Every opportunity in life has a unique season in which it flourishes, but the timeline of that season of maturity can vary greatly from one thing to the next. Sometimes we reap the rewards of a fruitful business or relationship for decades, but in other cases, the glory is short-lived. Try as we might, it is impossible to predict just how long the seed of an idea will germinate; how long a growing period will extend before the dream blooms; how long the bounty of harvest will last; and ultimately, if things can be pruned for renewed growth or if you’ve arrived at the inevitable stage of letting a dream die.

At the end of 2023, my best friend turned business partner and I officially laid to rest the small business we had cultivated since May 2020. We sensed the impending death for a long time and mourned its bitter end for months before we actually filed the dissolution paperwork. The business gently let us down before we were ready to let it go. We could logically see that our efforts to establish a brick and mortar retail and/or yoga space were REALLY not working out. We clearly read the financial statements which emphasized that more money was going out than coming in. We understood that we weren’t failures, but letting go of a dream that had impacted so many of our short- and long-term decisions for the past 3.5 years was painful and very sad.

How do you turn your back on something into which you invested blood, sweat, tears, time, money, prayers and hope? How do you consciously let nature take its course when you know that “there could always be more done”? How do you move on to a future that doesn’t include what you’ve been telling everyone your five-, ten- and 25-year plans will look like?

Fortunately, for as painful as it is to let go, surrender often results in peace—and there was an abundance of that in the process of grieving the loss of my small business. Thank you, God. I tried to write this blog post in December 2023, when we had technically ceased all operations, but hadn’t officially shut everything down. I confused my confidence in the decision with clarity of mind about what the death of a dream actually means. But it was too soon. Just because you have peace doesn’t mean you are happy about it, or that you are far enough removed to have gained real perspective.

But lately, as I’ve embraced this new season of ambiguity with an open mind and a less guarded heart, I can increasingly be happy for what was without being sad for what won’t be. When I wear one of our branded crewneck sweatshirts (of which I have many), I no longer cringe in shame. When I scroll through our now-abandoned social media channels, I can be objectively proud of how we ran the business. The work we did to get it to bloom was incredible. We hosted so many activities and events, but even more importantly, we stayed true to our mission of “creating space for community.” In that, we accomplished the dream. It came to fruition, even if the landscape looked different than we had anticipated.

Could the business show up later in life? Theoretically: sure. But, as we honored its life, we are also honoring its death. For now, we’re leaning into other dreams by sowing time, energy, love and care into those new seeds.

When I talk about the future, there is an intriguing hole into which I’m not quite sure what I’m supposed to plant—which now feels more exciting than scary. From maintaining a small backyard garden, I know that sometimes we have to let things die in order for others to live. As I’ve moved beyond mourning into a season of cultivation, I can feel a new sense of hope stir in my soul. I’m looking forward to what is about to bloom in and through me.

If you are in the process of navigating the death of a dream, please know that you’re not alone in your disappointment, anger and grief. Those feelings are valid. But as you grow through this season and find yourself staring at a new dream with fresh expectations, I hope you are encouraged by the beauty you’ve seen, the lessons you learned as you cultivated your dreams, and the peace that comes when you allow seasons to shift of their own accord.

SDG