Begin Again

How I carved my life in the shape of my soul.

“Our life is a constant journey, from birth to death. The landscape changes, the people change, our needs change, but the train keeps moving. Life is the train, not the station.” – Paulo Coelho

I started over when I moved to this country. When I packed a suitcase with enough clothes for a week, thinking I would be returning soon. I started over when I chose not to return to Australia, when I chose to tilt my ear towards the uncanny whispers I heard from a new direction. I started over when I quit modeling, when I decided to paint at midnight, or write til dawn, or do anything except fold myself into a box that didn’t fit. I started over when I broke up with my ex, again, and again; when I rented the small white room from some college girls off Tompkins Square Park and filled it with a single flowering gardenia, a mattress on the floor and my passports. I started over when I became brave enough to let go. When I chose to follow a thread that may or may not end, a thread that still inspires and expands me, thrills but discomforts me.

I’ve started over more times than I can count. Every day we start over, and every year we celebrate a new beginning, but more pressing are the times when we start again because of an urgent internal clock, or a dramatic external catalyst. I’ve closed businesses that didn’t feel aligned any more, even stopped cooking when I realized I didn’t love it. I’ve walked away from a publishing house I created,¹ let go of places that spoke to me and houses I gave birth in. I’ve ended things people were astonished to see crumble, and started things that I’ve doubted. What I do know is that life is fragile, and people’s opinions don’t matter. If I’m not the decider of my fate, who is? If I’m not making choices that align with these inner whispers (the most important thrum to listen to), whose choices am I making?

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