When the Life You Prayed For No Longer Fits
This was supposed to be my summer of becoming. Instead…
What happens when the life you prayed for no longer fits the person you’re becoming?
They ask me where I’m staying, and I say somewhere in between.
On one side, I’m just a couple of blocks away from Western Ave. in Koreatown. If I walk that direction on a weekday morning, I’ll catch my girl, Mya, working the corner in a pink thong bikini, a coffee-colored fur coat, and heels that make her already long, thin legs appear modelesque.
Mornings are less crowded, she tells me.
So she trades dusk for dawn shifts — because the early bird catches the worm, or at least a warm body to service for a few minutes. I don’t judge her. I recognize her. A woman doing what she must in a world that rarely makes space for soft landings. It’s easy to come here with a dream and slip into survival mode by any means necessary. It’s why I left LA the first time, and why I’ve returned here from a place of caution—I refuse to let that be my story.
A few feet further is an active street flanked with Asian-owned restaurants— Korean BBQ, bakeries, matcha teas, and a grocery store with questionable meat selections— and Spanish convenience stores that only accept cash and Cash App. A food truck sits on the corner from 11 to 5, serving tacos to gringos. The ICE raids, the owner tells me, have slowed down his business.
This side of the world is gritty and grimey, the streets just a bit too dirty, the air a bit too tense with the reminder: this ain’t the place for solo walks after dark.
It’s where the homeless curl up on discarded couches and find their next meals in overstuffed trash cans. This side keeps you humble. It reminds you that no matter how far you think you’ve come, you’re never too far from what could’ve been.
And so, I usually head the other way.
A few blocks east is Larchmont Blvd, where slightly worn buildings turn into multi-million-dollar residences. The sidewalks are clean. Young dads push strollers, and Goldendoodles trot past me in harnesses nicer than my purse. The air is lighter here, peaceful. Quiet luxury permeates, with manicured lawns and bright-colored florals selected by manicured hands. It’s the kind of neighborhood I see myself rooted in when singlehood finally releases its grip — where morning walks are shared with a man who’s not afraid of forever, and building a family isn’t some wistful dream.
On Larchmont, I stroll past cute boutique stores and restaurants as I make my way to one of my two favorite coffee shops for a vanilla oat milk or lavender matcha latte— Groundwork or Bricks & Scones— to people watch while tapping away on my laptop. On Sundays, the narrow strip gets crowded with Farmer’s Market attendees. You can’t find parking, but no one complains. That’s the price you pay for a soft life. It’s a dreamy backdrop for anyone craving a slower, more intentional life.
And it’s in this tension—between what was and what could be—that I’ve found myself all summer.
It’s here that I’m reminded that I have a choice—am I going to be Lot’s wife and look back towards where God is calling me from? Or look forward to where He’s leading me?
I don’t think it’s a coincidence I landed here. Since I touched down in LA, my world has been quietly unraveling. Not in a loud, dramatic way—but in the kind of internal unthreading that happens when comfort stops being enough. What I thought would be a summer of creative breakthroughs turned out to be a spiritual exodus. Less red carpets, more soul-clearing. Less applause, more obedience. God is nudging me out of what I built for myself and into what He’s been trying to build through me. I’m being called into something greater, which means leaving behind the life that I’ve attempted to cultivate on my own.
Behind the screen, I’ve been processing the quiet grief of outgrowing a life I once begged for.
To most people, I look fine. Put-together. Smiling in pictures. Still posting. But behind the screen, I’ve been processing the quiet grief of outgrowing a life I once begged for. This was supposed to be my summer of becoming. But instead, it’s been the summer of surrender. I’m both excited and exhausted, in transition from fearful to faith-filled.
I’m not quite who I was, but I’m not yet who I know I’ll be. I’m somewhere in between.
And maybe that’s exactly where God wants me to be.
Where are you being called to, and what are you leaving behind? Drop a comment below; I’d love to support you on your journey. 🥀
This post is very moving, a window to your soul. I do think two words are missing from the last line, though - “for now.” I know God is moving you towards something magnificent.
Thank you for sharing this piece. It's incredible to read someone else's story and connect with where they are in their life's journey, while still finding myself relating to their experiences.
I am currently at an “in-between” stage in my own life. I feel closer than ever to realizing my dream of being a writer, but I still feel distant from the reality of waking up each day and working from home while doing what I love—writing and creating content.