Have you ever stared at your reflection one morning, toothbrush halfway to your mouth, and thought, “Who is this person?” It’s not exactly a rom-com-level makeover moment—no sassy best friend scissor-happy with your hair, no dramatic montage set to Beyoncé. Instead, it’s quieter, more unsettling: the slow realization that somewhere along the way, you’ve become a stranger to yourself. The good news? Reinvention doesn’t require a perfectly curated playlist or a visit from a professional stylist. It just takes a spark—and a little courage.

Trust me, I’ve been there. More than once.

The First Rule of Reinvention: Accept the Mess

I wish I could tell you reinvention is a linear process, like Marie Kondo-ing your junk drawer. But in reality, it’s more like wading through your garage during spring cleaning and finding your middle school diary (complete with glitter gel pen poetry). It’s confusing, it’s vulnerable, and yes, it’s messy. But the mess is where the magic happens.

Case in point: when I moved to Chicago for a journalism fellowship, I thought I was doing this sleek, big-city reinvention thing. In Boise, I was the girl who always ordered fries with her beer. In Chicago, I would become the woman who wore lipstick to buy overpriced lattes. But here’s the thing: cold winters and glossy ambition have a way of peeling off layers you didn’t even know you were wearing. Turns out, underneath my “city girl” act, I was still the Boise kid who couldn’t stop smiling at strangers on the train.

In other words, it wasn’t the version of me I wanted to become that mattered—it was the version of me I wasn’t afraid to own.

So, step one: lean into the chaos. You don’t have to have it all figured out (spoiler alert: you won’t). Give yourself the grace to be awkward, messy, and maybe a little glitter-gel-pen-level of cringe. It’s okay to take a wrong turn—you might just stumble onto something better.

Reinvention Means Redefining Failure

One of the biggest myths about reinvention is that it requires success. A better job, a healthier body, a romantic partner who actually knows what emotional labor is. But in my experience, reinvention often happens when the bottom falls out.

For example, when I turned 27, I absolutely tanked at love. I’ll spare you every gory detail, but let’s just say Netflix sent me an email hinting that my rom-com binge might concern them. (Wow, Netflix, didn’t know we were that close.) Post-breakup, I tried to pull myself together with the standard assortment of activities: yoga classes, sad playlists, and glaring at Instagram stories of my ex holding craft beer can releases like he invented hops. Classic stuff.

But the turning point wasn’t finding a new hobby or making a list of affirmations—it was realizing I’d lost myself when I tried to become someone else’s ideal. I’d turned into the kind of girl who only posted filtered sunsets and started saying things like “Love languages are so important” ironically (but also sincerely). Sure, the relationship had ended, but the real failure would’ve been ignoring the chance to figure out who I actually was.

Turns out, reinvention isn’t failing better—it’s failing differently. You’re going to fumble and flop your way through it, but with every misstep, you get a clearer picture of who you’re not. And that’s just as important as figuring out who you are.

Small Shifts, Big Waves

If you’re waiting for a life-shattering, cinematic moment to announce “This is my reinvention!” you’re going to be waiting a while. Reinvention is rarely about tearing it all down. It’s more like replacing the lightbulbs one by one until the whole room looks brighter.

Let me tell you about the time I learned this from the least dramatic reinvention of my life: a haircut. Not the dramatic-chop, box-dye-it-yourself kind (been there too), but a subtle trim I almost didn’t notice. My stylist, bless her heart, convinced me to add a few layers around my face, and suddenly, I looked in the mirror and thought, “Wait...was this me all along?”

That’s the funny thing about small changes—they have a ripple effect. Maybe it’s a new hobby, like the time I got into urban gardening and realized I could keep things alive (who knew?). Maybe it’s saying yes to a spontaneous road trip or no to a toxic social dynamic you’ve endured for way too long. These aren’t flips-of-a-switch—they’re tilts of a compass. Over time, small shifts point you in a new direction without you even noticing.

So, if drastic change feels overwhelming, that’s normal. Reinvention doesn’t have to start with a leap—it starts with a nudge.

Let Go of the “Shoulds”

You’ve heard it before: “You should have a five-year plan.” “You should be over that breakup by now!” “You should really stop crying in Trader Joe’s while choosing a frozen lasagna.” Okay, that last one was specifically about me, but you get the point. The “shoulds” are loud when you’re trying to reinvent yourself. And they will hold you hostage if you let them.

Here’s what worked for me: every time I caught myself thinking “I should do/be/achieve [insert wildly unattainable thing here],” I asked myself, “Is that what I want? Or is that what someone else expects of me?” You’d be surprised how often the answer isn’t your own voice but the echoes of influencers, exes, or well-meaning-but-slightly-judge-y Aunt Sheila.

For instance, after college, I thought I “should” live somewhere cooler than Boise. When my friends scattered to coasts and cosmopolitan hubs, I tried not to compare my life to their rooftop brunch pictures. At first, I felt like staying home was admitting defeat, but years later, I see it differently. My roots here, literal and figurative, are what make me strong. (Okay, I know, that sounds like a Hallmark card, but stay with me.)

Reinvention isn’t always about leaving—sometimes it’s about staying and reevaluating. Redefining the rules you follow as your own.

The Power of the Pivot

Look, maybe you want to reinvent yourself into a morning person who finishes Wordle before coffee. Or an open-hearted person who gives second chances instead of dialing their therapist to subtweet the universe. Whatever your goal, here’s your green light to start. Reinvention doesn’t have to make sense to anyone but you.

I’ll leave you with this: we’re all continuously writing—and rewriting—the stories of our lives. Reinvention isn’t about becoming better to the world around you; it’s about becoming closer to the person already buried under the clutter of daily expectations. Whether you leap, stumble, or toddle forward one small change at a time, know this: every pivot builds character.

So, go on—be messy, be daring, be unapologetically you. The “new you” is out there, waiting for you to find them. Here’s to meeting them sooner than you think.