A Fresh Start: Reflections on New Beginnings
I recently made a few significant changes in my life. During the pandemic, my partner and I quit our jobs and moved countries to make a fresh start.
For me, autumn always brings about a sense of new beginnings. With the seasons shifting and back to school excitement, I thought it was a good time to reflect on the whirlwind of emotions associated with change.
To give some structure to what has felt very unstructured and uncertain, I’ve organised my thoughts around these themes:
- Signals for change
- Establishing roots/uprooting
- Re/orienting
Signals for change
There were plenty of signals that led us to make a fresh start: the pandemic, a family member’s mental illness worsening because of isolation, Brexit, climate change, unsustainable jobs, our visa expiring in 2022, and not being able to leave the country to be with loved ones.
The interesting thing about change is that it often happens gradually, so slowly that you barely notice it. Inspired by Anna Tsing, author of The Mushroom at the End of the World, I’ve been attempting to practice what she calls “arts of noticing” to navigate these increasingly uncertain times.
To practice this art, I’ve been running an experiment for the past two years by making space for reflection every morning to document these subtle but significant shifts.
The experiment started on a wee retreat in September 2019, when a good friend and I rented an artist’s home in Bridlington, UK. We were both at different junctions in our lives, so it was the perfect place to reflect and think about the future.
A lot has happened since 2019.
I left an initiative I invested my heart and soul into, joined a new company to head up their digital team, quit that job, moved from London to Vancouver, and entered the freelance world (making the switch back into a practitioner role, away from management).
Looking back, I had no idea how much change was ahead, not only for me but also on a global scale —where it has felt like all of our systems are broken, and the planet is going to implode.
Nothing has felt normal in a long time, so why stir the pot and introduce more change and uncertainty by making a fresh start?
Moments that trigger a fresh start
I’m sure a lot of people had moments of doubt during the pandemic — moments that made you question why I am doing this, and what if I made a fresh start and did things differently?
“Psychological restarts”, as described in a great podcast by Freakonomics, can happen at any point, such as a new week, your birthday, end of the year resolutions etc. It’s the moment where you adopt a new mindset or start a new habit, like reading 40 books this year instead of 35. For me, changing my environment sparks this psychological reset, where I’m inspired to look at things from a new perspective.
Someone once gave me advice to only make one significant change in your life at a time so that the transition is mentally and financially manageable. In my experience, life doesn’t fall into these neat little packages like social media has us believe. Sometimes you have to go with it, and you don’t get to pick when or how things happen.
Even with my daily journaling, I didn’t notice the small shifts, and it felt like everything was happening all at once. It took a rude awakening, one that physically stopped me in my tracks, to make me reevaluate where I was heading.
Unhealthy mindsets
Living in New York and then London, both career and work-centric environments have created a few unhealthy narratives in my head about what it means to be alive and happy. Unfortunately, these mindsets have sometimes led to burnout, triggering a need for change.
Unlearning these narratives has been hard for me to overcome because work can be addicting; I’ve used work to distract myself from other things in my life, which I won’t get into here but wrote about in a separate blog post.
I’ve done a lot of therapy and coaching to work through that stuff and establish better boundaries with work. However, sometimes I get pulled into a toxic loop when work environments centre around urgency, fast-paced growth, and individual progression–– characteristics of a white supremacy culture that I, in reflection, reinforced by engaging in that behaviour.
The first time I experienced extreme burnout was in 2013 when I was working in New York. I fainted before a big software demo to an important client. The fear of being replaced if I didn’t put in the long hours — which I was told would happen on multiple occasions — eventually caught up with me. My body said no more.
My work called my emergency contact, and my partner picked me up in a cab to take me home. I remember watching the skyscrapers pass by as if I were in a movie, thinking, I’m 23; what am I doing with my life? I promised myself I would never do that again.
This past year, burnout crept in unexpectedly when I started a new job that wasn’t sustainable. It is a very unsettling feeling deciding to leave a job you haven’t been in for more than a year. It’s like there is this unwritten rule that you need to stay in the position for at least a year for it not to be considered a failure.
“We are often encouraged to see life as one continual uphill climb. We talk about ladders without even thinking. Career ladders. Property ladders. On being on the top rung of the ladder. Or the bottom rung of the ladder. We talk of climbing the ladder…The trouble with ladders is they give you no room to move around. Just room to fall.”
It turns out I was letting myself down by listening to these external pressures to climb the career ladder, people please, and operate at an unsustainable pace, regardless of the toll on my relationships and mental health.
I’m now in a privileged position where I can rethink my relationship to work and put well-being at the centre of my decision making. The first step was to quit what wasn’t working and reevaluate if London was the right place to live a more balanced life.
Establishing roots/uprooting
Establishing roots gives a sense of security and stability. My partner and I moved to the UK on a youth mobility visa, thinking we would stay for a few years. Nearly 7 years later, London was our home. We had established relationships that made us feel grounded. When you’ve lived in a place for a while, it’s like your identity gets intertwined with the space you occupy, making it challenging to uproot.
I knew moving internationally would be challenging. Still, I thought it would be relatively easy given we’ve moved countries many times before moving to the UK, Germany, Finland, and the US. But nothing can prepare you for an international move during the pandemic when you can’t hug and spend meaningful time with the people you love before you go.
