You know that feeling when you finally work up the courage to do the thing you’ve been dreaming about for months, and then it all kind of… falls apart?
Yeah. That was me three weeks ago.
Let me tell you a story about dreams, disappointment, and why sometimes one person showing up is everything.
The Dream I Finally Decided to Chase
I’ve been quietly obsessing over the idea of hosting a creative workshop for longer than I’d like to admit. Not the kind where someone teaches you to make a macramé plant hanger (though no shade, I love a good plant hanger). I wanted something different. Something that felt like sitting down with a friend who just gets it and making things together while the world slows down for a few hours.
But here’s the thing about dreams you carry around for too long: they get heavy. They collect dust. They start to feel less like “someday I will” and more like “yeah, that’s just not going to happen.”
Except this time, I decided: no more someday. I was going to make it happen.
So I planned the whole thing. I created a workshop called Between Chapters—a craft omakase where I’d guide people through three meaningful projects during that weird, liminal time between the old year and the new one. I ordered supplies. I wrote scripts. I imagined how the room would feel with soft music playing and people quietly threading beads.
I opened it up to a group of people. Sent out the invitations. Held my breath.
And then… things happened.
The Part Where It All Fell Apart
I’m not going to sugarcoat this: it was devastating.
People couldn’t make it. Schedules shifted. Life got in the way the way life does. One by one, the responses came in. Can’t make it. Sorry. Maybe next time.
I sat there staring at my laptop, at all these supplies I’d ordered, at this carefully planned workshop that suddenly had no one to attend it, and I thought: Of course. Of course this is how it goes. Why did I think I could do this?
You know that specific flavor of disappointment that comes with putting yourself out there? When you finally gather the courage to try something new, and the universe seems to just… shrug? Yeah. That.
I questioned everything. Maybe I wasn’t ready. Maybe the idea wasn’t good enough. Maybe I should just pack up the beads and soap molds and chalk this up to a learning experience and try again never.
Then Someone Showed Up
Here’s where the story shifts.
There was this person—someone I’d only met a handful of times. We weren’t close friends. We were more like friendly acquaintances who’d crossed paths in that casual way people do.
And they said yes.
Not to a big group workshop. Not to some perfectly curated experience with a room full of people. Just… yes. They’d come. Just them.
I almost cancelled anyway. One person felt too small, too vulnerable, too exposed. What if it was awkward? What if they regretted coming? What if I couldn’t pull this off?
But something in me said: Do it anyway.
So I did.
The Workshop That Was Just for One (And Why That Was Perfect)
They showed up. I had the tea ready, the music playing, all these supplies spread out on the table like I’d planned for twenty people instead of one.
And you know what? It was magic.
Not the kind of magic where everything goes perfectly and you feel like a professional workshop facilitator who definitely knows what they’re doing. The kind of magic where you realize that sometimes the most meaningful things happen in the smallest, quietest moments.
We made three things together:
1. An Intention Bracelet (The Wearable Reminder)
We sat across from each other, and I explained the idea: choose beads that represent something you want to carry into the new year. Not a giant goal. Not “become a completely different person.” Just a quality. A feeling. A tiny promise to yourself.
They took their time choosing beads, turning them over in their hands. I watched their face as they threaded them onto the elastic cord, and there was something so intimate about it. No performance. No trying to manage group energy. Just two people making something meaningful.
Their word initially was bridge, and then I watched as it evolved to something more personal,more true – Portal Hopper.
Me too, I thought. Me too.
2. A Sensory Anchor (Soap as Memory)
We made soap together. Actual melt-and-pour soap with essential oils and dried embeds.
It’s such a simple thing, but watching them pour the melted soap into the mold, carefully sprinkling in the botanicals: there was something so tender about it.
The idea behind this project is that scent ties to memory. When they use this soap in February or May or whenever, it’ll bring them back to this moment. To the afternoon they showed up for a workshop that almost didn’t happen. To the intention they set.
And honestly? It’ll remind me too. Of the day I learned that one person showing up is enough.
3. Release & Receive Ritual Cards (The Tiny Ceremony Deck)
This was the project that took the longest and at times I believe got the quietest.
