I'm 33 and Starting Completely Over. Again.
On leaving a decade behind, moving somewhere you know no one, and trusting yourself when nothing's certain
Since I last wrote here, back on March 1st, a lot has happened that I didn’t get the chance to share. So let me give you the fast-track version, lessons included.
Before anything else, I have to lead with this. Earlier this year I had a major health scare with my liver, an unexpected diagnosis that found me while I was traveling in Japan in January. I’m fully recovered, and my health is back to normal now. I feel healthier than ever, and I’m so grateful for it.
Okay. Now onto the rest.
It’s official. I’ve landed in the Bay and moved out of my Arizona home. What’s wild is going from a 1,500-square-foot home to whatever fit in my car. I got rid of almost everything I owned, kept what mattered, and drove to California with my cat Adhira in the back seat and everything else in the back.
My Arizona home is a different story. It will be on the market soon, so I remain tied on paper to a life I’ve already left.
The Months I Didn’t Post About
In March, I sold and donated almost all of my possessions. One by one, I let go of furniture and years of belongings I’d convinced myself were essential.
I realized my sense of stability had gotten tangled up in those possessions and one familiar location. Staying in Arizona out of comfort was costing more than leaving ever could.
Then came the job search. The not-so-glamorous part. Translating years of building my own business into language a hiring manager could understand.
If you’re new here, let me catch you up. I closed my business at the end of 2025 after running it since 2019, and said goodbye to that chapter for now.
The real pull underneath it was toward building something in tech, so the only move was to reorient my whole life around it and move to Silicon Valley.
My own business had become the bottleneck.
I’ve been applying for bridge roles ever since, hoping one lands soon enough to help me regain some energy and financial stability before I build the next thing. Applications mostly go into silence, followed by submitting more applications. Condensing ten years of a self-made career into three bullet points a stranger skims in 6 seconds is exhausting.
I turned 33 in the middle of all of it, sitting with how many times I’ve picked myself back up and started over. Way too many times…
We’re the first generation with a sneaky little expectation to document every shift in real time, and only a smaller percentage like myself that decide to share it publicly, like this Substack. That pressure is why this newsletter took months longer to write than it should have. I didn’t want to write from raw emotion. I needed time to process everything first.
The Last Night in Arizona
If you’ve ever moved somewhere new hoping not to feel like an outsider, you probably already know that’s rarely how it goes. Most days feel like standing in a doorway to a room you’re not fully sure you should step into.
A space empties out so much faster than a person does. I felt that the night before I left, sitting on the floor of my old living room. No furniture left, just footsteps echoing off walls that used to hold every sound of my life.
Beautiful memories happened inside those walls, and some painful ones too. I’d had exes move in and move out. That house saw me through all of it. I thought I’d feel free walking out for the last time, but mostly I just felt like a stranger in a space I’d lived in for over a decade.
I hosted myself a farewell gathering that turned into one of the most memorable nights, joyful and bittersweet at once. I shared laughter with friends I’ve known over a decade and people I’d met only weeks earlier. Two friends offered to host a tea ceremony and a sound healing, turning a simple farewell into something unexpectedly soulful.
Sadness and excitement sat in that room together, a reminder that holding both at once is just part of being human.
10+ Hours to the Bay
The drive to the Bay wore me out. Hours on the highway, my cat snoozing in the back like none of it fazed him. Right before I left, my friend Annika suggested a bingeable podcast called Love Trapped (former bachelor stars casual one-night fling turned into paternity nightmare). I don’t watch reality television or keep up with the latest trends, like the Bachelor, but that’s what good friends are for (thanks Annika)! I put it on, and it made the hours fly by.
Around hour 6, I pulled over at a gas station and just sat there. Engine off, an episode paused mid-cliffhanger, watching strangers come and go.
I couldn’t believe I’d actually done it.
We rarely sit in the in-between moments, always rushing to the next thing. I wanted this part to count too, the dinners and day trips with girlfriends, the whole messy middle of it.
New Zip Code, Same Questions
I stopped needing people to understand my why.
