Chapter 8: What the Store Built in Me

Building the Stupid Cancer store didn't just generate revenue for the nonprofit. It built something in me that I hadn't anticipated: a set of skills, a body of knowledge, and a professional identity that extended far beyond my role as Chief Operating Officer.

The opportunities that emerged from running the store eventually funded my engagement ring, relocated me to a different city, and shaped the trajectory of my career. But more importantly, the experience taught me to watch for signs about what paths were worth pursuing and which ones just looked appealing from a distance.

The Bigcommerce Connection

Somewhere around 2014, Bigcommerce noticed what we'd built. They reached out about writing for their blog—sharing the story of how a nonprofit had created a successful ecommerce operation on their platform.

I said yes, partly because it seemed like a good opportunity and partly because I was flattered that they'd noticed. Writing that first blog post felt strange. I was used to writing about cancer advocacy, organizational operations, and community building. Writing about ecommerce tactics and strategy required translating my experience into a different language for a different audience.

But it turned out I had things to say. The constraints we'd operated under—limited budget, small team, mission-driven priorities—had forced us to be strategic in ways that other ecommerce operators could learn from. The fact that we'd built a six-figure operation without venture capital or a dedicated ecommerce team was apparently interesting to people.

The Bigcommerce blog posts led to more opportunities. Practical Ecommerce reached out about contributing articles. Other platforms wanted me to share our story. Suddenly, I had a side career as an ecommerce writer and consultant that existed parallel to my nonprofit work.

Forming the LLC

By 2015, the side work had grown enough that I needed to formalize it. I formed an LLC to handle the consulting and writing projects that were coming in. The income wasn't massive, but it was meaningful—enough that I could afford to buy an engagement ring, which felt like a significant milestone funded by skills I'd developed almost accidentally.

This professional identity separate from my nonprofit role felt both exciting and complicated. I'd spent six years building my career around cancer advocacy. Now I had marketable skills in ecommerce operations that had value independent of the mission work. That realization was empowering—I wasn't just a nonprofit operator, I was someone who understood how to build and scale systems that generated revenue.

But it also raised questions. What did I want to do with these skills? Where was this heading? What did my future look like?

The Speaking Failure

In 2015, I got invited to speak at eTail East in Boston. This felt like validation—a major ecommerce conference wanted to hear about what we'd built. I prepared thoroughly, put together what I thought was a solid presentation about building ecommerce operations inside a nonprofit.

The reality was humbling.

I was nervous. Hot under the lights. Acutely aware that I was standing in front of a room full of ecommerce professionals who ran operations for actual retailers, not nonprofit merchandise stores. Someone in the audience tweeted that I looked nervous. They weren't wrong.

The contrast was stark. When I spoke at cancer conferences or nonprofit events, the audience was sympathetic. They understood the mission, appreciated the challenges, and celebrated what we'd accomplished despite limited resources. They were rooting for me.

At eTail East, I was being evaluated purely on operational merit by people selling random wares who didn't care about our mission. They wanted to know if I had insights worth their time, if our approach was sophisticated enough to be interesting, if I belonged on that stage.

I'm not sure I did. The presentation went fine—no disasters, no catastrophic failures. But I left feeling like I'd been playing in a league I wasn't quite ready for. The confidence I'd built from successful blog posts and positive feedback in the nonprofit world didn't fully translate to standing in front of skeptical ecommerce operators.

That failure was valuable. It taught me about the difference between credibility within your community and credibility in a broader professional context. It showed me that having expertise isn't the same as knowing how to communicate that expertise to different audiences. And it revealed something about what kind of work felt authentic to me versus what just looked prestigious from the outside.

The Austin Visit

Bigcommerce invited me down to Austin sometime in 2015. They wanted to meet in person, show me their office, introduce me to the team. The trip was ostensibly about strengthening our relationship as a merchant and content contributor, but it became something more significant.

I caught the bug. Austin felt different from New York—more affordable, more spacious, more relaxed while still feeling vibrant and creative. The city had energy without the constant grind that New York demanded. I started thinking seriously about whether this could be where my future was.

But I was also paying attention to signs about what that future might look like.

During my time working with Bigcommerce, I watched their entire marketing team get laid off. Not because they'd done anything wrong—just typical SaaS company economics, venture capital pressures, shifting priorities. The people I'd been working with, who'd been enthusiastic about our partnership and generous with their support, were suddenly gone.

