Sometimes you have to start all over
And you don’t get to collect money at Go
I recently had one of those dreams that refuses to end. At various points during the night, I’d jolt awake, eventually fall back asleep, and pick up right where I left off in my reverie.
In this never-ending dream, I was forced to attend high school all over again. I told people I didn’t belong there, but no one would listen. I’d sit through English class, then explain to the teacher, “I’ve already done this before.” No reply. I’d make the awkward search for a spot in the cafeteria, telling students, “I’m not supposed to be here.” Nothing. The dream kept going, and I unsuccessfully kept trying to convince people that I didn’t belong in that world.
I told my therapist about the dream, and she laughed. “Well, I don’t think we need Freud to interpret this one,” she said.
She was right. This all happened after I introduced my boyfriend to my family—a first for me as a widow. Many of our therapy sessions have centered around my anger over the fact that Jamie’s death means I have to start over, including finding love again.
So many things shifted in the moment that Jamie died. I left our house that morning as a wife, and returned that afternoon as a widow. I stopped planning to become a mom, and started planning my husband’s funeral. I adjusted from a two-income household to a single part-time salary. I went from going on double dates with other married couples, to not knowing anyone my age who lost a spouse. I felt like I was starting from scratch in practically every area of my life, while everyone else sailed forward—continuing to build their relationships, grow their families, and advance in their careers.
I hated it. And I still do, sometimes. It’s shocking to lose so much at once, unnerving to realize how little control you have over things, and humbling to begin anew. But fighting reality only made it worse. The anger, frustration and disbelief I felt—and still feel more often than I’d like to admit—were painful and necessary to go through. Eventually, though, I reached a point where I had to stop railing against what once was and instead focus on what’s ahead.
We’ve all had moments in our lives when we felt like we were starting over. We’ve begun new jobs, moved to new places, dated new people, picked up new hobbies, tried new diets, and so on.
All of that newness can be exciting and hopeful, especially if we’ve consciously chosen to change up something in our life. But it can be frustrating and discouraging, too. Starting over—whether by choice or circumstance—is tough. It’s easy to become anxious when progress feels slow, and it’s hard not to feel like a failure at some point. We’ve already done this once before, right? Why do we have to go through all the hard stuff again?
New beginnings require patience and self-compassion. We have to remember that becoming skilled at things takes time, and that the process of mastering a skill is a lot less painful when we’re kind to ourselves.
Lately, I’ve tried to remind myself of the many other times in life when I started over. Every time I got a promotion or new job, it was like being sent back to square one, charged with understanding new priorities, finding my place in different workplace cultures, and proving my worth all over again. Moving to a new city meant a brand new start, too; I had to meet new people, form new friendships, learn new directions, and get comfortable in new places. Public speaking also feels like starting from scratch; even when I’m presenting familiar material, I’m navigating uncharted territory with each new audience.
All of those experiences, no matter how uncomfortable they felt, offered plenty of opportunities for growth and tools to face bigger obstacles down the road. With every restart, I eventually felt less like a beginner and more like an expert. Before I knew it, I was ready for the next new challenge.
Life now is pretty extreme in its newness, but it still has its advantages. I might be a widow instead of a wife, a freelancer instead of a salaried employee, a sometimes-outsider instead of a comfortable insider. I’m also lucky. I’m incredibly fortunate to fall in love again, to rethink my career, to learn so many new things, to be alive. I didn’t choose this reality, and there are plenty of days I despise it, but I do get to choose to trust the process and benefits of beginning anew.
I’ve learned over time that I’m capable of handling most new beginnings that life throws my way, and I guarantee the same applies to you. That’s good news, because as soon we find ourselves feeling comfortable, we inevitably get thrown into new situations that challenge and change us. Life is annoying like that. But it’s cool like that, too. It’d be pretty boring if we never got to begin again.
xoxo
KHG
Good job, brain
I'm currently reading: Becoming, by Michelle Obama.
I’m currently inspired by: The local journalists I’ve gotten to meet lately. This week I’m training journalists in Milwaukee and White Plains, New York. They’re passionate, resourceful, curious and fun, and I greatly admire the work they do.
I'm currently aiming to: Keep my holiday FOMO in check. All this work travel—18 consecutive days on the road!—means I won’t have much time at home to decorate and do other holiday activities. I’m reminding myself not to feel inferior about it, and to focus on gratitude instead. (And to maybe not plan so much travel next December.)
Additional resources
If you’re starting a new job and feeling lost, this book has been recommended by so many smart people I know and admire: The First 90 Days.
NPR has a series of stories about people who, whether by choice or circumstance, started anew.
CreativeMorning’s November theme is, fittingly, Restart. There might be a free talk where you live this Friday!
For your sweet dumb brain
When was the last time in your life when you felt like you were starting over? Think back to what you felt like at the start of the journey, and reflect on what you gained over time. Was the struggle ultimately worth it? What did you learn from the experience? Bonus points if you take the time to write this out! It could be helpful to write about the various restarts of your life, and save it to revisit the next time you’re in uncharted territory.
My Sweet Dumb Brain is written by Katie Hawkins-Gaar. It’s edited by Rebecca Coates. Photo by Gia Oris on Unsplash.