THE ART OF BEGINNING AGAIN

My favorite philosopher once said, "On a Wednesday, in a cafè, I watched it begin again." I remember listening to this song on different occasions, in different phases of my life. Over the years, I've gone through transitions that required me to 'begin again.' The most transformative were a breakup and moving to a new country alone for the first time.

The universal nature of "beginning again" is as clichè as it sounds. A relationship ends, a door closes, a loved one passes. And then we're left to navigate the world after these monumental events, and these moments shape and reshape our lives forever. Sounds cinematic. Romanticized. Maybe even overly-hyped.

But as clichè as it sounds, starting over is not easy. It's messy. Lonely. Unsexy. Overwhelming. Taylor Swift also said in one of her songs, "I'm getting tired even for a phoenix. Always rising from the ashes. Mending all her gashes. You might just have dealt the final blow."

Because yes, rising from the ashes is...fucking exhausting. Rebirth is terrifying (surprise). We often see the final product of these moments on social media, most of the time curated, and rid of the truth that matters: it takes a lot of work.

Look, I'm not here to pretend I didn't fall for any of these traps. As I traversed these changes in my life, I consumed this type of content on my feed religiously. I wanted to skip to the end, and forced myself to be the final product. It only made things worse.

Wake up. Transitions are not always meant to be inspiring movie scenes. They're meant to be uninteresting because they're painful and difficult. Period.

The Mythology of Fresh Starts

The funny thing about us, though? We crave new beginnings but fear change.

It's a paradox. I want to lose weight, but I'm scared of confronting my unhealthy relationship with food. I dream of being fit, but I'm afraid of taking the first step. I'm unhappy, but I'm terrified of all the inner work required to find joy. I recognize depression, but hesitate to give my therapist a real chance.

Why do we do these things? Because it's easier to fantasize about the result than to embrace change. Because change means putting an end to something - our old identity, the lies we tell ourselves, the excuses we use to avoid pain, the narratives we make others believe because we're simply...stuck.

The Hidden Pain of Beginning Again

I'm no stranger to this. I've gotten my heart broken many times over. I've felt abandoned and misunderstood. I've left home for a fulfilling career. I've left that career for the unknown, that is, Japan.

Let me tell you, none of it was easy. Especially not the first day. That first morning waking up after a breakup, staring at the ceiling with the weight of absence pressing on my chest. The first day of coming out. The first day of living alone in a foreign apartment, where even the hum of the refrigerator sounded strange. Every one of those days, I wanted to disappear. The resistance was so powerful, at some point, I let it take over me.

We naturally resist situations like this. We're so scared of failing at this new thing, new way of living, new reality - that we would rather stay where we are. We're so obsessed with being perfect that we let that perfectionism stifle our growth. We're so attached to the outcome that we never even take the first step toward that outcome.

Beginning again requires admitting that something ended. It demands acknowledging that the love story you've been telling yourself doesn't have an epilogue. It means the closet is no longer a refuge. It forces you to accept that home exists now only as a memory. It means the world you've known like the back of your hand now belongs to someone else, maybe even a former version of yourself.

This unlearning, this unloving of your old identity...it's more than most people can bear.

The Geography of Starting Over

Transitions, especially physical ones, have an astounding emotional impact on an individual. When I moved to Japan from the Philippines, and then back again after a couple of years, my insides were jumbled with so many emotions.

We sum it up this way: It's leaving the place you've called home, but really isn't your home, to go back to your 'home' that somehow isn't your home anymore because you haven't been there in so long - you, the people, and the place itself have changed tenfold.

Not everyone understands this, but our immediate surroundings force us to redefine ourselves outside familiar contexts. Try as I might, I don't recognize the person I was before I left. Because of Japan, my beliefs have changed. Because of living away from the society I've known all my life, my values have changed.

I remember crying in bed at night, the unfamiliar silence of a Japanese town echoed around me as I realized I couldn't just go back home on a whim anymore. I remember seeing sakura blooming for the first time, their fleeting beauty both captivating and novel, nothing like the tropical landscapes I'd grown up with. And that first snowfall (ever in my life), watching white flakes descend from the sky, beautiful and terrifying in their silent transformation of everything familiar.

Yes, it's possible. When you're out there exploring the world, you'll come to understand how other people have been living without your limiting beliefs, and you just have that eureka moment and think, "Shit. I was caged in a box of contrasting values that others could live without."

And there's the beauty, my friend: The world is a wonderful blend of contrasts. When you're out in the open, the change would require finding a home within the transition rather than despite it.

Professional Reinventions

Why does society expect us to choose a single career and stick with it until death? Perhaps it's about control. Predictable citizens are easier to manage. Or maybe it's about identity. If we can change careers, what else might we change about ourselves?

Reinventions require courage. They demand a deep sense of resilience because you're going against societal and cultural norms. If you're in your 30s, you know our generation was programmed to follow this blueprint: school—career—death. The epitome of fragmentation: a life severed from its true potential.

And yet, within that blueprint is an unspoken rule that whatever career you end up choosing should be your identity, and you're not allowed to change your mind.

I'm no Buddha or whatever, but let me be the one to say you are allowed to change your mind. Yes, I'm giving you permission to reinvent yourself and go after your dreams. Not the dream society fed you, not the dream other people crafted for you, but your dream...the thing that sets your soul on fire.

Just because I started my career as a teacher in 2014 doesn't mean I can't change my mind in 2025 and tell everyone I'm writing and running a business. Just because other people have been measuring success with financial gain doesn't mean I have to measure my success with that same metric. Success, by the way, is so much more than money. Just because the older generation spent their whole lives working and retiring so late they can't even enjoy their long-awaited vacations, doesn't mean we have to end up the same way.

They've lived, discovered, and made mistakes, so we can learn from them and keep the evolution going. Nothing is meant to stay the same.

You, most definitely, aren't meant to stay the same.

That's why the previous chapters are crucial because they trigger new beginnings in the most unexpected ways. They're there to teach you that change is good. Without these hardships, without doing the dirty work, you won't be able to look at change as a good thing. And without change, you'll stagnate.

Each of us feels the pull toward growth, even as we fear what we might lose along the way.

Conclusion

See, there's this red thread of fate that connects all forms, shapes, and sizes of "beginning again." They're spread out across the phases of our lives. They hide in uncertainty. They thrive in fear. They appear in unexpected places.

But once you confront and welcome them, they offer infinite wisdom. Multiple restarts give you a breadth of knowledge and self-awareness that wouldn't be possible otherwise.

I wouldn't be writing this piece today if I hadn't gone through what I've gone through over the past years. I wouldn't understand the delicate balance between holding on and letting go, between honoring your past and embracing your future.

When Taylor Swift sang about watching it "begin again," she captured something universal: that fleeting moment when we realize life hasn't ended with our endings. That we're still here, sipping coffee on a Wednesday, starting over again.

This is my invitation to you: See your life transitions not as disruptions but as the very moments that give your story depth.

What transition are you facing now? What ending are you struggling to acknowledge? What beginning awaits on the other side of your fear?

Give your soul the chance to find that spark, and never let it go.

Stay Soulful,

Jopaz