Unexpected conversations

On camera I compressed it into a few sentences because I was trying to get through everything. But this part deserves a little more room.

It was the third time I'd been back to the SweetShop in Los Altos, which has been a gathering place for local families for the last two decades. The first two times, everyone behind the counter had been a teenager — Taylor, Kristen, Zach — and I'd given each of them a token, the way I do. This time there was someone I hadn't met. Sandra.

I asked her name and handed her a watercolor token. She turned it over and asked if I painted. I said I did. She smiled and said they'd love to sell cards “like this” at the register.

I told her I don't make greeting cards for sale. These watercolor tokens are simply my way of saying thank you.

She looked at me for a second then she said, "I will email you."

I didn't know what to do with that in the moment, so I said “ok,” thanked her and left. Two days later, she emailed and asked me to come in for a conversation.

What came out of that conversation is the Sweet Shop Ripple Station that's being built right now— and will, over time, be stocked by the very community that will use it.

I keep coming back to how ordinary the original exchange was. A stranger. A question. A small handmade token. A conversation.

None of it was intended to lead anywhere.

And yet, it did.

The more I do this work, the more I'm convinced that we don't always get to choose which moments become turning points. We only get to decide whether we keep showing up with generosity, curiosity, and no expectation of what comes next.

That's still how I make every token.

Not for sale. Not for anyone in particular.

Talk soon.

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