begin again

A fresh start has the kind of alluring aura I’d always bite my lower lip over. Granted, I romanticize just about everything, but few things seduce me like a clean slate. To start over is to let yourself be animated by the pulse of your own evolution. Sometimes, this might look like time-traveling back to square one—but initiating your own reset is really momentum building. In many ways, it is the best way to keep going. I’d never miss an opportunity to shift the narrative and write something new. If you made it this far reading all this, you’ll know by now that I mean this metaphorically, but for a change, I also mean it literally. I wrote and published this guide in two iterations before this one, and I want to promise you that this is the last one, but to tell you the truth, I don’t know that for sure.

Since renewal is such a heartthrob to me, this means I get blinded by its charms, but also that I easily can fall into its trap. I get off on the prospect of a new plan—and the thought of venturing in unknown territory (or doing it in a brand-new pair of walking shoes) seduces me more than staying there, sometimes. Some months ago, I had an idea for a new piece: a poem written in the shape of a list of all the projects I started but never finished. So I started it. But never finished. And that’s exactly my point: how romantic for the process to take you on this swirling, thrilling never ending dance! Process is life, remember? And life stops when you die—or so we think. But what this means is that you can refine forever and ever and grow old with your draft. Or that you can change your mind, and start over, then change it again, and start over. There is a strange, subtle thrill in both—but either way, you’re not quite moving forward. Neither will take you where you actually want to go, unless the place you’re trying to get to, is the one where you already are. Sometimes, here is the exact place to live from, and sometimes, it is the perfect place to die.

And yet, even in the mess of unfinished drafts and constant shifts, I still believe in the ritual of beginning again. I pray in the temple of renewal with great devotion and I circle back with the grace of a dancer, spinning around the same idea, touching it from a different angle. My favourite part about having a mind, is you get to change it. And admittedly, I overindulge copiously.

I had a conversation with a friend the other day, about the ebb and flow of creative energy, and the importance of allowing it to go where it must, where it wants to. Your commitment to your practice—or whatever it is you choose to pour your life force into—is independent of you doing the same thing you’ve always done, just because you’ve always done it, just because other people know you for it. You get to touch different things and let yourself be touched by them. Let yourself create something you’ve never made, go places you’ve never been, become someone you’ve never met. We co-exist with the other, to whom we give our creations to hold, with whom we are in a living dialogue. Still, you don’t need to give a disclaimer to the one who perceives you, preparing them for the new part of you they are about to encounter. Simply walk in and re-introduce yourself. Some will leave the room, some will stay. Others will enter. Some will prefer a phase you’ve outgrown, they might not understand where it is you currently are but keep an open mind. It is in your best interest to do the same thing.

Andre 3000 made his mark as one of the most influential rappers in the history of hip hop. After receiving the ultimate accolades for his contribution to the genre, he left the public eye, went off radar and didn’t release anything for a long time. When the time was right, he offered us New Blue Sun, an ambient and reflective wind instrument album, and a long-range sonic leap from anything he had publicly done before. In an interview, he shared that most of these atmospheric, abstract and experimental tracks emerged as spontaneous jam sessions, some during which he was learning about the personality of his instrument as he played it, recording unplanned events and discoveries in real time. What the listener hears through their speakers is the peregrinations of an artist entirely taken by their love of the craft, desiring nothing but to be present for it. New Blue Sun is not a quest of mastery, but a playful exercise in embracing the pleasure and vulnerability of creative exploration, and the new beginnings they summon. I still listen to OutKast like those songs came out yesterday. 3000 gave us so much, before and after the shift—a living archive we can return to anytime, like a timeless gallery of selves who will probably keep evolving. No matter the genre or the phase of life, the value of his artistic contribution didn’t expire. And neither will yours. Creation emerges in a moment in time but it’s also timeless, for it is endlessly revived by each new person who encounters it for the first time.

Every phase of your life should be lived entirely, whether in or out of the studio. You get to disappear for a while, and you get to decide if you ever come back. You get to decide if you’ll ever make anything again. And if you do, you get to decide exactly what it is. And whether anyone will ever find out. Now go, kiss the moment and let it kiss you back. Notice what lives, and live alongside it. Indulge the process, do so generously. And once you’ve done all that, begin again.

Select a timeframe out of your life. Could be one day, one week, one month—and make this a trial period. Not too long at first, a visible limit is easier to reach. Try something—easy or scary. Make this creative research. Ask yourself, what happens if I do this? Then do it, and watch. Take notes in your phone or in a notebook, capture snapshots of your encounters—living, inanimate. Record voice notes like you’re on a mission, gathering valuable information for your accomplice. Your accomplice is your future self, who will later sift through your clues, potentially noticing patterns. Over time, the patterns that stick might become blueprints or formulas. Formulas are like cheat codes, rituals or practices serving as a baseline for the creative act—and ultimately for living. At the end of your trial, review the research. Does the shoe fit? If not, it’s not yours to wear. But if it does, keep it on a while longer, break it in and keep walking.