What if you’re not stuck—but just evolving?
When something ends, it’s often because something else is waiting to begin.
Not many people know this, but I’m Greek.
Born in Australia to Greek parents, and now living in Los Angeles—a city I love for many reasons, but especially for its diversity, its energy, and yes… its food.
Over the weekend, I found out that one of my favorite places in LA—a family-run Greek deli and restaurant called Papa Cristo’s—is closing its doors after 77 years in business.
That hit me hard.
Papa Cristo’s wasn’t just a place I’d grab feta or olives or loukoumades. It was a thread that tied me back to my childhood. My roots. My family.
Every time I walked in, I’d see my namesake, Chrys, buzzing around the shop, shouting orders, laughing with customers. We’d speak in Greek—a rare treat outside of family calls back to Australia.
His father opened the deli in 1948, and Chrys carried the torch with heart, humor, and hustle. A landmark like that closing… it makes you pause.
It got me thinking about something deeper:
Nothing lasts forever—not even the things that feel timeless.
Businesses change. People change. And whether we like it or not, we change.
Lately, I’ve been reflecting on what it means to evolve—especially when the version of yourself that the world knows no longer fits the version of yourself you’ve become.
For artists, that might be a style or body of work that no longer resonates.
For entrepreneurs, it might be an offer, a niche, or a voice that feels out of sync.
For creatives, it might be that quiet sense of:
“This isn’t me anymore. But I don’t know what is.”
I don’t think that feeling is failure.
I think it’s evolution.
And evolution is often messy.
It doesn’t come with a roadmap.
It comes with questions.
What am I building now?
Who am I becoming?
How do I talk about what I do—even when I’m not fully sure?
Most people aren’t struggling with talent.
They’re struggling with transition.
But here’s the thing:
Your next chapter doesn’t start with certainty.
It starts with clarity.
And clarity begins when you give yourself permission to evolve.
When asked about the future of Papa Cristo’s, Chrys posted on Instagram:
“After 77 years on the corner of Pico and Normandie, it’s time for me to hang up my apron and for us to say goodbye (for now)…
P.S. The story of Papa Cristo’s doesn’t end here — exciting things are coming.”
That P.S. line stuck with me.
Because endings, as painful as they are, often carry the seed of something new.
Starting tomorrow, I’ll be sharing some thoughts and ideas to help you navigate that kind of transition… To move forward, not by reinventing yourself completely, but by becoming more of who you really are now.
More soon,
Chris
That’s it for today.
If this brought something up for you—or reminded you of a moment in your own journey—I’d love to hear from you. Just hit reply and let me know.
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Sth surprising about me:
My interest in literary works of any country stems from two things:
Negar, my first name is a literary name, and two, my parents used to read me Persian literary masterpieces (Hafez, Sa'di, Ferdowsi) since i was born (These were my lullabies). During all my educational years from Primary school to University, i used to speak non-colloquially, and because some of my classmates used to either make fun of me or ignore me because of this, this was sth i was ashamed of. Now, i'm somewhat proud of this.