If I were going to open a shop, it wouldn’t be the kind where you pop in, grab your thing, and leave with a plastic bag.
No.

It would be a soul-supply store.

The shelves?
Stacked with jars of belly laughs, the kind that make your eyes leak, and your stomach ache in the best way.
There’d be satchels of courage for when life’s been knocking you about, and little glass bottles of “you’re more magic than you remember” — the good stuff, no watered-down nonsense.

I’d have baskets of hope that smell like fresh coffee and Sunday mornings, and over in the corner, an old wooden crate of second chances, some scruffy, some shiny, all perfectly imperfect.
No “one size fits all” — because honestly, whoever fit into that?

• Packets of unapologetic joy you can rip open and toss over your day like confetti.
• Tiny tins of ‘say what you really mean’ for when your voice has been hiding.
• Bundles of slow sunsets wrapped in string, for the nights you need reminding the world is still beautiful.
• Bottles of sass with a side of tenderness, for when you need to set a boundary and hug yourself right after.
• Jars of brave tears, because crying is proof you care enough to feel.
• Loose-leaf forgiveness to brew when the weight you’re carrying is your own.

Every item would be as weird, wild, and wonderful as the soul picking it up.

And before you left, I’d slip a secret note in your bag — something like “go cause some beautiful trouble” or “you’ve survived 100% of your worst days so far, legend.”

Above the door, the sign would read:
“Happiness. Get yours while it’s still warm.”

Come on in, what would you pick?!

Love, Stefanie Anna