When It’s Time to Burn the Old Script and Start Fresh

Ever find yourself stuck in the same storyline, flipping the pages of your life and realizing the plot could use a serious rewrite? If the answer’s yes, I get it. I’ve been there. Reinvention is no small thing—whether it’s prompted by heartbreak, a big move, or just waking up one morning and thinking, “Nope, this isn’t me anymore.”

Maybe it’s the Montana in me, but I’ve always believed growth has a rhythm, like the seasons on the ranch where I grew up. There’s a time to plant, a time to harvest, and a time when you let the snow fall and cover the fields so you can catch your breath. Reinvention, though, is the wildfire—it clears out the brush, shakes up your comfort, and makes space for something so green and unexpected to grow that even you aren’t ready for it.

Here’s what I’ve learned about rewriting the script, drawn from my own reinvention moments and those of people I deeply admire.

1. The Cosmic Nudge: Recognizing When You Need a Change

Sometimes reinvention starts with a gut feeling, though at first, it might feel more like a gnawing frustration you can’t quite shake. For me, that nudge came after breaking up with a college boyfriend who thought “dates” consisted of watching YouTube videos of bass fishing tournaments in his dorm room. Sweet guy, wrong vibe—but after calling it quits, I realized I wasn’t just done with him, I was done with my shrinking, stay-safe version of myself.

We all have those moments, don’t we? Maybe it’s re-reading an old journal and cringing at how lost you once were, or maybe your nudge comes from something external—a job rejection, a bad haircut (seriously, they can be weirdly powerful), or watching your best friend move to a new city while you’re still stuck living somewhere that no longer feels like home. Whatever it is, listen to that nudge.

2. Let It Be Messy (Because It Will Be, Anyway)

Can I level with you? Reinvention is messy. Think of it like remodeling a house—you’re going to find some weird old wiring and questionable wallpaper, and you’ll have a moment where it feels like the whole structure might collapse. Good news: It won’t.

When I left my job at Montana Fish and Wildlife to write full-time, I wasn’t exactly drowning in confidence. What if my folks thought I’d lost my mind? What if the bank account dried up? I had no blueprint for what freelance writing might even look like, let alone the faintest idea of how to pay for health insurance. (Spoiler alert: it turns out adults figure that stuff out. Eventually.)

Here’s what helped me:

  • Give yourself room to grieve the old version of you. Yes, even the version who watched fishing tournament reels on YouTube.
  • Embrace imperfection. Reinvention isn’t about becoming superhuman; it’s about rediscovering the human you want to be.
  • Find humor everywhere. When I realized my self-published e-book royalties totaled less than what I spent on printer ink, I laughed so hard I scared my cat. And that laugh? It was more valuable than the paycheck.

3. Be Willing to Cut the Fat (Including Emotional Deadweight)

Here’s where it gets a little uncomfortable: Reinvention usually means leaving something—or someone—behind. That sounds harsh, but hear me out. When I moved to Missoula for a writing residency, I had to let go of this picture-perfect future I’d built in my own head. My childhood fantasy of staying in Bozeman, running the family ranch, and marrying some local cowboy with excellent hat game? Sure, it sounded lovely, but I knew in my gut it wasn’t what I really wanted.

People will surprise you (in good and bad ways), but reinvention sometimes forces you to reevaluate who you’re sharing space, time, and energy with. Not everyone gets to follow you into your next chapter, and that’s okay. Repeat after me: It’s okay.

Ask yourself:
- What roles am I playing in my own story? And more importantly, who’s writing the script—me or someone else?
- Are my relationships feeding me or just filling me up?

Reinvention is a chance to audit all of this. Think of it as cleaning out your mental closets. Yes, some pieces might still technically fit, but do they make the cut for who you want to become?

4. Anchor Yourself in Small Wins

You know what’s better than waking up one day completely transformed like a rom-com protagonist? (Well, okay, not much. But still.) Small victories. Reinvention isn’t about some giant overnight magic trick—it’s the tiny moments and changes that add up over time.

For me, those wins looked like:

  • Picking up a secondhand Alison Krauss vinyl at a pawnshop and remembering what it felt like to dream.
  • Admitting to a friend over coffee that I was scared as hell about changing careers, instead of pretending to have it all together.
  • Showing up to my first open mic poetry reading, reading out loud with palms so sweaty you could’ve poured me into a mop bucket afterward.

Trust me on this one. Don’t wait for the grand gestures or feel like you need to dive headfirst into the most daring version of reinvention possible. Just order the salsa verde when you usually go for medium, okay?

5. Give Yourself Permission to Be Your Weird, Complicated Self

Here’s the thing about reinvention: It isn’t about becoming someone new; it’s about becoming more you. For years, I thought I had to smooth out my edges. At my first book signing, I tried so hard to sound poised and polished that I didn’t even recognize the person talking. Then someone in the crowd asked me about growing up in Montana, and before I could stop myself, I launched into a story involving an ornery Shetland pony, a broken fence, and more cow manure than anyone should hear about in a single sitting. And you know what? They loved it.

The world doesn’t need a curated, Instagrammable, Pinterest-board version of you. It needs your quirks, your mess, and your stories.

Go Write Your Own Wildfire

Reinvention doesn’t come with a roadmap. It takes guts, trust, and a little bit of surrender (think less “mountain-summit Zen” and more “risky cannonball into a cold river”). But here’s what I’ve learned during every awkward phase of starting over: We’re all braver than we think, and reinvention doesn’t always ask for perfection—it just wants us to show up.

So, pull out those old stories you’ve been clutching. Light the match. Burn them if you need to. And trust that you’ll find something lovely growing in their place.