This weekend in Park City, we roll final credits on the last Sundance Film Festival held here. That sentence still lands a little strangely — even though many of us have spent the better part of a year preparing to say goodbye.
For more than four decades, Sundance has been part of our winters: the lines, the lights, the conversations overheard in coffee shops, and the roughly 10 days when our mountain town became the center of a lively, furry-boot-driven cinematic universe.
For some residents, this weekend feels bittersweet. For others, it may feel like time to turn the page. For many, it’s a little of both.
All of those reactions are valid.
As Sundance moves on, many of the questions I’ve been asked — by residents and by the media — have focused on economics. Those impacts matter, and we will measure them carefully. I’ve also heard skepticism when I’ve said that Sundance’s departure is not guaranteed to result in a demonstrably negative economic outcome.
But what many people are feeling right now won’t show up on a spreadsheet. It’s more internal than that — something felt in our heads and our hearts. When something familiar leaves, it naturally raises the question of what comes next.
Park City has always been more than one festival, one season, or one version of itself. And while Sundance leaving is significant, it does not change the values that made this place special to begin with.
Moments like this test leadership, but they also test communities.
When something familiar ends, it’s natural to want reassurance. To look backward. To seek decisions that feel safe, comfortable or immediately popular. That instinct is human. But it’s rarely how lasting progress is made.
Park City has faced moments like this before. Each time, we’ve had a choice: stand pat or move forward.
The second path is harder. It invites disagreement. It requires patience. And it asks more of all of us. But it’s also how communities remain places where people don’t just visit, but live, work and belong.
One thing I believe deeply — and say often — is that Park City is not invincible. Our success is not guaranteed. Our future doesn’t run on autopilot. If we assume this town will always thrive no matter what choices we make, we will eventually be proven wrong.
Staying grounded in facts, data and shared values matters more than being popular in the moment. And yes, sometimes that means making decisions without worrying too much about how they’ll perform online.
As we say goodbye to Sundance, we also look ahead to new cultural opportunities, continued support for the arts, and preparing responsibly for the 2034 Winter Olympics. That future will require intentional choices, and community leaders willing to listen, adapt and act even when outcomes aren’t immediately clear.
We don’t need to replace Sundance to move forward. We need to stay true to the values that allowed us to host it so well for so long.
Park City welcomes the world like no other place.
To Sundance: Thank you for the years, the memories, and the mark you left on this town. We made fun of you from time to time — but it came from a place of love.
And to Park City residents: Thank you for your patience, your pride, and your willingness to wrestle with change rather than retreat from it.
This chapter in Park City’s story may be ending, but I’m excited for the next one. From the silver mining era, to the “ghost town” of the 1960s, to the incredible community we’ve become today, the fundamental theme of Park City’s history is a community turning some external force of change into an opportunity for renewal.
And as in those generations before us, if we stay grounded, thoughtful and a little brave, our town’s history tells us that the next chapter will be the best chapter yet.
Ryan Dickey is the mayor of Park City.