The Last Morning Café
A farewell to the small places that teach us big lessons about leadership, change, and letting go.
There’s a small café I’ve grown to love, the kind of place where the music hums low, the light lands gently, and the air smells like calm braided with freshly baked scones. I come here early, before the world wakes and when everything still feels soft and possible.
Jazz drifts from unseen speakers, curling through the air like a gentle promise. Each note settles quietly, creating space for thought. I sit in the corner of the bigger room, coffee warm between my hands, and watch the shadows of the sun inch their way up the horizon. There is peace here, the kind modern life so rarely remembers to offer.
Over time, this café folded itself into the rhythm of my days. Melissa and Tony, snowbirds who trade Wyoming winters for Arizona sunshine, often found their way to the table beside me. We talked about life, work, choices, purpose, and the beauty of finding stillness in an increasingly hurried world. Our mornings became small rituals, brief touchpoints of connection that reminded me what truly matters.
They left several weeks ago, beginning their journey back to Arizona. They don’t yet know the café has been sold, and I couldn’t bring myself to tell them before they left. I wanted to protect the memory of how they often sat in those two soft, oversized chairs by the overgrown plant that leaned forward as if it too wanted to take part in their conversation. I can still see Melissa and Tony smiling, talking, laughing quietly. Their togetherness filled the room long after they walked out the door.
A few months back, when I learned the café was for sale, I briefly imagined buying it; turning it into a learning haven for youth, a small place where purpose and potential might meet. It’s a vision I’ve carried for several years now, the kind that shows up in daydreams, quiet notebooks, and now my strategic planner – asking to be made real. But when I walked through the reality of the café’s narrow kitchen, the tiny back room, and the space below, I knew this wasn’t the right home for the work I hope to build. The café had heart, but the walls simply couldn’t hold the size of my dream. And still, sitting here this morning, looking around at familiar faces, I feel the subtle ache that always accompanies the end of a season. Soon, this gentle pocket of peace will no longer exist as I have known it. I’ll tell Melissa and Tony before they return. Some truths deserve to be spoken in their own season.
There is a quiet grief in outgrowing something you love. But there is also wisdom in knowing when to let go. In leadership roles, we focus heavily on designing spaces and systems for others, yet we rarely pause to consider the inner workspace that shapes our own perspective. The café reminded me often that reflection is not a luxury; it is a form of leadership. Stillness sharpens clarity. Pausing reveals truth. Listening precedes wise decision-making.
There is a quiet grief in outgrowing something you love. But there is also wisdom in knowing when to let go.
As the landscape of leadership continues to shift, those who excel will be the ones who understand this rhythm; those who know that innovation isn’t fueled by nonstop activity but by presence, awareness, and the courage to discern what is ending and what is ready to begin.
Letting go of this café is, in its own quiet way, an act of leadership. It is the discipline of choosing alignment over attachment, and of honoring what a place, a season, or a dream has given you; then making space for what comes next. Growth seldom happens by holding on. It comes from trusting that what once rooted you has already done its work.
So I’ll finish this cup of coffee slowly. I’ll watch the sunlight dance across the floor one last time. And when I stand to leave, I’ll do so with gratitude, knowing this quiet corner, for a time, held space for the future to unfold.
Editor’s Note
In this reflective column, Dr. Bobbie Murray offers a meditation on change, leadership, and the quiet spaces that shape who we become. Inspired by her final morning in a beloved neighborhood café, she invites readers to consider how small, ordinary moments can spark profound clarity. Her story reminds us that the future of work isn’t built only in boardrooms or strategy sessions; sometimes it begins with the stillness of a corner table, a warm cup of coffee, and the courage to let go.
