Goodbye, Hello, Repeat: On Reinvention
Since leaving Texas in March 2024, my life has been in a state of near-constant motion.
I got divorced. I moved. I lost a job. I found a better one. I moved again. I deconstructed a life I had outgrown and have been slowly, deliberately building one that fits. Most recently, I packed what mattered, stored what could wait, and moved north to Williamsport, PA with a dismantled loom and some trekking poles in the backseat sanctuary of my car.
Keeping it real.
Weekdays are spent learning a new job where I help antique barns find new homes in new ways.
Evenings are in Airbnbs.
Weekends, I head for the mountains, hiking through woods and scrambling through creek beds until I am pleasantly exhausted.
Some local trail to some local falls near sundown.
Choosing Change
This isn’t the first time I’ve started over, but this time feels different. This time it wasn’t forced; it was chosen. After years of feeling stagnant, I desperately wanted change. I wanted movement, growth, even uncertainty if it meant I could feel aligned again.
I sure got it.
I’ve still shown up to responsibilities, still paid the bills and did the work. But I’ve also made space to listen to what was quietly yet insistently asking to shift.
The Quiet Work of Reinvention
There’s a myth that reinvention belongs to the young, but I’m watching that idea unravel as I edit the first manuscript of a wonderful man in his 80s who is still evolving, still saying yes to new projects, still welcoming reinvention even when it demands vulnerability. His story reminds me that learning doesn’t stop. Curiosity doesn’t fade, and neither does the ability to change.
Reinvention isn’t an always grand announcement. Sometimes it’s a quiet series of choices: what to carry, what to leave behind, which direction to walk next. For me, it’s staying centered and grounded in my self while leaving plenty of room for the unknown.
One of the places I visited recently for work was a barn built over 150 years ago. Sunlight filtered softly through worn slats in weathered siding, illuminating rough-hewn beams and hand-forged fastenings. That space wasn’t built to be beautiful, but it practically resonates with beauty. It holds layers of use, weathering and care. Walking through it reminded me that solid foundations will hold even when everything around them shifts.
How centering.
150+ year old barn looking every beautiful bit of its age.
A Pattern Begins to Form
What I’ve learned in this season is that reinvention isn’t about becoming someone else, but becoming more fully myself. It’s a quiet and deliberate series of small decisions, of steadily releasing what no longer fits. It’s letting the dog off the loom to make room for joy. It’s saying goodbye to roles or routines that once made sense, and welcoming in new beginnings that may not be fully formed but are worth trusting anyway.
I’ve said a lot of goodbyes this past year, to places, to people, and to older versions of myself. But the hellos are starting to outnumber the goodbyes.
Hello to wooded mountain trails and old barns beginning new lives.
Hello to unfamiliar streets and uncertain routines.
Hello to a version of myself I’m rising to meet.
Much like a new weaver, I’m still finding my rhythm. But slowly and surely, a pattern is beginning to form.
When It’s Right, It’s Right
One recent evening after work, I inquired about a small rental tucked into a quiet corner of an 1800s building. I toured it on a whim, not expecting to like it much. It was was small and old and weird, and it felt right.
I turned to the woman showing it and said I was interested. I mentioned being a quiet tenant, and that my main hobby was weaving.
Her eyes lit up. “You’re a weaver?! I’m a weaver!” she said.
It turns out she studied weaving in school and is as devoted to the fiber arts as I am. We hugged. Then showed her the backseat of my car.
Hello, new home. Hello, new friend.
I believe in slow craft, real connection, and thoughtful conversation. If something in this post sparked a question or memory, reach out—I’d truly love to hear from you. -Karri
