A tiny amount of progress has been made.
My fledgling business now has an email. Although I am in full on doubt mode again following what I made in class last night. We were practicing A-line designs, and I started to let that nasty inner perfectionist pipe up.
I’m not particularly happy with either of them. But of course I am comparing myself to my teacher’s demonstration last night and she has 20 years experience in some of the most prestigious venues in Canberra. More practice…and less judgement. If someone received either one of these, I imagine they would still be delighted.
Onwards…now it’s a decision between going with Facebook or instagram so that there is a visual address on this simple little business card project.
Peace and kindness to you all.
Dear goddess, I just want to be a florist, not a business woman.
It’s lovely that all three people I made bouquets for this week wanted my business card, which I, of course, don’t have. But I got the message and went investigating last night.
Now I’m in a maelstrom of technology so it seems. For the record, I am utter crap with technology. For emphasis, think how Rik Mayall would have said that in The Young Ones. The world has gone online and I am being dragged kicking and screaming into it like a severely recalcitrant toddler.
Given that floristry is a visual art, customers must be able to see what you make online. So I have to have some kind of online presence but in what form?
Perhaps I’d be a little more open minded if that large company named after a fruit had fixed the problem that arose some years ago instead of making me sign a thing saying I’d never back up to the cloud. Which has left me with severely outdated operating systems so I can’t even download an app.
I’d rather just go and work for a florist part time initially, but that’s proving difficult to manifest. So I’m being forced into self employment before I am ready. I don’t want to work from home because, as I learnt last week, my space is unsuitable and I don’t have a fridge, and coming into summer, that latter item is essential.
What to do? What to do?
I’ve passed a milestone, two actually.
I won my category in my first floral competition, and I’ve done my first wedding. It seems that I am a florist, even if it is still a few weeks to graduation.
As I’ve been stumbling through my life I have read countless self help and popular psychology books, trying to make sense of it all. Many of those books said things like this:
If you find your passion everything will fall into place.
The stress won’t matter so much, or
You’ll lose yourself in it.
I’m relieved to say that there is a shred of truth to such assertions. Perhaps it only seems like a shred as it was my first wedding, and I can only hope that with experience will come calm.
Mistakes were definitely made. The supplier didn’t deliver two thirds of my foliage, the red roses shattered as I unwrapped them and the proteas were not the variety or quantity I’d ordered. I didn’t have enough buckets. The buttonholes were not were my finest work, but the wedding arch turned out sensationally and the bride loved her bouquet. I loved her bouquet, and it went together so easily that I feel I may have had a little divine help. I was expecting to have to make it several times but it came together on the first go. Minor tweaking only. I was on time, on budget and my clients were happy. Success.
I had several moments of wracking anxiety. The first was post buttonhole when I texted my sister and my floristry friend something with lots of swear words and capital letters, and my friend gallantly drove all the way up from the south coast to help me out. Thank you Linda. The second was at midnight on Friday when I looked at the photos I’d taken and freaked out at all the gaps. The third was driving to the site, when I had to employ a useful breathing technique to slow my heart rate down to a more pleasant rate. Then when it was all done, after I’d handed the container of rose petals to the bride’s brother, I realised that I loved it. Even with the anxiety and the crippling thoughts of ‘Will it be good enough?’
Will I do it again? Absolutely. Just not in my house.