That layoff was a sobering reminder about the instability of the tech world. Everyone talks about the opportunities in SaaS companies, the exciting growth trajectories, the potential for significant financial upside. But the reality often involves boom-and-bust cycles, arbitrary layoffs, and careers subject to investor whims rather than merit or performance.

I realized I didn't want to work for a SaaS company. The skills I'd developed were marketable in that world, but the values and stability didn't align with what I actually wanted from my career.

The Decision Point

In early 2016, I got a job offer that changed everything: run the Testicular Cancer Foundation in Austin.

It wasn't an ecommerce job. It wasn't a tech company. It was another nonprofit focused on another cancer population. But it was in Austin, and it represented an opportunity to apply everything I'd learned at Stupid Cancer to a new organization that needed exactly the kind of operational expertise I'd developed.

The timing felt right. I'd been at Stupid Cancer for six and a half years. The store was established, the systems were running, and honestly, I'd started to feel like I'd taken the organization as far as I could take it in my current role. The board dynamics were challenging. The mission was evolving in ways that didn't always align with where I wanted to focus my energy.

The Testicular Cancer Foundation offer gave me permission to make a change I'd been contemplating anyway. It let me move to a city I'd fallen in love with while staying in mission-driven work that felt authentic to who I was.

In May 2016, I left Stupid Cancer and moved to Austin.

What the Store Actually Built

Looking back, building the Stupid Cancer store didn't change what I do professionally—I'm still in nonprofit leadership, still working in cancer advocacy, still focused on mission-driven work. But it fundamentally changed how I do it and where I could do it.

The skills it built: Ecommerce operations, systems thinking, revenue generation, platform management, automation, marketing strategy, data analysis, vendor relationships, fulfillment logistics. All of these became part of my professional toolkit in ways that made me more valuable to any organization I might work with.

The confidence it created: The ability to tell my story publicly, to write about what I'd learned, to present ideas to audiences beyond my immediate community. Even the failed speaking engagement taught me something about my own development and what I still needed to learn.

The opportunities it unlocked: Consulting work, writing projects, geographic mobility, credibility with organizations that needed someone who understood both mission and operations. The store experience made me attractive to employers and clients in ways that pure nonprofit experience wouldn't have.

The clarity it provided: By exploring skills outside my core nonprofit role, I learned what I actually wanted from my career. The Bigcommerce layoffs showed me what I didn't want. The eTail East experience revealed gaps in my development. The side projects demonstrated that I could build a professional identity beyond any single organization.

The Lesson About Exploring Skills

The real value of building the store wasn't just the specific skills I developed—it was learning to pay attention to what those skills revealed about myself and the world I was operating in.

Explore new capabilities. You never know what opportunities will emerge from developing expertise in areas adjacent to your core role. The store started as a way to generate revenue for the nonprofit. It became a professional development opportunity I never planned for.

But watch the signs. Not every opportunity that emerges from new skills is worth pursuing. The Bigcommerce layoffs were a sign about SaaS company instability. The eTail East failure was a sign about where I needed more development. The side projects that felt energizing versus those that felt draining were signs about what kind of work actually fit my values and interests.

Choose doors thoughtfully. Building skills opens doors, but you still have to decide which ones to walk through. I could have pursued pure ecommerce work—the skills were marketable, the opportunities existed. But watching what happened in that world, and paying attention to what felt authentic to me, led me to choose differently.

Stay mission-aligned. The most valuable outcome of exploring ecommerce wasn't that it gave me options to leave mission-driven work—it was that it made me better at mission-driven work while giving me geographic and organizational mobility I wouldn't have had otherwise.

What I Took to Austin

When I moved to Austin in May 2016, I brought more than just ecommerce expertise. I brought an understanding of how to build systems that scale, how to generate sustainable revenue for nonprofits, how to think operationally about mission delivery, and how to balance innovation with sustainability.

I also brought clarity about what I wanted: mission-driven work with organizations that valued operational excellence, leadership roles that let me build rather than just maintain, communities where I could make a difference while also having a life outside of work.

The store had given me all of that. Not by taking me away from nonprofit work, but by making me better at it while showing me what was possible beyond the specific organization where I'd developed those skills.

Building something people want to wear turned out to be about building something in myself worth developing. The products we created mattered. The revenue we generated mattered. The community we served mattered.

But what mattered most was discovering that I could build things, that those things could work, and that the skills I developed along the way would serve me wherever I went next.

That's what the store really built: not just a revenue stream or a brand or a community, but a version of myself that was ready for whatever came after.

And in May 2016, what came after was Texas.