Why Showing Up Matters

Rainy Day, Real Interactions

A quiet moment of connection at a rainy Sunday market, capturing the value of showing up, even when the weather and conditions aren’t ideal. Through a chance encounter with a single customer, meaningful exchanges are often worth more than any sale, and the impact of our creative work can ripple beyond the moment.

It’s Sunday, and it’s raining, but you still need to show up. If you only showed up on the good days, you’d only show up half the year. If showing up was easy, there would be more people doing it instead of just you. But there you are, standing in the rain, showing up out of principle. If it was about money and getting rich, you’d work for Goldman Sachs. But here you are, in the rain, under a vendor tent with your pots. You’ve brought them this far through the process, so why complain now?

The work doesn’t look too bad inside the vendor tent as it rains—thank goodness for that. It would be more miserable if both you and the work suffered in the cold, wet tent. Things might start looking up soon. Maybe the preacher will finish his sermon early, and folks will be out by noon—or maybe after they’ve had lunch. You decide to rearrange some things and maybe shoot a few photos for a social media shout-out. You think maybe you need an influencer to sell pots, like that other potter you follow online. You think you hear someone approaching.

You only need one or two who care. It was someone. They were out on the trail by themselves, and after stopping for coffee, they saw your post on Facebook. They’ve seen your work before but never had a chance to stop in and say hello. They’ve always wanted to try pottery but never found the time. You start telling them about the pots and the stories behind them. You explain the process of throwing and firing, whichever method you used for this particular show. They listen and share their own stories. The exchange is quite lovely and not rushed at all. You worry a little that you might be talking their ear off.

They love the glaze colors and the process you described for how they came about. They look over the pieces, turning them in their hands. Maybe they can see what you see in each piece and are now more interested in the details: the subtle texture lines under the glaze, where the flame danced over and around, the color shift to the cool side of the pot, the lines left by the smoke in heavy reduction. They pick out two mugs after testing the handles. They’ll keep one for themselves and give the other as a gift. You wrap the mugs and take the payment. You wish them well as they turn to leave, pausing to look at a few more pots.

That slow interaction happened because you made work that mattered to someone who cared. You don’t need to make work for everyone, and for sure, it’s not all about the money—some things you may not get paid for. But that interaction was worth more than money because, in some way, you created change. Maybe that person, who enjoyed what you made, will now take time to create something that matters for someone else. And it all happened because you chose to show up—with your pots, in the tent, in the cold, in the rain.