Leaving The Spark

On letting go, building something new, and what I’m carrying with me.

The first time I walked into The Spark building, I had to wear a hard hat. It was an active construction zone. The floors were entirely unfinished, the new windows weren’t in, the walls were exposed down to the studs. There were no lights.

The third floor of The Spark Building over two years ago (left) and today (right).

I had known the building most recently as the Pattison, Koskey, Howe & Bucci accounting firm. And before that, as the place where my stepdad, Don Dolan, worked in the 70s, packaging cigarettes and candy. But even knowing the history and seeing the mess, I could see the skeleton of what it would become. The vision that Gigi Danziger and Albert Wenger had for a community-centric space focused on learning and growing together was already taking shape.

I first met Gigi and Albert nearly three years ago. At the time, I was working remotely as a data science manager for a mental health company based in Denver. I’d been longing to work locally for a long time – to be in the room, in community – but nothing had aligned yet with my background. I have a PhD in cognitive psychology, and after graduating from the University of Iowa in 2016, I landed a postdoc at Vanderbilt doing research. After my daughter was born, we came to Hudson for a year while I worked remotely for Vandy. But after that year, we knew we didn’t want to leave. So we stayed. I found the remote work that used my skill set, but it never felt quite right.

A few people suggested I reach out to Gigi. Eventually, someone made the introduction. When we got together, I honestly was wary. I’ve spent most of my life watching people with wealth come to Hudson with ideas about how it should be run. And more often than not, that came with a heavy dose of reinvention. Ignoring what had already been built, neglecting to explore Hudson’s history, and creating something community-oriented in name only.

But this felt different. Gigi and Albert didn’t enter this community with a shiny launch party. They started by forgiving all medical debt at Columbia Memorial Health (including a little of mine!). Then they launched HudsonUP, a Universal Basic Income pilot giving 128 local families $500 a month for five years. No strings attached. They didn’t dictate every move that they made. They were asking questions. Listening. Partnering with local orgs like Greater Hudson Promise Neighborhood, led by Joan Hunt (who I happened to play on a traveling basketball team with in high school). They met with city officials, nonprofit leaders, community elders.

When we finally sat down at Hudson Roastery, I felt that same curiosity from them – about me, about my perspective on Hudson, about what I could offer. They wanted to redefine learning. I had spent my PhD and postdoc studying how people learn and remember. They were building a community hub. I was president of the library board, a community haven. They needed someone who could build out operations, lead a team, and hold a complex vision. I’d been doing exactly that in tech. It felt like a puzzle piece that clicked into place.

And in the time since, I’ve followed that Spark ethos: learning by doing. I learned how to read blueprints. How to tell the difference between Type 1 and Type 2 kitchen hoods. How to calculate occupancy loads and interpret floor drains on a plumbing schematic. I got to know the whole cast of characters – architect, GC, HVAC techs, painters, the code enforcement officer, and DOH inspectors. I picked out wall colors. I tried (and failed) to distinguish between these two different shades of salmon.

When asked to weigh in on which color I liked better, I literally could not see a difference.

And I learned how to lead an organization – alongside Gigi and Albert. I wrote a mission and vision. I updated our website, began fundraising, created a grants evaluation framework. I built the skeleton of our internal drive.

Most importantly, I brought people in. I hired Liz Dickey as our building operations manager, who wrote our policies, juggled appointments, got us into compliance, and made the space warm and functional.

Linda Andrews, now Executive Director of the Family Resource Center, jumped in to manage our social media, revamping our website and communicating with our community about our programming, team, and building updates.

I put out an RFP for our café and found Tepper, the chef-owner of Circles Bagels, who not only opened his business in the space, but leaned into workforce development, mentoring youth apprentices and giving back.

Jess Laddin joined us next, bringing her spark from Hudson Hall to now lead our community programming and marketing. Fathema Rahman came on as workforce development coordinator and gracefully shows us how to meet teenagers where they’re at, expecting a lot from them, and offering the support to match.

Peter Wenger, Gigi and Albert’s son, spent a year with us right out of college – hardworking, self-aware, making our coworking space both beautiful and useful. Grace Pullin helped build our event rental pipeline, launch new merch, and shape our brand presence.

The team, all dolled up, from left to right: Gigi, Jess, me, Peter, Fathema, and Liz.

Elyse Mason artfully manages our external steward-ownership engagements – bringing beauty and accountability to programs beyond our walls. Celene Santiago runs Hudson Dots, our housing initiative, balancing property management, construction, and stewardship with grace.

Evan Gorzeman and Michael Dolan (also my little brother!) provide event support, warmly welcoming people into the building.

And that’s just our internal team. There are dozens more. Our community partners, city collaborators, youth leaders, nonprofit allies. The people who came before me: Shanekia McIntosh. Mike Alert. Kelly Crimmins. Alyssa Burns. Charmaine Strange. They’ve all shaped the Spark into what it is.

And that’s what I’m taking with me into this next chapter: The relationships. The way my web in this town has widened, deepened. The people I care about and can call on. The Spark is entering a new phase now. And so am I.

And I’ll be honest: I’m grieving this shift. It’s the right time, and I’m ready. But leaving something I helped build – from the ground up, literally – is its own kind of heartbreak. I’ve cried about it. I’ve doubted myself. I’ve sat with the team in the classroom, burrowed into the couch in The Hub, watched a sunset on the Skydeck and thought, I can’t believe I won’t be here every day. I’ve also felt proud. Really proud. And incredibly lucky.

I’m naming the grief here not just because I’m feeling it, but because I don’t think we have good ways to talk about this kind of loss. There’s no ritual for what happens when a job ends, or when an identity tied to work begins to loosen. We have language for death, for divorce, for moving away. But not for the unraveling that happens when we step out of something that once gave our days their shape and meaning. This isn’t just a professional transition. It’s personal disorganization. It’s remembering who you are without the title, without the teammates, without the building.

So I’m trying to mark it. To name it as real. To let it be sad and full and even sacred. Because this, too, is part of tending what’s alive – making room for endings, and trusting that they belong to the story just as much as beginnings do.

And for this new beginning, I’m building something of my own.

I’ll be pouring my energy into All My Dead and Living Things – expanding it from a home for my writing to include grief and memory work. I’ll be finishing my novel. Growing this Substack. Offering coaching and one-on-one support. Cleaning gravestones. Hosting workshops. Helping people tell their stories, honor their people, and mark the transitions that so often go unmarked.

Cleaning my great-great grandfather’s grave in Cedar Park Cemetery.

It’s really different work. Quieter and slower. But no less full of that fire. If The Spark taught me anything, it’s that tending, when done with care, can change everything. And I’m ready to tend what’s next for me.

And to those of you who’ve been here – reading, replying, forwarding posts to your friends, showing up in all the ways you do – thank you. You’ve helped me believe this next chapter is not only possible, but already underway.

This Substack, this community, this unfolding thing – it really means the world to me. I’m so grateful to get to write to you.

I’ll be sharing more soon about what’s next for me. But for now, just thank you for being here. I’m so glad to be figuring this out with you alongside me.