perception of the cloud. It lets me be curious about what that storm might wash away, and what will bloom in its place. Alexander Pope may say otherwise, but I say hope springs internal.