When a Dream Shifts and seasons change

When a Dream Shifts: Embracing My Grandma Era

It seems like just yesterday — though it was actually September — that I signed the lease on my little caboose studio. I was giddy with possibility. I could see it all in my mind: painting days, creative gatherings, inspiration flowing freely inside that charming little space.

But life had other plans.

Between planning a November wedding, stepping straight into the holiday season, and then taking a much-needed January recovery pause, the months passed in a blur. Instead of slowly building a creative rhythm, I found myself running what felt more like an art retail space.

And I learned something important.

Running a retail studio — pricing art, hosting sales, organizing open studios, constantly promoting both the space and myself — is not what I desire at this stage of my life. There’s nothing wrong with it. It’s just not for me.

I want to paint.

I want to create with others.

I want the slow joy of color on canvas — not the pressure of moving inventory.

For years, I’ve worked toward making my art a full-time career. I’ve built plans, mapped out goals, and treated my creativity like a business (because it was). But if I’m being honest, I feel like I’m stepping onto the downhill slope of striving. Not quitting. Just softening.

This season feels different.

I’ve lovingly named it my “Grandma Era.” And I mean that in the best possible way.

This is the season where I want to enjoy my grandson without watching the clock. Where I paint because inspiration strikes — not because a launch date demands it. Where I teach when I have margin and joy for it. Where I partner with people who are gifted at selling art, instead of trying to be everything at once.

My caboose studio was dreamy. Truly. And I’m proud that I tried. There’s something sacred about trying — about stepping out and seeing if a dream fits.

Sometimes it does.

Sometimes it teaches you something better.

So what does the remainder of 2026 look like for me?

A few commitments.
No grand business plan.
No carefully color-coded quarterly goals.

Just space.

Space to paint.
Space to breathe.
Space to be present.

There are still dreams floating around in my heart. I’m just holding them loosely now — waiting patiently for God to open doors instead of trying to push them open myself.

And honestly? That feels like freedom.

If you’re in a season where your dream is shifting, softening, or taking a new shape, I hope this encourages you: it’s okay. We’re allowed to evolve. We’re allowed to redefine success. We’re allowed to choose joy over hustle.

Here’s to painting when the Spirit moves.
Here’s to grandchildren and slower mornings.
Here’s to trying — and learning.

And here’s to embracing whatever season you’re in.