Bloom Where You Are: Finding Joy in the Life You Didn’t Plan For

Letting go of the life we imagined can be painful—but sometimes, the life that grows in its place is even more beautiful.

Every spring in Washington, DC, you’ll find me—my head buried in one blooming tree or another, inhaling the sweet, intoxicating perfume of the blossoms. I feel a twinge of guilt for the allergy sufferers, but I can’t help myself. The cherries, magnolias, redbuds, and dogwoods... each one a burst of color, a whisper of magic. As I walk through the streets soaking it all in, I always think of my old friend, Jen.

A Life Unexpected

Like me—and like most of the women in our circle—Jen had ended up in a place she never expected, following her spouse through the winding path of medical residency. We were all supporting someone else’s dream. I happened to love the place we landed: the hiking, the snowboarding, the crisp mountain air—with one of my favorite places on earth—the high mountain desert—just a couple hours’ drive away. But Jen couldn’t see any of that.

What she saw was everything she’d left behind: her sister, her parents, her taekwondo sabom, and the hard-won life of a world-class athlete. The beauty around her was blurred by a grief so heavy it colored everything. Every conversation seemed to circle back to what she’d lost—the home, the career, the future she thought she was building.

“Bloom Where You’re Planted”

One day, while our toddlers played beside us, I finally said it out loud:“Jen, I just don’t understand why you don’t try to bloom where you’re planted.”She looked at me, confused.

“Bloom where I’m planted? What does that even mean?”

I explained, “It means finding what makes you happy, here, right now. Creating joy wherever you are.”

She didn’t say anything. Just stood up to wrangle her son into a timeout. We never spoke of it again.

A Quiet Transformation

But in the weeks and months that followed, something shifted. A new Jen began to emerge. First a spinning class. Then a new bike. She joined a hiking group and tackled every trail she could find. She quit the job that drained her and took on a role organizing a marathon for over 15,000 runners. She began to glow.

Was it because of what I said? Maybe a little. It sparked something. But the real change came when Jen decided she was done waiting for happiness to show up in a certain zip code, in a certain version of life. She realized the where didn’t matter as much as the who. And she chose to become someone who bloomed—right where she was.

The Grief of “What Could Have Been”

We don’t talk enough about the grief of unmet expectations. About the silent mourning that comes with watching the life we thought we’d have slip away. It’s hard to let go of those visions—the homes we imagined, the careers we planned, the lives we carefully sketched in our minds. And it’s even harder when we love people who are thriving, and feel like our own unhappiness should matter less because their joy matters more.

Choosing to Bloom

But here’s what I’ve learned from Jen, and from the cherry blossoms, and from life:You don’t have to wait for the perfect soil to bloom. You can choose happiness. You can cultivate joy, even in unexpected places. You can let go of what might have been—and grow something even more beautiful in its place.

So this spring, wherever you are—whether you’re thriving or just barely holding on—breathe in the air, look around, and ask yourself:

What would it look like to bloom here?

Because sometimes, the life that blooms in unexpected places is the most radiant of all.

You don't need perfect soil to bloom.