Started writing a book today! This is a very rough draft of Chapter 1.

The Serendipitous Journey of Finding Love and Purpose

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By Matthew Barron

Part 1: The Weight of Expectation (The "Before")

Chapter 1: The Seven-Day Grind

The moment customers stepped through the doors of Vintage Stock, they were hit square in the face with nostalgia. It wasn't just a store; it was a time machine. Eyes would light up—whether it was a parent spotting a long-lost VHS tape from their childhood or a kid, wide-eyed, taking in the latest Mario, Sonic, or Star Wars game. They’d needlessly beg their parents for it, exactly as I would have done when I was their age. For me, Matthew Barron, Vintage Stock in Kansas City was nerd heaven, and I was its happy gatekeeper.

I'd moved to Kansas City in 2016 from West Virginia, a place where choices for an introverted kid who loved movies, video games, and comic books were pretty thin. Getting a job at Vintage Stock, and climbing the ladder to management, felt like hitting the jackpot. I got to spend my days surrounded by and selling the very things I adored. Most of my paychecks cycled right back into the store’s inventory, replenishing my own collection of Funko Pops, obscure comic books, and classic films. I lived at home with my parents, rent-free, so on the surface, life was pretty cool.

But beneath the cool veneer, a persistent hum of unease vibrated. I was a people-pleaser, to my own detriment. My overriding mission each day was to ensure everyone else had a good one. If an employee needed a day off, my immediate, automatic response was, "Of course, you can have it. I'll just work it for you." If a customer was disgruntled about a return, I’d listen, validate, and somehow, always ensure they left happy. The anger, the grief, the frustration—I’d absorb it all, holding it tight inside myself so no one else had to feel it. I worked way beyond burnout, fueled by a genuine love for the job, yet utterly incapable of saying no.

My schedule became a relentless, unyielding beast: 8 AM to 5 PM, Monday through Sunday, most weeks without a single day off. The exhaustion was a constant companion, a dull ache behind my eyes. I was drinking about three Red Bulls a day, consuming energy drinks like water just to push through each shift. I desperately wanted a social life, but my introverted nature, combined with the sheer lack of time, pushed me further into solitude. My rare escapes were to the movie theater, by myself. I loved the quiet darkness, the escape into someone else's story, but sitting there alone, surrounded by strangers, the stark reality of my situation often hit hardest.

I was nearing 30, still living under my parents’ roof, and a cold dread began to set in. If I didn't make a move soon, I knew I'd never get out. My parents loved having me, and they certainly weren't pushing me, but the unspoken truth was clear: I had to go. I needed more than Funko Pops and comic books. I needed and wanted love. I needed to meet someone—not just for companionship, but as the essential catalyst to push me out of this comfortable, yet ultimately confining, world.