The Wilder Guide to Self-Reinvention

“Ultimately, anybody could crash on an island like this, and the idea of being surrounded by strangers and getting to reinvent yourself in some way is sort of readily identifiable.” – Lost

The NFL® has an obscure rule that players cannot own ducks or geese.  Those are called “a personal fowl.” (all memes as-found)

Sometimes I’ve felt like I’m stuck in a sequel nobody asked for.

Same plot, same villains, same scriptwriters, same predictable ending where the hero, me, ends up in the same place where the movie started.  All of it happened, and all of it changed nothing.

Reinvention sounds like one of those self-help buzzwords peddled by people with suspiciously not-grey hair, perfect teeth, and look like they smell vaguely of Lemon-Scented® Pledge™.

Me?  I’ve lost most of my hair, have okay but not perfect teeth, and more often smell of cigar than citrus.  I’m not selling you anything.  Except songs.  And you can listen to all of those for free.  But if reinvention is done well, it changes everything, which should be no surprise because it’s in the name.

I’ve reinvented myself a time or two.  Switched careers, changed habits, even moved across state lines once.  It’s never as glamorous as the brochures promise.  I have never yet experienced a slow-mo training montage with Eye of the Tiger blasting in the background.  More often it’s like grinding through a B-movie script where the director keeps yelling “Cut!” because I flubbed the line again.

Plot twist:  it was really Freddy Kruger™ that killed Martin Luther King, Jr.  After all, he had a dream . . .

In the changes I’ve made, however, I have learned more than a few things.  First, real reinvention demands a brutal assessment of what’s True, Beautiful, and Good and how that differs from what I see in the mirror.  People, me included, want to believe pretty little lies whenever they can.  Real assessment is required.

If it isn’t hitting at least three out of three of the True, Beautiful, and Good criteria, why bother?  I try to take stock without mercy.

Is it True?

Does it square with reality, or am I kidding myself?

Is it Beautiful?

Does it create something worthwhile, or is it just pumping out more plastic widgets for the landfill?

Is it Good?

Does serve a higher purpose, or is it just vanity?

If the answer’s a resounding “meh,” to any of these three, it’s not worth the effort.  If I lie to myself here, the whole reinvention turns into a farce.

Would you like three alternative punchlines?

Hollywood peddles a different script, of course.  Change is always Good™, wrapped in a rom-com bow.  Picture the uptight stuffed-shirt.  Khakis pressed, 401(k) maxed moping through life until a random crazy hot chick crashes in.

She’s got purple hair, a tattoo of a dreamcatcher, and a backpack full of “experiences.”  She drags him to a rave in the desert, teaches him to juggle fire and smoke weed, and poof, he’s ditching the corner office for a food truck.

Roll credits, cue the indie soundtrack.  This is celebrated as a modern goal.

Reality check:  I’ve crossed paths with more than a few random crazy hot chicks.

Positive contributions?  Slim to none.  All the experiences rhyme, though:  a whirlwind of chaos, pain, and stories that start with “So there I was…” and end with lawyers or bail money.

Random crazy hot chicks didn’t reinvent me, they just rearrange the furniture in my life until nothing fits.

Real change doesn’t need a manic (or maniac) minx catalyst.

She keeps sending mixed messages.

It just needed me to stare in the mirror and decide the current plot sucks.

Change itself?

That’s the bonus, the change is immediate.

Change happens now, effects come with time.  Flip the switch.

Boom, reinvented.  The results take time.  The bigger the change, the more patience required for the results.

That’s why urgency is my ally.  Time multiplies effort like compound interest, and the old saying goes:  When’s the best time to plant a tree?  The best time to start is 20 years ago.  The next best time is now.

Silly me, I would have thought the next best time would have been 19 years ago, but maybe I missed that day in Arbor Academy.

The message, though, is clear.  Act now, act deliberately.  Not in a panic but with a purpose.  Delay, and I’m just leaving Future Me a bigger debt.

Which brings us back to the noun.  The what.  I had a boss that would always slow me down with this one simple question:  “What do we want the outcome to be?  Start with the end in mind.”  Again, the criteria for me is simple.  Is it True, is it Beautiful, is it Good?

Also, how I frame the change dictates the ending and the success or failure.  Any change that constantly demoralizes me is doomed.  If I have an end state in mind, and I’m not there, I’m failing.  Right?

No.  Remember the montage.  Starting the montage is the success.  You’ve gotta have a montage.

Seriously, though, my mind rebels against endless punishment.  Why should I keep showing up if every step feels like defeat?  For me, I often measure effort rather than outcomes.  Build a habit of study, and not measure myself against the end.  Even a little progress (if the change is big enough) is what I’m looking for.  Patton put it perfectly:  “A good plan executed now is better than a perfect one executed later.”

My dudes, attitude is everything.

There are exceptions:  any positive reinvention that energizes me?  That’s the winner.  It creates a feedback loop:  my effort sparks momentum, my momentum delivers wins, my wins fuel more energy.  These can even be bits of the montage, if you will.

Quick wins?  I grab them whenever I can.  I’m wired for routine.  Once a habit locks in, it’s tougher for me to break than to keep.  Like autopilot, I set the course, and it flies itself.  Your mileage may vary, but for me, momentum is king.  Get the ball rolling, and inertia works for me, not against.

I’ve learned to not wait for a muse.  She’s probably off with that random crazy chick anyway.  Just consistent action.

At its core, reinvention isn’t about morphing into someone else.  It’s honing the best of who I am, aligned with Truth, Beauty, and Goodness.  Brutal honesty spots the flaws, urgency launches the fix, energy sustains the burn, and time polishes the gem.  When it clicks?  It’s worth every sweat drop, every dawn patrol, every skipped shortcut.

Whenever I am at a crossroads I always stare into a bowl of rice, hoping to find a grain of truth.

I’m beginning to think the only bad ending is the one where I don’t change.  Oh, and all of the Disney® movies since 2017 or so.  They all suck.