When Life Hands You Tidepools: How I Reinvented Myself (and How You Can, Too)
Growing up on the rocky shores of Bar Harbor, I learned early on that change isn’t just an occasional guest—it’s a constant tide. One moment, the shoreline is peaceful and predictable; the next, it’s reshaped by the ebb and flow, leaving you standing in sneakers suddenly soaked through with icy Atlantic water. Reinvention, I’ve found, works the same way.
We’ve all had those moments when life nudges us—or full-on yeets us—into starting over. Maybe it’s a relationship that fizzled out, a career that flatlined, or even just realizing you’ve been eating the same brand of granola bars for 12 years and you don’t even like granola bars. Reinvention doesn’t always arrive with streamers and fireworks. Sometimes, it shows up quietly, like the whisper of a changing tide.
Let me tell you about a few times I’ve hit "reset" and why I think you should embrace reinvention, too.
Rock Bottoms and Rocky Shores
The first time I knew my life needed an overhaul, I was standing in a grocery store aisle, cheeks red from a breakup so fresh you could still hear the echo of “It’s not you, it’s me" ringing in my ears. I was clutching a pint of Ben & Jerry’s as if Chunky Monkey could heal my heartbreak. It was the kind of cinematic moment you see in rom-coms—except there was no quirky best friend pulling me outside for a makeover montage. It was just me, sticky-eyed and mascara-smudged, staring down the freezer section.
Somewhere between the ice cream aisle and my car, I made a decision. No, I wasn’t going to text him (again). I realized I didn’t even like Chunky Monkey. This breakup wasn’t just about losing someone else; it was about finding me again. Who was I without him? What did I want?
That night, I signed up for a coastal conservation project that took me away from Maine for three months. It wasn’t glamorous—there were more mosquito bites than meet-cutes—but it reminded me of the person I forgot I could be: adventurous, capable, grounded. Heartbreak had been a wave knocking me off balance, but it also cleared the sand for something new to wash in.
Not All Who Wander Are Lost—Except for Me
A couple of years ago, I found myself falling into the trap of “this is fine” complacency. You know the type: your life isn’t terrible, but it’s stuck in a loop that feels as exciting as a home décor channel marathon. I loved my little writing nook in Bar Harbor, but I felt like my ideas were starting to smell like leftover lobster rolls—stale and uninspired. I needed a shake-up.
So, I booked a ticket to Iceland. Why Iceland? Because my Google search for “places with good writing retreats and cute sweaters” said so. With only a vague itinerary and a carry-on packed with more wool than sense, I spent two weeks stumbling through lava fields, chasing the Northern Lights, and writing feverishly in heated cabins.
Spoiler alert: By the end of the trip, I didn’t become an award-winning poet or figure out the meaning of life. But I did rediscover the joy of getting lost—literally and creatively. Sometimes, reinvention doesn’t mean a complete transformation. It’s a reminder to shake the snow globe of your routine and see what settles.
The Subtle Art of Starting Small
Reinvention doesn’t always have to involve plane tickets or dramatic declarations. Sometimes, it’s micro-adjustments that make the biggest waves. Case in point? My decision to become a "morning person." I know, I know—cue the collective groan. But hear me out.
I used to drag myself out of bed with all the enthusiasm of a seagull in a thunderstorm. One particularly foggy Bar Harbor morning, though, I forced myself to wake up at sunrise and take a walk (a childhood habit I’d long neglected). By the time the sunlit hues of orange swept across the tidepools, I was sold. That one small change shifted my whole perspective. Morning walks turned into journaling sessions, and before I knew it, I was editing a long-abandoned manuscript while sipping my coffee. Reinvention isn’t just about grand gestures; it’s about the tiny efforts that accumulate into meaningful change.
How to Dive Headfirst into Reinvention (Without Belly-Flopping)
Reinvention doesn’t have to mean shaving your head Britney-style circa 2007 or moving to a remote yurt in the Andes (unless that’s your thing, in which case, yurt on). Here are a few tips to embrace reinvention in your own life—even if you’re starting small:
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Identify Your “Why”:
Are you looking to grow? Heal? Escape chronic granola bar monotony? Understanding why you want to reinvent yourself is key to choosing your direction. Be honest with yourself—this isn’t the time for half-truths or Instagram-worthy catchphrases. -
Borrow from Nature:
Think about how shorelines are reshaped by wind, tides, and time. Change doesn’t have to happen overnight. You can evolve gradually. Pick one small thing to tweak—a morning routine, a new hobby, or even taking a different route to work—and see where it leads. -
Get Curious, Not Judgmental:
Just like I learned hiking Acadia’s trails, the best views often come from unexpected turns. Drop the pressure to have it all figured out and just explore. Reinvention is about curious trial-and-error, not nailing it on your first try. -
Bring the Right Gear:
Figuratively speaking, of course. Surround yourself with tools, habits, or people that support your growth. Whether that’s books, podcasts, or a friend who isn’t afraid to call you out when you start backsliding, equip yourself for the journey. -
Lean Into Discomfort:
If you’re not at least a little uncomfortable, you’re probably still standing in the safe, familiar shallows. True reinvention often comes from diving deeper and challenging what’s comfortable. Trust me—life begins at the edge of your comfort zone, or at least somewhere between the tidepools and those sharp barnacles.
The Recurring Magic of Reinvention
People like to think life is linear—a straight-line path from Point A to Point B. In my experience, it’s more like the tide: sometimes rising, sometimes receding, always shifting. Reinvention isn’t something you do just once. It’s a recurring process, like water carving patterns into the Maine coastline. And yes, starting over can feel daunting. You might end up wet and disoriented, your proverbial sneakers soaked. But those are the moments that shape you.
Whether your fresh start looks like booking a solo trip or just switching brands of granola bars, give yourself permission to dive in. Reinvention may not come with a neon sign or a perfect plan—and that’s okay. You’re not meant to stay static, stuck in one role or one version of yourself.
So, the next time you find yourself staring down life’s metaphorical freezer aisle, asking if Chunky Monkey is really your flavor, consider this your nudge to grow. Reinvent, reshape, and ride the waves of change. Because if there’s one thing life on the Maine coast has taught me, it’s this: the shoreline is always moving, and so can you.