As a parting gift, a friend gave me A Field Guide to Getting Lost by Rebecca Solnit. She writes about embracing change by getting lost; how we need to leave a door open for the unknown, despite it being dark and uncomfortable. She summarised my unrealistic expectations about change and the future perfectly:
“People look into the future and expect that the forces of the present will unfold in a coherent and predictable way, but any examination of the past reveals that the circuitous routes of change are unimaginably strange.”
Since moving, we’ve been in this in-between state, starting new jobs and searching for a new flat without familiar routines or rhythms. I’ve felt a sense of loss about what was and uncertainty about what’s to come.
As my partner and I orient ourselves in Vancouver, a place we’ve never spent time in before, I’ve been looking for things that bring me comfort, something to anchor us while we transition.
Re/orienting
The silence in this new city felt strange at first; no familiar sounds of the overground train or sirens wailing as they go by.
It’s disorienting waking up thinking you’re at home and then realising you’re not. Moving from London, a city of 9 million, compared to 2 million people in Vancouver, feels different.
With this fresh start, I’m learning to appreciate the slower rhythms. I’m trying very hard not to centre all my attention around work and the contract I’ve recently taken on. Instead, I’m looking to books, art, and nature to reorient.
Bayo Akomolafe is an incredible author who writes about the need to slow down in urgent times rather than going through the same patterns and routines. I’m holding on to this idea of growth that he speaks of:
“Where you are most confused, exhausted, distressed, and compromised is where the wild things grow.”
I’ve also been seeking ideas from the #BacktoEarth project, a collaboration with 140 artists, scientists, architects, and filmmakers. The book consists of drawings, thought experiments, and instructions to challenge your worldview, which I’ve been referencing for inspiration.
I came across Sumayya Vally’s work through this book. She wrote a beautiful piece about noticing the shifting edges around her.
Feel the shifting edges.
Go for a walk.
Barefoot.
Walk so gently
that your feet hear the histories of the ground beneath them.
Inhale.
Consider where the environment ends and you begin.
Walk that line. Where is it?
On your skin? In your mouth? In your lungs? In your blood?
Exhale.
Is the CO2 ‘you’?
Breathe a trace of condensation on a glass surface.
Touch it.
Is it part of you? Or of the world?
Listen to the silences, absences, presences.
Read the deep faultlines of geology and control.
Ingest the atmospheric consequences of another era.
Feel other entities, other places and other times.
Life forms defy boundaries at every level.
Feel the shifting edges of yourself.
I thought of Sumayya Vally’s words on a recent surf camp in Tofino ––yes, this is also something new I’m trying. On this trip, I spent time noticing the silences, like when a wave was about to come crashing down or the presences when sleeping outside in my tent. Not to mention, the mind-numbingly cold Pacific water–– you have no choice but to be present.
Although I wish I could spend all my time outdoors, I’ve taken on a contract where I hope to manage my relationship with work in a healthier way. It took me a while to find something that aligns with my goals; I’m excited to have started a project focused on providing regenerative farming resources and services for smallholder farmers. I’ve structured this contract in a way that will allow me to pursue creative ideas on the side.
I’m also trying out something new with my role. I’ve been thinking a lot about how your skills as a practitioner begin to deteriorate after 3–5 years, so I’ve opted to step back into being a product design practitioner, away from a leadership centred role.
Going back to the craft may seem like I’m going in the opposite direction of progression, but for me, this feels like healthy personal growth. I also think it’s essential if I want to show up as an authentic leader to be grounded in the craft — I’m sure there will be more reflections to come on this topic.
Finding familiar anchors
As you can tell, I’m not an expert on managing change or life transitions. I’m still figuring it all out. If you’re like me and are anxious, need routines, and find yourself in a moment of massive change, I recommend finding things that help orient you.
People tell me to “get on with it” when it comes to managing change or to be more resilient and “bounce back”, but it isn’t always possible when everything feels uncomfortable and overwhelming. It’s also completely valid to feel the way you do and not to diminish those feelings. Give yourself something familiar to hold on to, an anchor to help navigate the ups and downs of making a fresh start.
Everyone experiences and reacts to transitions differently. The good news is the sense of fear about the unknown is temporary. I also see these moments of change acting as speed bumps, offering an opportunity to slow down, to reflect and be more present.
I’ve listed a few resources below that has helped me reorient during this transition. I would love to hear your thoughts or if you have any resources for navigating change.
Oh, and if you need tips on moving a pet or boxes internationally, I have it all mapped out, and I’m happy to share!!
Books
- A Field Guide to Getting Lost by Rebecca Solnit
- Shinrin-Yoku: The Art and Science of Forest Bathing by Dr Qing Li
- The Mushroom at the End of the World by Anna Tsing
- 140 Artist’s Ideas for Planet Earth
- Anything by Bayo AKomolafe — These Wilds Beyond Our Fences: Letters to My Daughter on Humanity’s Search for Home is my favourite
- The Comfort Book by Matt Haig. I also highly recommend The Midnight Library
Other resources
- Fresh Start podcast by Freakonomics
- Sumayya Vally’s work
- If you can’t access the outdoors, I recommend the lessons Taught by Gardens conceived by Annika Hansteen-Izora
