I was 18 the first time I left home. My family gathered at the airport with me—my best friend, my brothers and sisters, and my parents. Even my boyfriend was there. This was before 9/11, back when you could walk someone all the way to the gate. They stayed there with me, making jokes and taking videos, as I stood on the cusp of a new chapter. I was heading to Los Angeles to become a musician, armed with optimism, hope, and just enough confidence to think things would work out – even if I wasn’t entirely sure how.

When I moved back to Detroit at 21, life was already different. By then, I was married with my first child. This time, there was no pomp or ceremony. No tearful goodbyes at an airport gate. This move wasn’t about chasing dreams; it was about logic, about building a stable life. My dad was already talking about a vacant house we might be able to buy that wasn’t officially on the market yet. It wasn’t aspirational; it was practical.

Years later, at 34, I moved again—this time from Detroit to Atlanta. We were essentially fleeing Detroit as the school system collapsed, violent crime rose, and property values plummeted. It was a move fueled by necessity. I had just gone through a divorce, and I needed to get my kids to a safe place with better opportunities. Optimism was there, but it was paired with urgency. I arrived in Atlanta with my Bible, a copy of Atlas Shrugged, a hamper of clothes, and my kids. That was it. It felt like starting over from scratch.

By the time I moved back to Detroit in 2023, at 48, the idea of starting over again felt different. When the thought first came to me that it was time to move back home, I cried. I was comfortable in Atlanta. I had built something there. But deep down, I knew it was time to go home. The decision came in a flash, but the months of preparation dragged on, seemingly forever. I talked myself into it and out of it over and over, knowing that starting over wasn’t just about geography – it was about becoming the next version of myself.

The Blank Canvas of a Fresh Start

Starting over is never easy, but it comes with a certain freedom. It’s like standing before a blank canvas, knowing you get to retell the story of your life in a new way. Each move I’ve made has been a chance to reimagine not just my surroundings, but myself. My walls have told those stories—muted rainbows in one home, bold primary colors in another. The backdrop shifts, but the essence of me remains.

For my kids, these moves have been uncomfortable but transformative. They’ve learned to let go of what no longer serves them—donating toys, clothes, and books – making space for what’s next. Even my 10-year-old recently told me how happy she is that we moved back, despite the stress and uncertainty it brought at first. She sees what I see: that change always brings growth, even when it’s hard.

The Essentials We Carry

Through all the moves and pivots, I’ve realized there’s very little we truly need to take with us. Love, memories, and the qualities that live inside us—those are the essentials. Everything else can be replaced, recreated, or reimagined. For me, I have lots of pictures of friends, family, colleagues, people the world lost, local heroes I’m happy are alive. Starting over forces you to distill life down to its most vital components. It’s an opportunity to shed the relics of who you were, making space for who you’re becoming.

There’s grace in that. The grace of starting over isn’t just the chance to rebuild; it’s the chance to reimagine you.

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