Zen & the Art of Starting Over

What do you do when the identity you built your life around dissolves beneath your feet?

One of the central teachings in Zen is that anything we build an identity around will eventually disappear.

This is a principle I’ve written about before, but have not had to confront it like I do right now…

I lost my job last week.

Along with it, I lost a part of my identity.

For the past decade, since graduating from university, the skills I offered were clear. The work I did had real value.

But late last week, I received notice that my expertise was no longer needed. That the AI systems I helped explore and implement are now ready to replace me.

I won’t pretend this news wasn’t a serious blow to my identity. I’m still feeling the shock — and the unsettling sense that I no longer have any real value or purpose.

But this is not a ‘poor-me’ post. Like most of my writing, it’s a reflection — a chance to observe and inspect what arises as life unfolds.

Right now, more than ever, I can feel the weight of uncertainty on my shoulders — but also the enticing pull of possibility.

Nothing we build an identity around is ever permanent. It can’t be. All structure in life is built on this foundation of uncertainty… even if routine has us believing otherwise for a while.

Careers come and go. Industries rise and fall. Who we are today is distinct from who we were in the past, or who we will be in the future.

When change inevitably happens, we’re faced with a choice.

We can cling to the identity we once had — frustrated that the world has changed without our permission and left us standing alone on the curb.

Or we can loosen our grip and take a big, blind step into the wide open space that change creates for us. To start over — not from scratch, but from where we are at this moment.

Right now, I’m gazing into that open space.

I can feel the breeze on my skin, but I can’t quite make out where to place my next step. I could lose my footing and fall. I could step into thick mud and get stuck.

Before I make my next move, I need to pause… and remember that a change of form is not unusual. Nothing is out of place.

I must shed unnecessary weight and travel lightly — leaving behind the expectations of my former self. If I fall or find myself stuck, anything I carry will only hold me there.

This is so much easier to write about than to actually do — so stay tuned as I continue to figure this out. There’s a reason it’s called practice.

For now, I reserve the right to mourn what was lost — but not pretend it was ever meant to last forever.

To show gratitude for what once was without clinging to it — as I step, blind and naked, into the vast open space before me.

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Empty Space

The time my old career once occupied has opened space for something new — exploration, writing, creativity, and ideas I hadn’t given room to grow.

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