Yesterday, a netizen described me as “radiantly optimistic.” Those words brought tears to my eyes. The woman who once drowned in melancholy has somehow become a beacon of light for others.
If there’s a secret to this transformation, it might lie in the first thought that greets me every morning—an endless chorus of “thank yous” echoing in my heart.
Husband’s “Reverse Encouragement”
“Naive,” “idealistic,” “terrible at math”—these have been my husband’s pet names for me over 15 years of marriage. When I insisted on using only premium-grade mugwort leaves despite the cost, he’d shake his head… then quietly leave his salary card on my pillow. He’s mastered breakfast routines, laundry schedules, and middle school algebra tutorials. Once, I asked, “Don’t you mind investing without getting a say?” He kept folding moxa-stick boxes as he replied, “You focus on healing the world; I’ll focus on feeding you.” This engineer’s romance fuels me through 3 AM packaging marathons.
Father’s “Factory Resurrection”
The real courage to build my workshop came from my 65-year-old father. While investors demanded ROI spreadsheets, he adjusted equipment with reading glasses perched on his nose: “Reject any batch exceeding 0.5% moisture!” The retired factory director distilled 30 years of experience into 12 handwritten notebooks. My mother became our “quality control samurai,” sleeping three nights in the sample room to correct a 2mm stitching error. During our busiest shipment week, I found her blood pressure pills hidden in an apron pocket: “Keep working—I’ll guard the production line.”
My 10-Year-Old’s “Entrepreneurial Awakening”
Nothing stings more than failing as a “perfect mom.” While classmates unpacked homemade lunches, my son learned to microwave leftovers. One rainy autumn night, he burst through the door, backpack dripping but eyes shining: “Mom! I overheard someone talking about aged mugwort reserves!” This boy who grew up breathing moxa smoke now packs orders between online classes. His latest invention—a “burn-proof moxa box holder”—is now patent-pending.
Trust Across Screens
From Hangzhou’s Xuanxuan to Vancouver’s Lily, these faceless partners prove commerce can have soul. When rejecting my 37th potential distributor, I insisted on a video call: “Try moxibustion on yourself for three weeks first.” Our team now includes an acupuncturist live-streaming therapy sessions, a housewife memorizing Compendium of Materia Medica, and an IT engineer recreating ancient techniques in VR. Most moving was Mr. Sato from Japan, who visited with a misprinted shipment: “These imperfect sticks taught my apprentices what craftsmanship truly means.”
The “Foolish” Art of Slow Business
When marketing firms pushed me to mass-produce “trendy moxa patches,” I stayed up stirring herbal paste in clay pots. Competitors mocked: “Who hand-sifts mugwort in 2023?” Yet this “backwardness” made us the German TCM Institute’s official supplier for three years. Our new pure-moxa cushion underwent 283 iterations—even the cotton weave was calibrated to let skin breathe. Ms. Chen, a wheelchair user from Guangzhou, wrote: “Its sun-dried scent reminds me of my grandmother’s hearth.”
Of Apologies and Convictions
I still wince at rejecting friends’ client referrals, but fear betraying trust more. A Hunan businessman stormed out upon hearing “pass our moxa quiz first.” My husband says I should compromise, but midnight emails like “I danced with my daughter thanks to your sticks” remind me: Some principles are worth the cost.
Now, watching workers label green parcels—each with handwritten Moxa Care Guides—I see my (original heart) mirrored in the aging mugwort fields. Just as the herbs need years to develop potency, true warmth grows through time, care, and unshakable belief.
