New Beginnings: The Art of Starting (Episode 1)
A Note from Charlotte
I’m so glad you’re here for the first official episode of All of This & More.
Why It Matters: Every beginning is an act of trust—a step into the unknown, with the belief that something meaningful will emerge. In this episode, I share why beginnings matter to me, how they shape us, and why returning to the idea that “always, we begin again” can offer freedom and possibility in our creative lives.
One thing I’ve learned from starting new things (and letting some of them go) is that beginnings aren’t about perfection-they’re about presence. They’re about showing up as we are, moving forward through uncertainty, and trusting that even the smallest new start matters.
>>> This episode is a solo reflection on the power of beginnings—how ballet classes in first grade, unexpected endings, and the cycles of creativity have shaped my story.
>>> I talk about courage, surrender, and the invitation to embrace new chapters, whether they come with excitement or with loss.
>>> I also offer a simple exercise to help you reflect on your formative beginnings and how they continue to shape who you are becoming.
This first mini-season features conversations with four wonderful women authors, as well as this solo reflection.
Thanks so much for joining me here. More soon.
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Transcription:
Every beginning is an act of trust, stepping into the unknown and believing that something meaningful will emerge. The good news is that I'm old enough. I've begun enough things, enough times to know something meaningful will emerge.
I've started enough things that didn't work out to see that it's not the end of the world if they don't. Every ending is a new beginning too. So that quote I love, that's often misattributed to St. Benedict. Always, we begin again. It's true. I love that quote, even though I'm pretty sure St. Benedict never said it.
I love the idea that we are always beginning again, that we can always begin again because it helps me relax. It helps me move towards more freedom instead of feeling pressure to do what someone else thinks I'm supposed to do or what others want me to do, or what I thought I was going to do. When I was in first grade, I began taking ballet classes because my friend Lori took ballet classes. Every Tuesday
Lori wore her black leotard and pink tights to school under her blue jeans and her red cardigan. Her hair was always in a bun on Tuesdays also, because she started class at 3:30 and there just wasn't enough time to get home after school and change into the ballet clothes and get to the ballet class.
So Lori's ballet attire made me want to be a ballet dancer too. I wasn't really interested in being a dancer. I was more interested in looking like a ballerina. But I remember my first ballet class at the Montgomery School of Fine Arts in their old building that used to be a bungalow that was converted into dance studios and, um
voice lesson rooms. I remember standing at the ballet barre wearing my black leotard and my pink tights and my hair in a bun, and doing what my teacher had just shown me. I did the demi pliés and the grand pliés in first position and second position. I, um, listened to her instructions and made the corrections.
After the music stopped, she walked over to me and I was worried. I was like, oh no, I did it wrong. But she was smiling and she said, "I thought you had never taken a ballet class."
I said, "I haven't, I took dance lessons in preschool, but it wasn't anything like this."
She said, "You've never taken classical ballet."
I said, "No".
And she said, "Well, next week we need to move you up a level and be in Lori's class because you're a natural".
So, that fall afternoon was my beginning, um, of my ballet dancing career, and that career ended several years later. During December of my freshman year of college, when I walked into an appointment with a neurologist as a dancer and walked out 45 minutes later as a former dancer. My plans to be a professional dancer were tossed aside by a doctor who told me the only way to stop the pain in my lower back would be to not do the thing that was causing the pain. So I had a new beginning as a non-dancer.
Other formative beginnings throughout my life are common to many-- new jobs, marriage, becoming a parent. That day in April of 2012 when my therapist told me that I was a writer and I needed to write if I wanted to heal, so I started taking my writing more seriously.
Here's why beginnings matter: they're not just about starting over. They're about embracing uncertainty, welcoming possibility, and tapping into the creative cycles that shape our lives. Beginnings are not about perfection. They're about presence. We start where we are, we show up as we are. Sometimes that means moving forward through doubt, confusion, and the reality that things might not unfold as we prefer.
To begin requires courage and surrender. Courage to take that first step and surrender to the mystery of the sense that something larger is at work, shaping both the process and the person. The word "begin" holds movement and initiative, but it's more than just a first step. Every new creative act is a beginning part of a larger creative cycle where we spiral deeper each time, building on everything that came before.
For example, all of my previous podcast experiences have formed this new podcast. The five or six podcasts that I've begun at one time, the dozens of guest appearances on others' shows, and all of the podcast episodes I've listened to over the years. To begin is to say yes to what calls us forward trusting that each new start brings us closer to who we are becoming or to that thing we want to create. Whether we start in community or solitude, every beginning is an act of faith. Faith in the creative process and our capacity to grow, and in the possibility that what emerges will carry meaning beyond ourselves.
Beginnings are sacred. They invite us to show up, trust the process, and participate in those ongoing cycles of creativity and growth.
So with this first mini-season of All of This and More, I'm beginning with inhabiting my role as a thoughtful reader and writer who loves to talk to authors about their books. I'm sharing four author conversations full of good things that will stir your curiosity, provide some new ideas on art and faith and other things, and help you feel less alone in the world.
And now I invite you to consider your beginnings. Take 10 minutes or so to do the following exercise:
First, make a list of five formative or recent new beginnings that come to mind. Then pick one item from your list and take as many notes as you can for 10 minutes. You can set a timer if you like. Include sensory details. What do you see, hear, taste, smell, touch? What time of year was it? What else was happening in your life at the time?
Return to your notes in the coming days and weeks and add other things that come to mind. Take some time to consider why this new beginning still matters. How has it formed you through the years? How has it affected other areas of life? How has it brought you joy and sorrow? How has it helped you become more of your full self?
As you remember and contemplate beginnings from the past and move through your own current cycles of starting and becoming, remember this: every new beginning is an invitation to curiosity, courage, and creativity. Whether your next step feels small or monumental, trust that it matters. Each time you say "yes" to a new endeavor, you're shaping the story of who you are and who you're becoming.
So, wherever you are right now, may you find freedom in beginning again, and may each start bring you closer to being more of who you were made to be, more of who you desire to be.