The month I almost closed the shop

Three years in, I had a spreadsheet open with two columns: what it would cost to stay open through March, and what I could get for the equipment. The second column was winning.

That week, a regular named Mrs. Okonkwo — she bought the same thing every Tuesday — stopped at the counter and said, "You know, my mother shopped at your father's shop. When I come here, I still hear her voice."

I didn't close. Not because the math changed — it didn't, for another year. But I finally understood what the shop actually was. We weren't selling groceries. We were keeping a neighborhood's memory.

Sometimes the reason to keep going isn't in either column of the spreadsheet.