Making Room for the Future: Letting Go of the Past

Making Room for the Future: Letting Go of the Past

Moving a catering business after 20 years forced me to sort through old manuals, drums, and memories. A reflection on letting go of the past and making room for the future.

Jun 20, 2026
Gratitude Emotional Health Process Reflections
Making Room for the Future: Letting Go of the Past
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Making Room for the Future
A Question That Helps You Let Go

Making Room for the Future

After more than twenty years in the same location, we're moving the catering business to a new building.
Most of my days lately have been spent dealing with contractors, permits, inspections, internet installations, equipment moves, and all the thousand little details that come with relocating a business.
As I wrote in Learning How to Carry Stress, the process has brought plenty of anxiety and uncertainty along with it.
What I didn't expect was how much I would enjoy the cleaning.
There is something deeply satisfying about throwing things away.
Not important things.
Just the decades of accumulated stuff that somehow follows every business around.
Old filing cabinets.
Boxes nobody has opened in years.
Random equipment whose original purpose has long been forgotten.
After twenty years, there was a lot of it.
Every trip to the dumpster felt a little lighter.
One of my goals for the new building is to create a sanctuary at work.
A calm, clean space where people enjoy being.
Less clutter, less noise, and more room to think.
A while back I wrote about Creating a Sanctuary at Home. I'm realizing the same idea applies to work.
The spaces we occupy affect how we feel.
Clutter has a weight to it.
Sometimes you don't realize how much weight you're carrying until you start removing it.
Most of the clutter was easy.
Into the dumpster.
Into the back of someone else's truck.
But a few things gave me pause.
I'm sentimental at heart, and every once in a while an object becomes more than an object.
Not because it's valuable.
Because it reminds me of a season of life.
A person I used to be.
I found old catering manuals that I built from scratch years ago.
At one point those binders were the operating system of the business. Today they haven't been opened in years.
Throwing them away felt strangely emotional.
Not because I needed them.
Because they represented a version of me.
Then there were the stacks of Modern Drummer magazines.
For years, being a drummer was a huge part of my identity.
Today I play guitar more than drums, and I don't really think of myself as a drummer anymore.
Seeing those magazines felt like meeting an old friend from another life.
The biggest surprise was the drums themselves.
For years they sat in the corner of my office.
Back in 2017 and 2018, during some particularly stressful seasons, I would close the door at the end of the day and play.
They weren't decoration.
They were therapy.
A way to clear my head before going home.
A way to release some of the pressure that comes with running a business.
But somewhere along the way, that chapter ended.
These days I reach for a guitar instead.
The drums became something I walked past rather than something I used.
Moving them out was harder than I expected.
Not because I need them today.
Because they reminded me of who I was when I did.
A Decade of Drums. Part of the Past Now.
A Decade of Drums. Part of the Past Now.

A Question That Helps You Let Go

Every shelf, cabinet, and closet has forced the same question:
If I were starting this chapter today, would I bring this with me?
It's a useful question for more than possessions.
Old commitments.
Old habits.
Old identities.
Sometimes the answer is no.
Not because the thing is bad.
Not because the chapter wasn't important.
Because it already did its job.
The hardest things to throw away aren't usually the most valuable.
They're the things connected to who we used to be.
We hold onto them because getting rid of them can feel like erasing part of our story.
But the story doesn't disappear when the object does.
I don't need a stack of magazines to prove I was once passionate about drumming.
I don't need old recipe binders to prove I built a catering company.
I don't need a drum set in the corner to remember how it helped me through a difficult season.
Those experiences are already part of me.
The move has reminded me that letting go isn't an act of rejection.
It's an act of trust.
Trust that what mattered has already shaped you.
Trust that you don't need to carry every chapter forward.
The memories stay.
The lessons stay.
But sometimes the boxes need to go.
The future needs room to arrive.
And that's okay.
Because every new chapter begins by making room for it.
“Know what’s enough. Build what matters.”

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