New Beginnings: Easter, Without the Bunny or the Bible

For Anyone Brave Enough to Begin Again

"We die. We die rich with lovers and tribes, tastes we have swallowed, bodies we’ve entered and swum up like rivers, fears we’ve hidden in – as if we were war. And now, I will be the wound, and not the blade."
—Michael Ondaatje

Easter has long been a symbol of resurrection, of overcoming death, and of stepping into new life. For some, it's a holy celebration wrapped in centuries of tradition. For others, it’s pastel candy, plastic eggs, and brunch reservations.

But whether you observe Easter in a pew or with Peeps, there’s something universally compelling about the idea that something can end... and something new can begin.

New beginnings are not reserved for believers or bunnies. They belong to the brokenhearted, the burned out, the quietly desperate. They belong to you, to me, to anyone willing to stop pretending and start again — even if the starting again looks like a crawl, not a sprint.

Here’s a secret they don’t teach in school:
The most profound new beginnings often look like endings at first.

• The divorce paper that unlocks a long-lost sense of self.

• The job layoff that finally removes the golden handcuffs.

• The illness that narrows your life but widens your soul.

• The creative block that turns into the birth of a new voice.

• The panic attack that becomes the beginning of your healing.

New beginnings are not tidy. They rarely arrive with trumpets or applause. They’re disguised as failure, heartbreak, chaos. They’re born in the messy middle — when the old life doesn’t work anymore, but the new life hasn’t taken shape yet.

So what do you do in the middle?

Let it feel like death. Let the confusion speak. Let the anger, the grief, the quiet whispers of hope all take a seat at the table. Then—when the time is right—take one single, awkward, glorious step forward.

Resurrection is not a moment. It’s a decision. Made daily.

It’s saying, “Even though I can’t see the way, I will choose life over numbness, growth over ego, truth over comfort.”

It’s looking at your reflection in the mirror and refusing to define yourself by what you’ve lost, how far you’ve fallen, or what didn’t work out.

It’s trading the story of your failure for a sentence that starts with:
“What if this was the beginning?”

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Five Ways to Begin Again (Even If You Don’t Know How)

• Start Smaller Than You Think.
  Send one email. Go for one walk. Write one sentence. Call one person.

• Tell Someone You Trust.
  Don’t try to white-knuckle your way through it. Share your mess.

• Celebrate the Micro-Wins.
  Got out of bed? Didn’t snap at your kid? You’re on your way.

• Be Willing to Be Awkward.
  Every rebirth looks like fumbling at first. No one emerges smooth.

• Don’t Wait to Feel Ready.
  You won’t. Begin anyway.

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Easter reminds us—if we’re willing to listen—that something sacred lives inside of every ending. Not just for the religious. Not just for the Hallmark crowd. But for anyone who dares to believe that they are not finished yet.

So here’s to your next beginning.

However quiet.
However shaky.
However long overdue.

The stone is rolling. The tomb is cracking. And the life you almost gave up on?

It just might be waiting to begin again

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Matt DiGeronimo is a writer, thinker, and contrarian who simplifies the complex and challenges conventional wisdom.
Please message me for public speaking or collaboration opportunities.

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Check out Matt’s three most recent books on Amazon.