The Courage to Let Go of a Dream
On leaving Europe, coming home to San Diego, and the courage it takes to change your mind.
We often hear about the courage it takes to pursue a dream.
But less often, we hear about the courage it takes to let go of a dream.
For years, I thought I would live in Europe for the rest of my life. I thought I’d have a family, raise children and create a soft, beautiful life that reflected a very curated Pinterest board of what a “European lifestyle” should look like.
And for most of my five and a half years of living abroad, that dream was aligned. It fueled me. It guided my choices, my actions, my growth.
It was a crystal clear vision that anchored me when things felt uncertain and overwhelming. When things felt isolating and challenging.
And I had moments when I first arrived in Seville in early 2023, where I’d start crying as I walked through the city, because I was filled with such joy and gratitude to be living in a place that I’d wanted to live in since college.
But somewhere in the last year or so, the dream started to feel heavy.
Not bad, just out of rhythm with who I was becoming. Out of alignment with what I valued and what was important to me.
There was nothing wrong with Seville; it hadn’t changed.
But I had.
For months, I kept telling myself I just needed to “try harder.” Be bolder. Learn the language faster. Say “yes” to more invitations. Socialize. Be spontaneous. Immerse myself more fully in my surroundings.
But deep down, I didn’t want to.
And day after day, it felt like I was pushing a boulder up a mountain.
Yes, I was living in Spain. The “dream.” Tapas, music, walking to the local grocery store, late-night laughter echoing through cobblestone streets. Architectural beauty that only Europe can do.
It was a life that many people imagine and celebrate.
But for me, the day-to-day realities of living in another country (while beautiful and idyllic in its own way) just weren’t enough for me to hold onto anymore.
After years of living abroad, I realized that what many expats found fulfilling about European life didn’t quite fit my own rhythm or values. From cultural differences, to language barriers, to systems that didn’t support the life I wanted to build, I began longing for things I used to take for granted: my own language, culture, systems, family, familiarity, and, honestly…a car.
It took me a hot minute (read: months) to accept that even though I was living what looked like a dream and was a dream to some, it wasn’t my dream anymore.
It had served its purpose. It had shaped me. And now it was ready to be released, so that I could move forward in the ways I wanted to move forward, but hadn’t been able to.
When I finally reached the moment of truth and had the courage to say, “I want to move back home,” the relief was immense. And it was immediate.
Even after I arrived at the decision to move home, I still struggled with thinking I had “failed” at my European dream. That I just hadn’t tried hard enough.
But…that’s a lie your ego tells you when your soul starts moving in a new direction and wants to leave the “safety” of what it currently knows.
And what this whole experience has taught me is: there’s a difference between “this is a challenge that I’m meant to move through and this is a part of my growth” and “this is no longer aligned…it’s time to pivot.”
For me, it was the latter.
And that truth was confirmed for me the moment I landed back on U.S. soil. It felt like a long exhale after years of holding my breath.
Sometimes we continue to hold onto a dream simply because it’s been with us so long that we mistake it for part of who we are. It becomes a part of our identity.
But dreams, like seasons, are meant to change, too.
And just as the pursuit of a dream takes courage, so does its release.
The more I lean into this entire experience of moving back to San Diego, I realize this isn’t a story about leaving Europe…it’s about coming home to myself.
Because over the last five years, I’ve said many goodbyes:
To my father.
To my first cockatiel, Pearl, who was with us for 22 years.
To my marriage.
To a musical theatre degree and a potential professional dream.
To cities I loved and homes I built.
To friends I made and deeply cared for.
To my feather babies, Buster and Rosie (who are now with an adoring new family in Spain!)
Each goodbye asked me to let go of a vision and a future I once held dear. Each one required me to trust that what was ending was making space for something truer and more aligned.
And there’s a sense of freedom when you realize you no longer have to chase the same version of happiness you once prayed for.
You can be grateful and celebrate what once was…and you can also let it go.
One word that became my anchor as I navigated all of this was: peace.
As I vacillated back and forth on whether I should stay or move back home, I would ask myself: “Is this life bringing me peace anymore? Are these moments I once dreamed about still fueling my soul? And, even if some things still feel aligned, at what cost are they to my peace?”
And when I really tuned in and listened to where my peace was leading me...it was home. It was San Diego.
It’s important to understand that letting go of a dream isn’t always “giving up.” It can also be about giving in.
Surrendering to what you know to be true.
Surrendering to timing, alignment, trust and faith.
And, most importantly, having the courage to “let go” and allow life to unfold differently than expected. And to have faith that the “plot twist” you didn’t see coming would be exactly what your soul needed all along.
So, as I write this nestled into my new life in San Diego, I look back on these years with gratitude and reverence and whisper “thank you” to the dreams that carried me through some of the most important and profound moments of my life.
And then, I let them rest.
If you’re curious, this is what my “process” looked like as I began to let go of my dream:
I first became aware of the day-to-day and long-term misalignment.
Realized the misalignment wasn’t from a lack of effort or not trying hard enough.
Recognized and released any shame or guilt about no longer wanting the dream I prayed for for so long.
Allowed myself to feel the quiet grief that came with realizing my dream had reached its expiry date…not because it was all a failure and a waste, but simply because it served its purpose.