Answering The Dream Calling

Conjuring the bravery to do the hard thing, for the sake of living into your dream

A corner of Nido, Hina Luna’s very brief brick and mortar — a vision not fully fulfilled, a vision now evolved, and one I still hold a torch for.

Dear Reader,

Last week I revealed a desire that I’ve been secretly safekeeping like a cupped hand around a match, a small flame to protect from going out: I deeply desire to be a shopkeeper — again, in a safer space, for the long term — and I am in the market for the perfect home to house the vision.

For most of you reading this who have been part of this journey with me for a time, this may come as no real surprise. You’ve watched it unfold over the years, witnessed its many iterations, and maybe even knew it before I’d reckoned with it myself. If this shop-talk is new to you (hello, welcome), I will keep the recap brief, and promise that it does lead to some reflections for all of us to ponder when the time comes that we can no longer avoid the incessant ringing of our calling.

Since late summer of 2016, I have been exploring my creativity under the conceptual umbrella I call Hina Luna. What began, and for much time was rooted in, an exploration of natural dyes on textiles, evolved into the occasional garment design, block printed plant imagery on linens, zine publication, collaborations with fellow makers, and eventually the curation of beautiful, purposeful things, all housed in an online shop, until the fall of 2022, when I, freshly returned from Italy, said yes to a brick and mortar space (which I called Nido), despite the better knowing of my intuition. That part of the story, sadly, ends abruptly. Since then — fried, discouraged, and burnt out — I’ve pressed pause on the shop side of Hina Luna almost entirely.

There are parts to the role of shopkeeper that I’ve struggled with since my early ventures into entrepreneurship in my teens — self-promotion, marketing while the world is burning, and, if I’m being entirely honest, being seen. I’ve preferred to maintain a faceless brand, choosing connection and vulnerability through written word. Also though, most of the requirements of the position are second nature to me, and the many hats needed to be worn not only fit but complement the outfit of the lifestyle I want to embody.

There is perhaps nothing I love more than home — creating home, feeling at home — except perhaps sharing that physical and emotional sense of belonging with you. I am most in my element designing, curating, and crafting warm and inviting and beautiful spaces for you to enter and feel at peace in, calmed and comforted by, delighted by, embraced by, cared for, inspired. The small rituals and the few, quality made, functional treasures that are simple but feel like little luxuries and have elevated my own life, I wish to share with you. The vision has matured and clarified since the Nido days and has me eager (impatient?) to bring it to you.

This afternoon, a podcast in my ear while meditatively staining stacks of cedar shakes to side the casetta (at last), I had an honest revelation — one of those things you already know but hearing someone else say it suddenly makes it land. When it comes to public offering — whether you’re providing a product or a service as a business or sharing yourself as a creative —the key to success (which can be defined as exposure, loyal supporters, financial abundance, connection…) is our humanity. We are pulled towards moments of intimacy, honesty, accountability. We want to watch the journey unfold. We are here for the story. And then, only after, if there is an invitation to support through a conscious purchase, will we say yes. This is not a revolutionary concept. I know this to be true in my own life. The art on our walls, the adornments I dress myself in, the items that serve daily in our home — I’ve chosen them thoughtfully, and many, as a result of feeling connected to someone and their process. Now my home is filled with carefully considered things that not only serve a function, but tell a story.

And so, here lies an invitation to allow myself to be seen — a face to the words and the ethos, a voice to embody the heart of the message, self-granted permission to show up imperfectly. For me, this was the gift of a brick and mortar. Day after day, inviting visitors through my door to make themselves at home, to stay awhile and talk story over the counter or on the sidewalk in the late afternoon when the day-trippers have gone and town is returned to the locals. It was unpolished real life, spontaneous and authentic, and yet, still, magic happened.

And so, dear reader, this is my weekly anecdote, the thoughts I’m processing behind the curtain as I inch towards actualizing my dream of bringing Nido (and myself) to the stage again, and I share this to affirm within you that thing that you too probably already know but need to hear again. That thing that you know you have to do, the one that makes your palms sweat a little to think about, that maybe even turns a flip somewhere inside you, the thing you are a master at creating excuses for not doing but deep down know its potential to propel your dream life forward — it’s time.