Retta Jane Is My Spring Break...
...and my book club, and my mahjong lesson, and my playdates...
Over the past two weeks, our colleagues, classmates, and friends hopped in their cars and jumped on planes for their annual spring break pilgrimages. Sunny beaches in Florida, ski slopes in Colorado, and even a few overseas jaunts to Europe were in the cards for our nearest and dearest.
When I thought about packing my bags and heading out of town I felt... nothing. No FOMO. No longing. Just a clear, immediate understanding that I couldn’t even imagine going away for kicks right now.
And that’s when I realized something: it’s not that I didn’t want to go. I mean, who wouldn’t love a week or two of respite? It’s just that the thought of stepping away from life right now creates actual panic.
I was fifteen years old when I decided to throw a formal dinner party.
Not a sleepover. Not a casual hangout. A dinner party—complete with tablecloths and place cards and a four-course menu that I had painstakingly researched in cookbooks. I made pasta from scratch. I hired my older brother and his friends to serve. I was obsessed with every detail, not in a stressed way, but in the way you’re obsessed with something that lights you up from the inside.
Looking back, it’s such an odd thing for a teenager to do. Most girls my age were at the mall or talking on the phone. I was in the kitchen with flour in my hair, thinking about linens.
But here’s what I knew then that I’d spend years trying to remember: I come alive when I’m hosting. When I’m creating a space where people gather. When I’m thinking about how things come together, how conversations flow, what makes someone feel welcome the moment they walk through the door. That was me at fifteen. That was me.
While my friends are planning their family trips and book clubs and playdates for their kids, I’m building Retta Jane.
This is my spring break right now. This is my book club. This is what’s filling my cup and lighting me up and making me feel alive in a way that’s hard to explain if you’re not in the thick of building something.
I’m launching a womenswear collection. I’m opening a flagship concept store in St. Louis. I’m creating The Reading Room—this space that’s been living in my head for years. A gathering place for women. The details are consuming me in the best way. I’m thinking about design, about flow, about how to make women and girls feel seen and held the moment they walk through the door.
But here’s what’s honest:
I miss hosting dinner parties. I miss my friends. I genuinely do. There’s a part of me that looks at those heading out for spring break and thinks, “God, I would love that right now.”
And there’s guilt in that gap. The gap between who I’ve always been (the woman who travels, who throws dinner parties, who gathers people) and what I’m actually capable of right now. The truth is, I’m not managing playdates. I’m not as present with friends as I want to be. To those of you who know me—I’m sorry! I know I’m not showing up the way I used to, and I hope this is a phase.
That guilt is real. I’m not going to pretend it isn’t.
But here’s what else is real: I’m not drowning (at least, not every day!). I’m building. And what I’m building is feeding a part of my soul that absolutely needs to be fed.
This is the thing nobody tells you about entrepreneurship: it is a form of gathering. It’s a form of hospitality. It’s just not happening on a Friday night at my house anymore.
It’s happening in a concept store and a wine bar and a café where women can come together. It’s the same impulse, different format. I’m still creating spaces where people feel held and seen. I’m still thinking about the details of how things come together. I’m still that girl.
And it's happening through the programming we're planning for The Reading Room—etiquette classes, movie nights, author talks, gatherings where women and their daughters can connect. Because here's what I learned from that fifteen-year-old girl throwing a dinner party: hosting isn't just about the meal. It's about creating moments where people feel like they belong. It's about thoughtful details and intention and making sure everyone at the table knows they matter. That's what I'm building now, just on a bigger scale. It's party planning. It's community planning. It's hospitality as a business model.
And it’s happening in coffee dates with other female entrepreneurs who are building their own empires. We sit down for what’s supposed to be a quick coffee and it turns into two hours of commiserating, dreaming, problem-solving, celebrating small wins. Those conversations? That’s our girls’ trip. That’s our gathering. We’re creating community in the margins of our crazy schedules because we understand what it means to pour everything into something you believe in. That’s its own kind of hospitality.
Do I miss the dinner parties? Absolutely. Will I get back to hosting the way I want to? I hope so. But not right now. Right now, this is what my soul needs, and I’m not going to apologize for that.
I’m not sacrificing anything. I’m choosing what fills me up today.
And Retta Jane? She’s filling me up completely.
What about you? Have you found yourself pouring into something so completely that it becomes its own kind of gathering? I’d love to hear your story in the comments.