The Month I Almost Closed
Chapter 05 - The Month I Almost Closed
The first month without Erin was terrible.
I hired a part-time bookkeeper.
She did not answer texts at midnight.
Good boundary.
Terrible adjustment.
I forgot an insurance deadline.
Caught it in time.
Ordered too much porcelain clay.
Ran low on glaze.
Double-booked one private lesson.
None of those mistakes destroyed the business.
They destroyed my fantasy that Erin’s competence had been ordinary.
I paid the bookkeeper market rate.
That forced another decision.
I reduced my own teaching schedule.
Added one higher-priced weekend workshop.
Stopped donating gift certificates automatically.
The first fundraiser request I declined made me feel selfish for two days.
Then nothing happened.
The charity found another donor.
My no did not collapse the community.
That lesson transferred.
The community class continued twice a month.
One month, the scholarship fund ran low.
I did not quietly cover it from rent money.
I announced that the next session had only eight funded spaces.
People reserved.
Two full-price regulars donated class credits.
One session filled.
The other had six people.
No crisis.
Then Marlene asked if she could volunteer at the front desk one evening a month.
My old instinct was yes.
Free labor.
Community.
Then I caught myself.
“What do you want in return?”
“Studio time.”
We created a simple exchange.
Three front-desk hours for three open-studio hours.
Written.
Optional.
No emotional debt.
She liked that.
So did I.
The business slowly stabilized.
Not because revenue exploded.
Because I stopped giving away work in ways no one could see.
I also stopped pretending generosity required me personally.
The scholarship fund could exist separately from my mood.
That mattered.
Six months after Erin left, Cedar Street Clay was current on rent.
Still owed Erin the first buyout payment.
Still had no huge cash reserve.
Alive.
Then the landlord announced a twenty percent rent increase at renewal.
The old Kayla would have said:
We will figure it out.
The newer one opened the numbers.
We could not.
Not without raising prices significantly or moving.
The storefront had become part of my identity.
The narrow window.
The laundromat next door.
The old brick wall where everyone took photos.
I heard myself treating place as proof.
The community class participants loved the location.
That mattered.
It did not make the rent affordable.
I told everyone early.
Three months before renewal.
Options.
Move.
Raise prices.
Close.
Reduce space.
Marlene said:
“Please do not decide for us before asking.”
I smiled.
Lesson received.
We formed a small advisory group.
Not owners.
Not voters on every business decision.
A place to hear impact.
Then a smaller studio became available twelve blocks away.
Less charming.
Better parking.
Lower rent.
No brick wall.
I hated it.
May you like
The numbers loved it.
The next question was whether I could move the studio without calling change a betrayal of the community I had finally learned to include.
