The Magic in Starting Over
Creation demands destruction
To the deep thinkers,
Welcome to the Deep Thinkers Newsletter: A collection of essays dedicated to going beyond the surface.
If you’re new here, check out the Deep Thinkers archive.
As humans, we naturally pursue comfort and consistency.
We want to know what to expect—from people, experiences, and the days ahead. Floating in the fog of the unknown makes us anxious.
This anxiety over the unknown is what makes starting over so challenging. Starting over after the end of a long-term relationship, moving to a new city where you don't know anyone, or starting a business from scratch. None of these are easy.
Each of these experiences (along with many others) will test your fortitude. I would not have made it this far were it not for the moments when I've had to pick myself up and start over. There is magic and opportunity in starting over. Sometimes there is even joy in a fresh start.
The problem is that the anxiety often outweighs the joy.
This is because those seasons of rebirth often root themselves in our lowest moments:
Those times when we lose control and things veer off course in a very distressing way.
Or those moments when we fall so hard that all we're left with is shame and fear.
Will I ever get it right?
Why do I always f*** things up?
This constant and negative inner dialogue only serves to fan the flames of shame. Yet there is so much we can learn from those moments when we "f***" things up.
New lows give way to new highs. The mountain of ashes you build on when it's time to start over is a necessary part of the equation.
In the words of Charles Bukowski:
You have to die a few times before you can really live.
I've always been my harshest critic, so the idea of sharing my writing online—something so personal—once seemed impossible to me.
I couldn't picture any reality where I would ever be comfortable or vulnerable enough to share my thoughts with strangers. Even so, a few years ago I decided it was time to face this fear head-on. I made progress in the way one would approach killing a fly that has decided to squat in your home—slowly and methodically.
Things moved at a snail's pace, but the point was that things were moving. I was capturing ideas, writing, and sharing my work.
Coupled with this newfound creative jolt came a desire to take better care of my body.
I became more active, sticking to a weight-lifting routine and mixing in activities like basketball, biking, and running. I cut out most of the ultra-processed junk that used to be a staple in my diet. I could feel the surge in my energy levels and my clarity of mind.
I barely recognized myself—in the best way possible. I'd built up so much momentum, but by the end of 2023, things flipped on me in a way I was not expecting.
I wasn't seeing much engagement, and so the spark to write started to fizzle away. I began to see my desk as a place to avoid rather than one to find solace in. To make matters worse, I suffered a severe ankle sprain and lost a lot of the progress I'd made in the gym while I recovered.
The timing of it all messed with my head. I thought I was on the right track, yet here I was with no passion for my work and no outlet for my stress. I didn’t see it at first, but I eventually realized that it was time to start over. It was time to move slowly and accept that the momentum in my life had shifted for a reason.
My body was sore and in pain long before I'd injured myself. I just wasn't paying attention. I wasn't allowing enough time for proper recovery, so my body gave out on me, leaving me with no choice but to take a break.
I had to learn to allow more time for reading and reflection. I was too militant about my writing process, and so I no longer saw the fun in the act of sitting and expressing myself.
Sometimes the best way forward when it comes to our creativity (especially when it comes to our creativity) is a step back. Not to abandon the work, but simply to make space for clarity and inspiration.
All I wanted was to push forward, believing that I would escape this rut through sheer determination alone. But it was acquiescence to my broken body and the shift in my creative vibrations that reignited the fire I thought had been snuffed out.
We are in the age of ultra-productivity—consumed with optimizing every aspect of our lives. I’m willing to admit I’ve been part of this madness sometimes—rushing through life and often forgetting the "why" behind the things that I'm doing.
It's so hard not to fall into this trap. Everywhere you look online, you'll see people posting their productive routines.
Wake up at 5:00 am. Meditate for an hour. Run five miles. Hit arms and chest. Produce four pieces of content. Inhale ten eggs and a whole steak. All this before the rest of us have even wiped the crust from our eyes. How lazy of the rest of us.
Consume enough of this kind of content and it’s easy to see why so many people feel like they’re living the “wrong” way. The thing is, I believe you gain so much more from life when you move slowly and deliberately. A life dedicated entirely to optimization and productivity is a sad one.
Life is lived and appreciated in the slower moments:
Waking up when your body is actually well-rested, not when a chorus of sirens lifts and shakes you awake.
Writing an essay at your own speed, rather than the speed demanded by your content calendar.
Taking a long, wandering walk just because, rather than to hit your steps goal.
Our obsession with productivity makes us feel shame when we rest, start over, or when things move too slowly. It's tough to run your own race at your own speed when you keep checking in on how fast the world is moving around you.
Death is a stripping away of all that is not you. The secret of life is to "die before you die" --- and find that there is no death.
— Eckhart Tolle
As we enter and exit from one era of our lives to another, we go through cycles of death and rebirth. Creation demands destruction. Nothing stays the same forever. There are peaks and valleys. Highs and lows. Triumphs and defeats.
This might be your season for meaningful progress. Perhaps the next season will be about taking a step back and rebuilding. Rather than forcing momentum, trust when it's time to slow down.
Stay encouraged; because when we take a step back, we can see where we must take our next step.
When we make the space to slow down, we can reflect on our mistakes or learn from the things that have gone right. We can examine if we're happy with the state of our lives, the people in our circle, our jobs—all of it.
Learning to trust your intuition and inner rhythm starts and stops with self-trust. The more you trust yourself, the less you need the approval of others, and the less you'll fight the momentum shifts in your life.
The right decisions, the right time to pivot, the right time to start over—these come from within you. Make decisions anchored in your sense of self-trust. Make those decisions and learn from them. Make mistakes. Start over, move forward, and make a few more mistakes.
Your intuition knows when to slow down, start over, or hit the gas. Trust it and work in harmony with it, so that in those seasons when we're tasked to slow down, we can do so with nothing but peace in our hearts.
What I’m into this week:
It was Morcie's post on Substack that inspired me to write this essay.
Momentum shifts and moves in ways we can’t always predict.
When we step back, we may lose speed, but we gain deep clarity.
Every pause is a chance to tune into inner guidance and align with our natural rhythm.
Starting over isn’t a setback. It’s how you honor your intuitive flow.
Remember: The loss of speed doesn’t mean the loss of progress.
“I’m convinced that fear is at the root of most bad writing.”
— Stephen King, On Writing: A Memoir Of The Craft
Thanks for reading. If this post resonated with you, I’d love to read your thoughts in the comments below.
Much love,
- Jon ♾️