“I guess I should begin again. I’m ready and I’m kind of relieved to shed that skin”
- Mumford & Sons, Begin Again
Every spring, the natural world reminds us that growth begins with something cracking open. Tree buds split open after months of protection from the cold air. Dragonflies crawl out of the thick skin that carried them underwater for years, soft-bodied and vulnerable before their wings harden. Nature treats transformation as a normal part of survival. But humans often resist it. We call it instability, uncertainty, or starting over, when sometimes it’s simply that an old version of ourselves no longer fits.
After twenty years of customer service and consulting, I’ve shed that skin to work for the state. Over my career I slowly built up my competency armor. It helped me earn trust, solve problems, and form relationships with people I deeply respect. I became good at reading rooms, managing competing priorities, carrying responsibility, and helping people feel heard. Those qualities served me well and helped me grow professionally and personally. But after 20 years, the armor of this identity began to feel heavy.
Eventually, I began feeling the pull toward something different. Not because the old version of me was wrong, but because I had outgrown it. I was ready to set some of that armor down and see who I might become without it.
When dragonflies emerge, their wings are crumpled at first. They cannot fly immediately. For a period of time, they simply cling there between forms, no longer what they were, but not yet fully what they are becoming. That is how I’ve felt this week between jobs. Part energized. Part soft and raw. There’s a strange in-between stage during transformation where you no longer fit the old version of yourself, but the new version hasn’t fully dried its wings yet.
In reaching out to clients and colleagues to share the news, I found it interesting how many people responded in an honest and vulnerable way. It was as if being open about my changes quietly gave people permission to reflect on their own lives too. When one person molts publicly, other people quietly begin examining their own shells.
Nature does not rush transformation, but humans often expect themselves to emerge instantly certain and fully formed. Perhaps this season is less about reinventing myself and more about setting down the need to constantly please everyone. I’m ready to lead in a quieter way by supporting, mentoring, and empowering others rather than being the one out front.
This week between jobs has reminded me that growth can feel both vulnerable and right at the same time. My wings may still be drying, but I’m genuinely excited for what comes next.
Moriya Rufer is a lake biologist and entomologist with 20 years experience working with and loving lakes in northern Minnesota.
Dragonfly emergence drawing above by Moriya Rufer
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