Between Relics and Algorithms
Sometimes I feel like I live in two completely different centuries.
On one hand, I spend my days surrounded by relics of a time long gone — the smooth weight of a 1930s teapot, the faded print of a Depression-era quilt, the delicate curve of a mid-century lamp. Each piece carries a story, a memory, a whisper from someone’s home and heart. I rescue these objects from being lost to landfills, hoping to give them a second life through Berryfine Goods.
But on the other hand? I’m wrestling with the tangled digital beast that is META Business Suite, trying to make Facebook Shops talk to Instagram Shops, trying to get them both to talk to my website, and then trying to talk myself out of throwing my laptop out the window. Somewhere between “add product feed” and “verify domain,” I begin to question every life choice that led me here.
The irony isn’t lost on me — selling antiques while trying to master AI-driven tools and data analytics feels like living in a time warp. One minute I’m polishing brass candlesticks, the next I’m on hold with a tech support bot asking me if I’ve tried clearing my cache.
And then there are the numbers. Oh, the numbers.
Accounting, forecasting, business plans — these things make my brain glaze over faster than a vintage donut. I’m an artist, a storyteller, a scavenger of forgotten beauty — not a CFO. There are days when I feel like an imposter, standing knee-deep in old furniture and spreadsheets, wondering who I think I am trying to run a sustainable art and waste diversion business without a single business or art degree to my name.
But then I remember: this whole thing started from heart, not from a textbook.
Berryfine Goods exists because I couldn’t stand to see more of our world’s beauty — the tangible and the emotional — thrown away. It’s built on compassion for people overwhelmed by “stuff,” and on a belief that objects deserve one more chapter. Maybe that’s not the traditional foundation of a business plan, but it’s real.
Still, keeping things afloat in uncertain economic times without investors or safety nets is exhausting. Every day feels like swimming against the current — trying to stay creative, sustainable, and solvent all at once. The boomers are aging, their collections are endless, and the “stuff” just keeps coming. There’s no shortage of work… just a shortage of hours (and energy) to keep up.
Yet somehow, in the middle of the chaos — between antiques and algorithms, spreadsheets and sculptures — I find meaning. I find connection. I find the reason I keep going.
Because this strange intersection — where the past meets the future, where art meets commerce, where human imperfection meets digital precision — is exactly where Berryfine Goods belongs.
