A Little Dream and a Thousand Doubts

When I moved to the Netherlands, I didn't just change where I lived. I left behind a life that felt incredibly familiar. My home, people, places, routines, and all those little things you don't really think about in everyday life until suddenly, they're no longer a given.

Of course, there was a lot of excitement. I wanted to take this step. I wanted to move to Zeeland, live by the sea, and start a new chapter of my life. But wanting something with all your heart doesn't automatically mean you're not afraid of it. And honestly, there was plenty of fear too.

A fresh start sounds more romantic than it sometimes is

Moving to another country can sound quite romantic when you look back on it. A new home, the sea on your doorstep, new possibilities. And yes, all of that is part of it. But so is that strange feeling of suddenly starting from scratch again, at least a little. Finding your way around, hearing a different language everywhere you go, meeting new people, and not quite knowing yet where your own place in all of it will be.

So many things that used to feel completely normal suddenly had to be rediscovered. And somewhere in the middle of this whole new beginning, the idea for Z.ART Tides appeared.

From shells.

A business. With shells. Seriously?

Even writing that makes me laugh a little. Because that's exactly where the next fear comes in: What if this idea is actually completely ordinary? What if everyone else just sees a shell? What if nobody wants to spend money on it? What if I pour an incredible amount of time, love, and energy into this, only to realise in the end that it simply doesn't work?

I think creating something of your own makes you vulnerable in a completely different way. Because suddenly, you're not just presenting some random product. You're presenting something that, until then, existed only in your head. An idea that you think is beautiful. Something you've invested your time in and that may carry far more emotion than anyone looking at it from the outside could ever see.

And then you put it out there, show it to other people, and wait to see how they react.

Maybe that's why it feels so special every single time someone says, “That's beautiful.” Because before that, there was always that little voice asking: Does anyone besides me actually think this is beautiful?

A small idea suddenly became Z.ART Tides

“I make art and little special pieces from oyster shells I've collected myself.” It might not sound like the greatest business plan in the world. And maybe it doesn't have to.

Z.ART Tides didn't begin because I decided one day that I absolutely had to become an entrepreneur. It began because I found something that made me happy. Because I brought shells home from the beach. Because one idea suddenly became two, and eventually two became ten. Because I wanted to see what I could create from them.

And at some point, there I was with products, a name, a logo, a webshop, and my first markets, thinking: Okay. Apparently, we're actually doing this now.

The doubts don't simply disappear

I'd love to say there was a moment when I suddenly became completely confident in everything and all the doubts disappeared. But that's not what happened.

There are still moments when I wonder whether any of this is going to work. When something doesn't sell. When I show a new product and have no idea how people will respond to it. When I have to set a price and immediately wonder whether anyone will really be willing to pay it. Or when I look at other small businesses and get the feeling that everything they do is bigger, more professional, and so much better thought out.

Maybe being self-employed isn't about reaching a point where you're no longer afraid. Maybe it's about doing things despite that fear.

And then there are those little moments

Someone stops at my stall at a market and picks up one of my oyster shells. Someone places an order in my webshop. Someone tells me who a piece is meant for. Someone comes back later because they couldn't stop thinking about something they'd seen. Or someone simply says, “What a lovely idea.”

For that person, it might just be a sentence. For me, sometimes it's the answer to quite a few doubts all at once.

Because somehow, something real has grown out of this perhaps slightly silly little shell dream. Something that wasn't there before. Something that probably wouldn't exist without this move, just as it wouldn't exist without all those moments when I wondered what on earth I was doing.

Maybe a dream doesn't have to be big

I don't know where Z.ART Tides will take me. Maybe the brand will change. Maybe one day I'll be creating completely different things. There will be ideas that work, and there will almost certainly be some that don't work at all.

But moving to Zeeland has taught me that you don't always need to know how something will turn out before you begin.

Sometimes you change your entire life. Sometimes you simply pick up an oyster shell on the beach. And sometimes that one small, unassuming thing unexpectedly becomes the beginning of something you never planned.

Maybe a dream doesn't have to sound huge, extraordinary, or particularly sensible to be worth taking seriously.

And if mine happens to be made of shells right now, then I guess that's simply my little shell dream.