The most common reaction when I told people I was moving to the Bay Area was a confused face followed by “that’s expensive,” about 90% of the time. Yes, I’m aware. I explained myself constantly at first, to family, to group chats, to people who found out through the grapevine before I told them myself. But I was surprised by how many people supported this move and believed in me. It’s wild.
The more I shared the conviction underneath it, the less explaining I felt like I owed anyone. From now on, anyone I meet just knows me as the new girl in the Bay. No big deal, zero backstory, a genuinely fresh start.
I want to be clear this wasn’t a runaway situation. Quite the opposite. I had a whole life in Scottsdale: a yoga studio that felt like a second family, chosen-family friendships, a community I leaned on. I felt like I belonged there. I’d also felt stagnant for a few years.
My soul signed up for constant evolution, always nudging me out of my comfort zone, and it’s made me agile and resilient. The unknown is terrifying and exhilarating at once, and it’s become a place I call home, since home was never really a physical place to me. It can be built anywhere, and my soul clearly has more to grow into.
The Real Reason I’m Here
Out here, I’ve noticed nobody necessarily cares what you do for work, because a lot of people have their eggs in so many baskets. Conversations run more expansive and worldly than that, and talk of making real, lasting change comes up constantly.
I might not have a traditional resume, but I have a strong sense of direction and a real belief I’ll help transform how we engage with technology into a tool for connection. Some days I stand firmly behind that mission. Other days I’m wrestling with self-doubt, wondering if I built a nice story to cope with unemployment. Proud one moment, anxious the next.
You might be wondering why I’m job searching if I moved here to build a startup. Great question. California is expensive, and if I’m not financially set up to succeed, I can’t build anything with the heart this needs. I also need a network, getting acquainted with the startup and tech worlds here, since Silicon Valley is nothing like what I know. I’ve done the scrappy bootstrap thing before, and it isn’t right for this one.
The gap I want to solve for is emotional and social connection, about as fundamental a human need as it gets. We’re becoming less socially connected by the year, trust is near historic lows, and those two things sit behind some of our most pressing problems.
The Kybalion and the older Hermetic texts talk about the Principle of Correspondence: “as above so below, as within so without,” the world mirroring what’s happening inside us.
A world losing trust in each other reflects all of us losing trust in ourselves. That’s the gap I want to help close, giving people a way to understand their inner world so they can reshape their outer one.
I believe in humanity, and that we can change our reality together, starting from within. We’re wired for connection and need each other to survive, so why not build for more emotional resilience? I believe each of us carries a divine spark, part of something larger than ourselves, and I’m treating that same Hermetic principle as a guide toward self-realization. I think magic is real, and we get to help create the reality we truly desire.
Listen to this podcast about shedding your old self to grow into who you’re becoming, discussing accepting the unknown and being seen in uncertainty.
Listen to Episode: Rebel Rise with Vanessa Kavulish
The Rebirth Process: Fear, Identity, and Creating Global Impact with Joni Cesario
What’s Actually Grounding Me
I’ve started small rituals. Walks through this quiet, green neighborhood have become a highlight of my day. There’s a local farmers market, maybe the most generous one I’ve been to, fresh and affordable enough that I’ll be a weekly regular. I’m also finding new workout studios, vibey restaurants, and cute coffee shops.
Meditation stopped being a wellness trend a while back and became an actual lifeline, especially on mornings when anxiety sneaks in before my eyes are even open. Routine has become an anchor, giving me purpose instead of the drifting feeling that used to follow me around.
If you’re experiencing a life transition right now, like starting a new job, ending a relationship that no longer serves you, or pursuing a dream that’s still out of reach, it’s okay to not have everything figured out. Honestly, I don’t! I only know what my next step is. I can’t promise things will improve by a certain date, but remember, this isn’t wasted time. It’s a vital part of your journey.
Embrace these moments that don’t look picture-perfect. There’s power in being honest about what you’re going through, and I am there with you in this journey. We’re meant to do life together, highs and lows included.
This is a biweekly newsletter, and it’s officially back to its normal posting rhythm.
Until next time,
🖤 Joni @ The Rebirth Files
Want to connect? Send me a message on Instagram.
P.S. If this resonates, forward it to someone who needs to read this.