We made a small deck of cards together. Half of them were Release cards—things we were letting go of. Half were Receive cards—things we were welcoming in.
I gave them total freedom. Markers, stickers, glue stick, whatever they wanted. We worked in comfortable silence, occasionally sharing what we were writing.
Release: “The belief that rest must be earned”
Receive: “Joy without qualification or caution”
What I Learned from My First Workshop
Here’s the thing nobody tells you about dreams: they rarely happen the way you imagine them.
I thought my first workshop would be a room full of people. I thought I’d feel like I knew what I was doing. I thought success looked like sold-out sessions and perfect Instagram photos.
But this is what I actually learned:
1. One person showing up is not failure. It’s trust.
They didn’t have to say yes. They barely knew me. But they showed up anyway, and that act of grace, of believing in something before it’s proven itself: that’s everything.
2. Disappointment doesn’t mean stop. It means adjust.
Things fell apart. My plan didn’t work out. And I almost let that be the end of the story. But the real story started when I decided to do it anyway, even small, even scared.
3. Sometimes the most meaningful things happen quietly.
There was no crowd. No buzz of conversation. No group energy to carry us. Just two people sitting at a table, making things with their hands, being honest about what they were carrying and what they were trying to let go of. And it was perfect.
4. You don’t have to be ready. You just have to start.
I wasn’t ready. I didn’t feel like an expert. I questioned everything. But I showed up anyway, and that turned out to be the only qualification that mattered.
What’s Next: A Monthly Craft Club (Because I’m Not Done Yet)
Here’s what I know now: I’m going to keep doing this.
Even if it’s small. Even if it’s messy. Even if some months only one person shows up.
I’m planning a monthly craft club. Different projects, same vibe: cozy, creative, reflective. A space to make things and slow down and remember that we’re allowed to be gentle with ourselves.
I have no idea if I’m doing this “right.” I’m absolutely new to all of it. But I’m learning that the dream doesn’t have to look the way you thought it would. It just has to be real.
If You’re Thinking About Starting Something (Even When It’s Hard)
If you’ve been carrying around a dream that feels too big or too scary or too likely to disappoint you, this is your sign.
Not to do it perfectly. Not to wait until you have a guarantee that it’ll work out exactly as planned. Just to start.
Things will fall apart. People won’t show up the way you hoped. You’ll question everything. You’ll want to quit before you even really begin.
Do it anyway.
Make the thing. Host the workshop. Send the email. Book the space. Whatever it is that’s been whispering at you.
And if only one person shows up? Let that be enough. Because sometimes one person’s grace is the exact thing that keeps your dream alive.
I showed up to my first workshop with a printed script, a bag full of beads, a heart full of disappointment, and a fragile hope that maybe it could still mean something.
And it did. Not because it was big or impressive or went according to plan. But because someone I barely knew showed up and sat across from me and made things and trusted me with their intention word.
That’s the workshop that happened. That’s the dream that came true, just not the way I thought it would.
And honestly? I wouldn’t change a single thing.
To the Person Who Showed Up
If you’re reading this (and I think you might be): thank you.
Thank you for saying yes when you didn’t have to. Thank you for being my first student, my first believer, my first proof that this dream was worth chasing even when it felt like it was falling apart.
You didn’t just show up for a workshop. You showed up for the version of me who was terrified and disappointed and almost gave up.
And because you did, I’m going to keep going.
So yeah. Between Chapters happened. Not the way I planned. Better, in some ways. Smaller and scarier and more real.
I made a craft omakase. I learned that elastic cord is harder to tie than it looks. I watched someone I barely knew choose trust as their word and realized that’s exactly what this whole thing requires.
If you want to join me for a future craft club session, keep an eye out. I’ll be the one with too many supplies, slightly chaotic energy, and a deep belief that making things with our hands is how we make sense of being human.
Even if it’s just you and me at a table.
See you between the chapters.
P.S. If you made it this far and you’re sitting on a dream that feels impossible, please don’t wait for perfect conditions. Don’t wait for a full room or a guarantee or until you feel ready. Just start. Even if only one person shows up. Especially if only one person shows up.
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