There is something so unavoidably lovable about new things. We all know that babies are made to be extra cute and cuddly and lovable so that you don't mind waking up with them at 4:00 in the morning EVERY NIGHT, but it's a phenomenon that extends to other new things as well. Whether you love them or not, you at least NOTICE them. This draw towards perceived newness is something that I've realized since I started running the studio. You don't necessarily have to get new retail in or spruce up your space at all to get your clients to notice things, and more importantly, buy them. You just have to break their routine, say by reorganizing your boutique display. Being drawn towards the new is an evolutionary adaptation that we have as humans. We notice when things are different in our environments, because if our ancestors didn't, they got eaten. Failure to notice new wolf tracks in the area where you're camping doesn't make for a high likelihood of survival, you know? So, when things are new and different, even by the littlest bit, we're hard wired to pay attention.
I can't help but wonder if that's why my brain has been in absolute, manic overdrive for the past several weeks. Everything in my world is new. It's like a stimulus overload.
First and cutemost, there are puppies. Not my puppies, of course, but Jesse's sister, Carter's puppies. She's fostering five irresistible little beasts from the Bahamas. The 'breed' is known as the potcake, because that's what the people there give the dogs, who are generally wild, if not feral, to eat. If you're interested, you can learn more about them here or here. They're incredible dogs, so much so, in fact, that I've been engaging in puppy therapy almost every day since Carter got the dogs. There's something about having having five new, squirmy puppies on your lap that keeps even the surliest person from being grumpy. What's that? You want proof, you say? Well here, I have proof for you.
See that? Yeah, that's Jesse, a boy with the capacity to be surly at times, looking completely mollified by the presence of puppitude. But you know, I think he needs more puppy to TRULY get the effects of puppy therapy going.
There it is. A smirk. A blurry smirk, but a smirk nonetheless. Love it. Puppy therapy.
I'm writing this, and wondering what day it'll post under. I know I started this entry several weeks ago, but I'm bad about starting an entry and then walking away from it without finishing it. Anyway, the next new and exciting thing is still new and exciting, at least to me.
Meet my new car, a 2008 Nissan Sentra that I've taken to calling Sonny in my head, though I'm not sure why. I've been driving a 1994 Ford Taurus since I could drive, so a brand new car is definitely wild to me. I still walk out to the parking lot and get a little confused sometimes. The best thing about a new car, at least for me, is its capacity to add a little brightness to a bad day. When I walk out of the studio after a long, exhausting, frustrating day or work and get into this car, it's a conscious reminder of the fact that I'm happy. I'm a really lucky girl with a lot going for me. I'm fortunate, and this car is a reminder of that. Granted, it doesn't take a new car to make me realize these things, but it's a tangible reminder, which is nice to have. It has 500 miles on it, all but 12 of them driven by me. Crazy.
The newness doesn't stop there, though. The details will, because this entry is already ridiculously long, but There's so much more going on. The studio is undergoing major renovations and expansion for our five-year facelift, and of course there's all the newness and excitement of the holiday season, complete with Christmas tree and presents (though that, of course, is its own post). Not to mention new knitting, both projects and goals.
Change is overwhelming, but I'll be darned if it's not exciting.