From Restart to Radiance: Reinvention Moments That Spark Real Growth

Finding Yourself Somewhere Between Who You Were and Who You Want to Be

They say that reinvention isn’t linear, but my own path to self-renewal looked more like an overcaffeinated squirrel trying to cross a busy street. There’s a romance tied to the idea of “starting over”: the grand gesture of moving to a new city or chopping all your hair off Beyoncé-style after a breakup. But reinvention rarely arrives in those photogenic moments of clarity. It comes in the messy, un-Instagrammable parts—crying in your car after quitting a soul-sucking job, or, in my case, realizing mid-hike in the Idaho backcountry that I had absolutely no idea who I was outside of the expectations others had placed on me.

I’ve had several “reinvention” moments in my life, but none more pivotal than when I returned to Coeur d’Alene after finishing grad school. Freshly armed with two degrees and some idealistic dreams about saving the planet, I arrived back home to find that my lakeside town was exactly the same, but I wasn’t. I’d outgrown the version of myself who left Idaho at 18 but hadn’t yet figured out who I was supposed to be in the aftermath. Spoiler alert: you can never truly go home without questioning if it’s still home.

Reinvention isn’t about changing everything at once; it’s about small, sustainable pivots. It’s about crafting a life you want to live, not the one you’ve accidentally slipped into. Here’s what it really means to start over—and how you can do it too.

Step 1: Admit to Yourself That the Old You? Yeah, They’re Retired

Let’s start with the arguably hardest part of reinvention: letting go of the person you used to be. It’s tempting to cling to your “greatest hits,” like that time you ran a half-marathon in peak quarantine or the quirky fact that you could make 30-minute ramen from scratch. But you aren’t just your past accomplishments or even your past missteps. Reinvention asks us to lovingly set those things down like well-worn library books: they served their purpose, but you don’t need to carry them forever.

When I came home to Coeur d’Alene, I had this bizarre urge to try to reclaim my high school self, like some indie reboot of a mediocre sitcom. (Spoiler: it was a disaster). I found myself in old friend groups, still trying to laugh at the same jokes that lost their spark years ago. It felt like wearing a pair of shoes two sizes too small. Reinvention starts when you stop trying to fit into places you’ve outgrown.

Step 2: Romanticize the YOU in Progress

If 90s rom-coms have taught us anything, it’s that progress doesn’t have to be glamorous to be transformative. Reinvention is sweaty, awkward, and often riddled with doubts. But the trick? Romanticize the baby steps.

I started hiking more when I moved back, retracing old childhood trails and discovering new ones. There’s something incredibly grounding about moving through nature. Out there on an overgrown forest path, no one cared how “successful” I felt—or that I wasn’t saving the planet quite as dramatically as I’d envisioned in my early 20s. Hiking became my metaphor for everything. Some days are uphill battles, others are as breezy and breathtaking as a lakeside vista. Either way, I learned to appreciate the motion itself, not just the destination.

Romanticizing this interim version of yourself is a kind of alchemy. It transforms “Oh no, I’m in limbo!” into “Look at me being brave in the in-between.” Here’s how you can lean into this stage:

  • Celebrate small wins. Did you talk to a stranger at a bar and not totally butcher it? Gold star. Did you finally pick up that paintbrush again or order books you never had time to read? Frame that moment on your kitchen fridge.
  • Redefine progress. Reinvention isn’t about monumental leaps. It’s about showing up. Some days, showing up might mean reorganizing your overflowing closet. Other days, it means deciding to radically quit holding grudges against yourself.
  • Dress for your vision board self. Treat yourself to something that feels authentically you, even if it’s just your favorite vintage sweater or shoes that prove you’re always ready for a hike break.

Step 3: Find the Right People—or at Least the Real Ones

Reinvention sometimes requires a quieter social palette. Nothing against your usual crew, but in the throes of change, there’s beauty in recalibrating your relationships. People who help you shift can come from unexpected places. A random conversation with a coworker at my conservation nonprofit pushed me to start submitting short stories again; their encouragement was the nudge I didn’t know I needed.

The right friends and partners hold space for the not-yet-finished parts of you. They see all the layers silently shifting like a mountainside in spring thaw. Reinvention requires the courage to step away from people who expect you to stay frozen in time but also the vulnerability to let others witness your evolution.

So if you’re navigating friendships or relationships and wondering who still fits, ask yourself: Does their presence feel expansive or limiting? Nobody knows your path better than you—sometimes, reinvention is about curating the voices around you.

Step 4: Embrace the “Plot Twist” Energy

Here’s my favorite part about reinvention: it doesn’t come with a rulebook. You get to decide the plot twists. In fact, one of the most liberating moments of my life was realizing that “failure” doesn’t really exist; it’s just the universe nudging you toward a plotline you might not have considered.

When I published my first novel, a quiet story set around Coeur d’Alene, it felt like both a return to my roots and a departure from everything I thought I wanted. The book wasn’t the breakout literary success I had nervously dreamed of, but it connected me back to the essence of storytelling—and reminded me that chasing applause isn’t the goal. Reinvention requires honoring the plot twist moments—the unexpected moves, the risks that scare you—instead of resisting them because they disrupt your five-year-plan spreadsheets.

Step 5: Remember: The Journey Will Always Be Messy

You’re going to trip. Spill coffee on the version of yourself trying to reinvent your mornings. Accidentally text your ex. Sign up for a crossfit class and then remember halfway through that it’s not your vibe. But underneath all the chaos, reinvention has a beauty that burns through the cracks.

If you’re reading this (and feeling like I’m preaching at you a little), take this as a gentle nudge to start that thing you’ve been delaying for “perfect timing.” Reinvention is messy but glorious—and there’s no better moment than this wildly imperfect one to begin again.

Closing Takeaway: You’re the Masterpiece Still in Progress

Reinvention doesn’t mean burning everything to the ground; it’s more like trimming overgrown hedges to let in a little more light. Whether you’re finding yourself after heartbreak, rediscovering joy after years of monotony, or just waking up one morning and deciding “I could be doing this life thing a little better,” trust that you’re the only one who gets to be the curator of your story.

Starting over isn’t failure. It’s breathing space. It’s love—quiet and persistent love—for the person you’re becoming. Take the journey. You’ve got this.