Why Reinvention Isn’t Just for Hollywood Stars

If there’s one thing the Wyoming wilderness teaches you, it’s that nothing stays the same for long. Seasons shift, rivers carve new paths, and that favorite hiking trail? It’s now a road for grazing elk. Change––whether we like it or not––is nature’s most relentless artist. Lucky for us, humans aren’t all that different. Reinvention isn’t just reserved for actors trying to escape typecasting or pop stars dropping surprise albums. It’s for every one of us, in big ways or small.

I’ve had my fair share of reinventions. Some were transformative, like hanging up a park ranger hat to pick up a pen. Others were hardly Instagram-worthy but just as impactful, like deciding to swap out my go-to flannel shirts for ones without holes. Still, there’s something universal––and deeply personal––about those moments when you declare, “Okay, time for a reset.”

Step 1: The Pivot Point
(When Change Finds You – Ready or Not)

Reinvention usually starts one of two ways: either you hear life whispering, “It’s time,” or it sucker-punches you so hard your cowboy hat flies off. For me, the former came during my senior year of college when I signed up for the only writing workshop that still had seats available. At the time, it seemed like a quirky detour from dissecting moose migration patterns, but then boom––I found my voice. Turns out, personal essays about bison traffic jams and backcountry survival were more “me” than whiteboard diagrams ever were.

For others, that pivot might look less like an "aha moment" and more like a breakup that comes out of nowhere or a job that suddenly evaporates. Those sucker-punch pivots? Ouch. But they’re also places where reinvention thrives. Like forest fires clearing space for new growth, sometimes you’ve got to let things burn before planting seeds for the future.

Here’s the thing: pivots tend to masquerade as problems. They aren’t. They’re invitations. Your job is RSVP “Yes.”

Step 2: What’s Your Story?
(Worry Less About Table Flipping, More About Table Setting)

Reinvention gets romanticized as this epic “burn it all down” montage––a fast-forward of quitting jobs, moving to foreign cities, and giving your dog a deep-conditioning treatment so it looks like they, too, are thriving. The truth? Most reinventions don’t start with a grand gesture; they creep in like timid deer skirting the tree line.

The first step in rewriting your storyline isn’t a wild leap––it’s clarity. What’s driving this need for change? Maybe your old self feels like a pair of jeans that don’t fit anymore. Maybe you’re restless, stuck, or just weirdly annoyed by the version of you cracking jokes about the same three hobbies on first dates. Whatever it is, identify why you’re ready to pivot.

For me, that workshop taught me my words mattered. I wasn’t just a field guy rambling about marmots. I was a storyteller––and I wanted more. That realization didn’t come with music swells or cinematic lighting. It came late at night with a Word document and slightly-too-stale granola. Find your messy, unglamorous, truthful starting point.

Step 3: Do the Work and Get Comfortable Being Uncomfortable
(Here Comes the Awkward Part)

Like any good reboot, reinvention includes an awkward middle phase. Think of it as your personal sitcom glow-up episode where you attempt questionable changes in search of what really works. (Remember early Rachel from Friends and the impulsive haircut phase? Yeah, that.)

For me, learning to write while living in Wyoming meant a lot of mornings waking before dawn, journaling about coyotes howling against snow-covered peaks, and letting those thoughts morph into something bigger. I learned to love this exploration of self and craft, but it wasn’t smooth. Doubt will stalk your every move like a bear that smells bacon grease––persistent and unnerving. That’s how you know you’re growing.

Actionable tip: Start small. Not every reinvention requires blowing up your entire ecosystem. If you want to break out of predictability, try one tiny shift––say yes to something you’d normally avoid (like karaoke night). Or no to things out of habit. Newness begets newness.

Step 4: Learn to Laugh at the Process

Let’s talk about failure. Reinvention is messy, embarrassing, and riddled with bad bangs (metaphorical and literal). Case in point: When I first pivoted to writing full-time, I was convinced I’d become some Hemingway-esque figure, spinning tales with literary finesse. Ha––nope. My first published piece compared love to beavers stubbornly damming a creek. Too quirky? Maybe. But it taught me to laugh at myself and lean into authenticity.

Reinvention invites second guesses, wrong turns, and even those “what WAS I thinking?” moments. Laugh at them. If you replace mortification with curiosity, suddenly those mistakes feel less like failures and more like experiments. Instead of “I bombed that job interview,” try “Well, I won’t lead with jokes about llamas next time.”

Step 5: Stick the Landing, Your Way
(No, You Don’t Need Olympic-Level Results)

Most reinvention journeys don’t end with roaring applause or fireworks. Real growth looks less like an action movie’s final showdown and more like a steady confidence blooming over time.

Maybe your reinvention involves something subtle: joining dance classes after years of dismissing coordination as “not my thing.” Maybe it’s uprooting your life for a fresh start in a city where nobody knows you. Whatever “the landing” looks like, it doesn’t need to align with other people’s version of success––it should be yours.

For me, the ultimate win wasn’t publishing books or writing for magazines––it was crafting a life built on doing what I love while still being the guy goofy enough to ruin dress shirts climbing fences for better stargazing. Honestly? That balance felt like triumph enough.

Final Thoughts: Embrace Change––Even the Sweaty, Nerve-Wracking Bits

Reinvention is an act of courage––but not the skydiving or bear-wrestling kind. It’s the quieter bravery of admitting you’re ready to step out of your comfort zone, even if that means stumbling around for a while.

Wherever you are—be it on the cusp of your first pivot or midway through the awkward-as-heck middle—remember that reinvention is as much about rediscovery as transformation. You already have the tools; you’ve just got to wield them differently.

And if the prospect of change feels overwhelming? I get it. But shift happens. And so do the best, most soul-satisfying versions of yourself, if you let them.

Now go plant those seeds and see what grows.