One of the activities I most dreaded as a kid were the awful fundraisers. “Here, kids, take these boxes of candy bars and sell them to your neighbors!” Everything in me recoiled. I wasn’t simply introverted; I was shy.
Then there was the fact that if we—my brothers and I—were selling chocolate bars, it was a fair bet that all the other kids in the neighborhood would be, too. Supply and demand apparently weren’t factors in school fundraisers. Maybe we were supposed to sell on pity or trample down doors. Who knows? I only know it wasn’t fun, and no prize in the world could motivate me to sell.
Fast forward twenty years, and I still don’t have much love for selling chocolate bars. I do, however, have a newfound appreciation for knocking on doors. When I was a kid, I typically knocked on the doors of people I knew. Strangers? Forget about it. I’d leave those doors to my extroverted, charismatic younger brother.
Today, that isn’t the mentality whatsoever. I knock on any door I find. I keep knocking, too. My persistent nature does have its benefits. I may be afraid, but I’m more afraid of not asking. The only thing a person can do is say “no.” Oh, but what if they say “yes”?
So I keep knocking. I don’t give up. I peddle the wares, which, fortunately, aren’t something as fleeting or prone to melting as chocolate bars.
Image: Pete (Creative Commons)