It’s wild how fast life can shift.

You make a plan. You build something meaningful. You imagine a future that makes sense. Then something unexpected happens, and that version of your life vanishes.

Sometimes it happens slowly, like the unraveling of a sweater. Other times, it disappears in an instant. A diagnosis. A loss. A job that falls through. A door that closes without warning.

And suddenly, you’re standing in the middle of your life, staring into a future that looks nothing like what you imagined.

That’s where I’ve found myself many times over the years.

I thought I had it figured out. I had expectations—reasonable ones, I thought—for how things would play out. But the future I pictured didn’t arrive. And for a while, all I could see was what I had lost.

I grieved the vision I had worked so hard to create. I felt disoriented. Unsteady. And maybe even a little betrayed by the effort I had put in. Because how could I do everything “right” and still end up here—in a reality I never asked for?

It’s one thing to lose something tangible. But it’s another kind of grief to let go of the future you planned for.

When I work with people navigating grief or transition, I often hear the same quiet heartbreak: “This isn’t the life I thought I’d have.”

And I always nod. Because I get it.

But here’s what I’ve also learned: just because life didn’t follow the script you wrote, that doesn’t mean the story is over.

Letting go of the life you planned doesn’t mean giving up. It means you’re making space for something else. Something you didn’t expect—and maybe never would have chosen—but something that can still be meaningful to you.

Letting go is not the same as losing hope.

Letting go is a surrender. It’s saying: “Okay, this isn’t what I wanted, but I’m still here. So now what?”

The beauty—and, frankly, the terror—of that question is that there isn’t always a clear answer. You may not know what’s next. You may feel like you’re building something new from the rubble of your old plans. But that doesn’t mean you’re lost. It means you’re rerouting.

You get to grieve what didn’t happen. You get to sit in the disappointment. But you also get to move forward.

Here are a few things that have helped me:

• Name what you imagined. Get specific. What did you expect? What did you hope for? Sometimes naming it gives us permission to mourn it.
• Honor the effort. You didn’t waste your time. The person you became along the way still matters. That version of you still brought something valuable into the world.
• Get curious about what’s next. This isn’t toxic positivity. It’s grounded possibility. What’s one thing you can say yes to right now? One thing that might lead you into a future that looks different—but not necessarily worse?
• Don’t wait to feel “ready.” You probably won’t. Start anyway. The path unfolds when you start walking, not when you have the perfect map.
• Trust your resilience. If you’re still here, it’s because you’ve already survived more than you thought you could. That strength will carry you now, too.

Letting go of the life you planned is not easy. It’s not clean or simple. But it’s not the end of your story, either.

You are still becoming. And what you build from here still matters.

So tell me: What version of your future are you learning to release? And what’s one small step you can take toward what’s next?