The prefix re- means “again,” “back,” or “new or different and typically in a more positive way,” according to Merriam-Webster and Oxford. Our everyday language is filled with words that carry these meanings: replay, reheat, return, reverse, recall, reflect, retract, recoil, resplendent… and words that imply improvement—rewrite, retype, redo, remake, reopen, renew, reform, replace, rehab, renovate, reconstruct, repair, restore, rejuvenate, regenerate, resurrect, redeem, recalibrate, rebrand, remix.
That’s a long list—and it could be much longer. But it reminds me that imperfect people are given the gift of becoming again. Of starting over. Of becoming better.
I recognize that my life has had its flaws, just as my first book has. And because of that, I have the opportunity to rebrand—not only myself, but my book—and to remix the soundtrack that accompanied it.
I never intended for the music connected to my books to become a pathway to concerts or fame. I love music. I love producing. I love writing. I do not love performing. But when 7th- and 8th-grade students tell me how much they enjoy my songs—when they ask me to sing them in class (I never do)—especially “Quench My Thirst,” I realize the music may be serving its purpose. It’s getting their attention. It’s helping the book’s themes reach their eyes and ears.
On the final school day of February, I rewarded one of my classes with a party for their consistent good behavior throughout the year. They’ve earned “Class of the Month” four times so far. The first time, I gave each of them a piece of candy. The second time, a bag of chips. The third time, a donut. The fourth time, a full class period with no work—games, snacks, and a sneak peek of the new lyric video for the remixed “Quench My Thirst.”
When the video ended, they applauded—loudly and genuinely.
I wasn’t expecting that.
Now they’re asking what’s coming next. And the students who weren’t part of the class party are asking to see the video, too.
There’s a sense of anticipation building.
Rebranding my first book is a strategy I learned while researching how to release a sequel effectively—giving readers and potential readers a fresh take on an existing story while building anticipation for the new one. But it’s become more than a marketing tactic. It’s become personal.
Sometimes in life, we have to rebrand ourselves.
We have to revisit old chapters, not to relive them, but to rewrite them. We have to reassess our missteps—not to rehearse shame, but to walk forward in forgiveness. We have to regain excitement for what we’re building so we can move toward the future with renewed anticipation.
The beauty of re- is that it assumes continuation. It assumes there is more.
And March reminds us of that. After months of cold, when the ground appears frozen and lifeless, something unseen has still been at work. Then the warmth of spring returns, and flowers re-emerge and blossom—not because winter failed, but because it finished its purpose, which allows nature to continue.
And as long as there is more, there is always the chance to begin again—stronger, wiser, and more intentional than before.