Rebuild. Renew. Reimagine: Redesigning Your Life
I was 43 years old when I started grad school to earn a master’s degree in dance.
In dance — at 43! I was the oldest student in my cohort.
And if we’re being honest…“first I was afraid, I was petrified...”
Two years later, at 45, I stood in front of a college classroom as a tenure-track professor.
I had done it. I had made it.
But behind the polished titles and applause I was unraveling. Quietly. Burned out.
I had been chasing a version of success that looked amazing on paper… but felt hollow in my soul.
At 57, after earning tenure and promotion at not one, but two universities, I walked away.
Not because I failed but because I finally listened.
That moment of truth came one night in a dark rehearsal studio.
Lights off. Music low.
I had just finished teaching and I was bone-weary.
Not the good kind of tired the kind that comes from purpose.
This was a different kind.
The kind that makes you question everything.
I looked at the mirror surrounded by years of reflection and I didn’t recognize the man staring back.
That wasn’t a breakdown.
It was a breakthrough.
I had built a life on applause and achievement but none of it was built for me.
It was built to prove something to everyone else.
And rebuilding started with one radical confession:
I’m allowed to change.
I’m allowed to pause.
I’m allowed to want something else.
Can you remember a moment you looked at your life and thought,
“This isn’t it”?
That’s not failure.
That’s the invitation to rebuild.
Right after I submitted my letter of resignation, I stepped into the hallway, shut the door behind me, and whispered,
“Oh shit! What the fuck did I just do?”
Everything went blurry.
I thought I was going to pass out.
But I didn’t.
In the days that followed, I cried.
Tears would come out of nowhere
in grocery stores, on quiet walks, in the middle of the night.
I didn’t know what they were at first.
Grief? Fear? Letting go of students, colleagues, the country I’d built a career in?
Then it hit me.
They weren’t tears of regret.
They were tears of relief.
Of joy.
Of power.
I wasn’t falling apart.
I was falling into alignment.
Because when you renew your life, you don’t burn it all down.
You don’t erase your story.
You gather what still matters
and carry it forward.
With both hands open.
When was the last time you cried tears of relief
Not because something ended,
but because you finally reclaimed your life?
Here’s what nobody tells you about starting over:
It doesn’t come with a roadmap.
No GPS. No step-by-step manual.
Just a whisper.
A nudge.
A knowing in your gut that you were meant for more
and that “more” might look nothing like what you’ve known.
So I asked myself:
What kind of life do I actually want to live?
Not just what I can survive
but what can I thrive in?
What lights me up?
What makes me feel free, useful, alive?
That’s what reimagining is.
It’s not a luxury.
It’s a responsibility.
To yourself.
To the people watching you.
To the next generation who needs to see it’s possible to live differently.
So I moved across the world.
I let go of titles.
I said yes to what scared me
and no to what used to define me.
And I’m still figuring it out.
But now I’m doing it on purpose.
With joy.
With clarity.
With both hands open.
Reimagining isn’t about perfection.
It’s about permission.
To dream again.
Not like you did when you were 10.
But like you can now
with everything you’ve learned…
and everything you’re finally ready to claim.
So tonight, I’m not asking you to have all the answers.
I’m asking you to listen for the whisper.
To honor the nudge.
To believe that the life you want is still possible.
What’s one thing you’re ready to stop surviving…
and start redesigning?
What will you carry forward with both hands open?