No One Knew All of It

I had been feeling this for a while.

I’m tired.

This is hard.

I don’t want to do this anymore.

I need to quit.

Kristin saw without saying. She knew some of this. No one knew all of it.

It’s the fall of 2024, three years in, and we had done what we set out to do — organize a group of neighbors into a land assemblage for sale to a commercial developer. We had accomplished almost everything, but it was harder and took longer than I or anyone else expected.

It dominated neighbor conversations. It divided people and fractured relationships. The Facebook group became a place to “vent” from a distance. I no longer looked forward to the one-mile stroll around our loop with Kristin because of the inevitable conversations and interactions. The cordial greetings still happened, Hi. Nice Weather. How’s the garden? What wasn’t said out loud I imagined was like what I heard them say previously, You’re never going to succeed. If you would just leave things alone, everything would be fine. Why would I join your group?

I answered question after question, able to promise only we’ll give it a shot and we’re better together.

I had countless phone calls, driveway chats, email threads, and in-person gatherings at any location we could afford on a zero dollar budget.

And then there were the committee meetings. Two to three times a month for months. Organizing. Planning. Wondering. Arguing. Venting. Building governance and structure. Debating legal structures. Frustrated with hired consultants. All five of us wanting to win but none of us ever playing this game before.

On top of all that, development was quickly coming to our borders. What seemed inevitable when we began continued to press in, on all sides, literally surrounding us. It was like a hurricane — I had told them — threatening to destroy us. We needed to find a way to get out together.

By fall 2024, we had done everything we set out to do except one — complete a sale. All the work had not resulted in the one thing we wanted most.

Under all the fatigue were the doubts and questions.

Was it worth it?

What did we really accomplish?

Why did I sign up for all this?

Was I just fooling myself all along?

Those who didn’t join were right. This failed.

I failed.

In moments where the doubts were quieter, I still believed in the idea. I still believed it was the best path forward. I believed things could have been different had more joined our group. With full participation, the assemblage would have been more attractive than what we offered. Almost 2x more acreage. A contiguous block rather than a patchwork. It was all still possible.

I also believed I was not the guy to lead this anymore. I couldn’t see another way forward. I didn’t have what it required — maybe nobody did. I just didn’t want this burden any longer. It was time for me to be done.

After failing to get even one compelling offer; after a few-month pause to reset; after deciding I was done leading this effort; it was time to tell the leadership committee. I wasn’t looking forward to the conversation but I was ready to have it.

In January of 2025, during a brief return-to-Ohio stay during the Las Vegas adventure, our committee regathered from a few-month break to discuss next steps. I came to resign. And so did everyone else.

The other four were also worn out by the battle. Unsure what else to try. Resigned that we would have to find our own ways out. We all told ourselves it — the organization structure, the legal documents, the communications systems, the collaboration — could be spun back up easily, if needed. The chance was low, but it was not zero. It was true, and the right thing to say. And so we unwound what needed to be unwound. We stopped what was no longer needed. We accepted the defeat, acknowledged the disappointment. And, we all moved on.

But, inside, the doubts still remained. Did you really think you ever had a shot? There goes four years you’ll never get back.

If I’m honest, I was more relieved to not have the burden than disappointed it didn’t work out. It exacted a toll I didn’t want to pay anymore. It was asking more than I wanted to give. Not just in time and energy. It required me to stretch and change. To intentionally insert into discomfort and uncertainty. To navigate conflict and disagreement. What I’m trying to say is this: I wanted someone else to lead it so I didn’t have to.

With some time and distance, I could convince myself I was just tired and needed a break. While that is true, it is not the full picture. From the beginning, I believed this task was mine to do. In some ways, unknowingly, I had been preparing for it from the day we moved in. Kristin heard me say on more than one occasion, “we don’t get here without me.” But, in the end, where was “here” really? Just another thing that didn’t work out the way I wanted it to?

By May, the doubts were mostly quiet. Disappointment had given way to feeling trapped and a resignation that we’d be here a while. And just like that, normalcy was interrupted again with a phone call. The local buyer, the one we had been courting the whole time, was ready to talk.