Beginning again (under capitalism)

All of 2025 I found myself running into the same words, over and over: "Begin again."

Last year I read four books that gently asked me to do this. But that's self-help; books on productivity and Taoism and finding one's purpose. Lofty, poetic statements like "begin again" blend in like houseplants in a warm, cozy home.

Housesitting for a friend over the holiday season, I took advantage of his Netflix account and watched Blue Eye Samurai.

That was the only TV show I watched all year, and even it joins the synchronicity of this phrase. It feels like the universe is begging me to consider the meaning of "begin again" and, you know...do it.

I'm at a loss for how, though.

Beginning again makes so much sense in a place like Edo period Japan. Roles are clear-cut and focused: a blacksmith makes his swords, a merchant sells and buys, a samurai protects. I am a writer; a writer should write...right?

How do you wake up each morning and begin again when your rent depends on you putting on a collared shirt and showing up to your barista gig at 6am? What does beginning again look like in a world designed to squeeze you dry?

Of course there's no need to take a TV show's sick monologue seriously; no one's saying I have to write first thing in the morning, eschewing my job and responsibilities. Today, only a select few have the privilege of waking up to work they love at a pace that's perfect for them. But I have this gnawing feeling that not only am I not alone, I'm one of a handful of people awake to the idea that it's entirely possible for all of us to be a writer who writes. There's more than enough passion and purpose to go around.

I'm having a "wake up sheeple" moment.

The rat race legitimately, physically, hurts.

Not long ago, I lost my job. In the past it took less than two months to find another gig. This time I've been unemployed for over a year. This is partially due to everything going on in the world, yes.

It's also because a W2 isn't worth the anguish. Like many neurodivergents, corporate life is just too much: bright lights, uncomfortable clothes, deadlines, KPIs, PIPs, office drama...all of it combined causes me real, physical pain.

So I began again as a freelancer. I can't afford my therapist anymore, but I can handle the short, weekly meetings required of me. Most importantly, I have free time to be a writer who writes.

The end of the ninth chapter of the Tao Te Ching says, "Do your work, then step back. The only path to serenity." My way of thinking doesn't easily slot into rigid structures. Mentally, I'm an outsider to capitalism, trapped in a system not designed for a loosey-goosey brain that "begins again" in the form of forgetting anything that isn't nailed down in my bullet journal or task manager or diary app.

A double-edged sword. It's one thing to forget the promises I made or the work I'm supposed to prioritize. It's another to forget how discouraged I felt yesterday, to forget how much time it takes to move towards a difficult goal day after day.

Some of us are simply not built for robotic productivity and linear goals and performance reviews. Maybe we are built for experimentation and curiosity—for waking up each morning to start a fire and begin again.