When Macy Robison and I walked on stage in Long Beach last month, I didn't want to admit that this was probably the last time we would be performing together at Time Out for Women.

In late 2008, I had encouraged Macy to create a cabaret-style recital (see pg 20 of Dare, Dream, Do).  She subsequently invited me to accompany her on the piano.  Though it had been decades since I had played seriously, as we collaborated, my love of music began to re-emerge.  Macy then invited me to go into studio to record Children Will Listen — an emotional roller coaster of a day that, happily, ended well.  And, in February 2011, she and I performed, for the first of several times, in front of 1,500+ people — a thrilling experience.

It's not that Macy will stop singing.  She will continue to pursue this dream of hers.  When she moved from Boston, she serendipitously found another accompanist, Jan Mason, who plays professionally. (Enter slight pangs of totally immature jealous that amps up the sadness — does Macy still like me? Even though I know she does.  She is one of my closest friends.)

But here's the thing.

For me, this particular dream is now complete.  I love music again.  I LOVED accompanying Macy, creating magical moments that moved thousands.

But to hang on would be unfair.  Her new accompanist is a better fit for the next leg of Macy's journey — Jan not only plays better than I do, she lives around the corner, not across the country.  Meanwhile, hanging around would keep me from pursuing my next dream.

In order to find another piece of who we are, we may need to discard a little bit of who we are right now.

A poignant, immutable truth.

Thank you, and adieu, dear, wonderful, dream.  And thank you Macy for inviting me along.

We really do dream best, when we dream together.

Do you have a dream to which it's time to bid farewell?

What dream would not have been possible had you not dreamt with another person?