Begin Again: Learning to Hear a Clearer Song
Created at: September 20, 2025
Begin again, not because you failed, but because you learned a clearer song. — Haruki Murakami
Reframing the Restart
At its heart, the line reframes restarting as refinement rather than retreat. To begin again is not to erase what came before, but to carry forward the notes that finally ring true. The “clearer song” evokes a musician who returns to a motif having learned which tones resonate and which merely clatter, transforming repetition into evolution. This shift in perspective also dignifies the messy middle. Instead of treating detours as evidence of inadequacy, it recognizes them as the practice that sharpens hearing. In this way, starting over becomes an act of stewardship: we preserve the luminous core, discard the static, and re-enter with better pitch.
Murakami’s Practice: Jazz, Running, Rewriting
In Murakami’s own life, music and endurance inform the craft of beginning again. Before publishing novels, he ran a Tokyo jazz club—Peter Cat—where improvisation demanded listening for the moment when a riff resolves (see Murakami’s essayistic reflections in Novelist as a Vocation, 2022). He has also described the night at Jingu Stadium in 1978 when, after a crack of the bat and a clean double by Dave Hilton, he felt he could write a novel—an inflection point retold in What I Talk About When I Talk About Running (2007). Running then became his daily metronome. Miles on the road echoed pages at the desk: the body learns cadence; the mind learns patience. Through drafts and distances, he suggests that clarity accrues not in a single flash but through sustained, rhythmic return.
Revision as Tuning the Instrument
Extending the metaphor, revision resembles tuning—each pass tightens the string toward true pitch. Murakami has spoken of multiple drafts that strip away haze until the prose hums (Novelist as a Vocation, 2022). Writers across traditions echo this method: Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird (1994) argues for imperfect first drafts that invite discovery; Stephen King’s On Writing (2000) advises cutting to reveal the living pulse of the story. Like a sound engineer mixing tracks, the reviser rides the faders—voice up, reverb down—until the signal pierces the noise. Failure is not the point; feedback is. The clearer song emerges when we keep only what vibrates in the chest.
How Learning Sharpens the Melody
Cognitively, beginning again mirrors how we learn. Growth-mindset research shows that interpreting setbacks as information sustains motivation and improves performance (Carol Dweck, Mindset, 2006). Likewise, Robert and Elizabeth Bjork’s work on “desirable difficulties” suggests that spacing, interleaving, and retrieval practice make memory more durable, even if they feel harder in the moment (Bjork & Bjork, 2011). In effect, the brain is a careful listener, updating its internal model with each rehearsal—Bayesian in spirit, it reduces uncertainty by reweighting evidence. Thus, the next attempt is not a reset but a remix, informed by the frequencies we now know to emphasize.
Design Thinking and Continuous Improvement
Beyond the studio, design thinking formalizes this ethos: prototype, test, learn, and iterate until the product’s “song” matches users’ ears (Tim Brown, Change by Design, 2009). Toyota’s kaizen philosophy likewise treats each pass through the line as a chance to remove friction and heighten quality (Jeffrey Liker, The Toyota Way, 2004). Seen this way, iteration is ethical as well as efficient—each loop reduces waste, clarifies value, and respects the people affected by our work. The clearer song is not louder; it is more honest about what truly serves.
Practical Ways to Begin Again
Consequently, a gracious restart follows a simple arc: pause to listen, identify the motif worth keeping, and re-enter with smaller, sharper moves. A brief after-action review—What surprised me? What worked? What will I change?—distills learning while it’s warm. Then, set a modest next experiment: one scene, one prototype, one conversation. Treat the process like soundcheck. Name your parameters (tempo, tone, timebox), invite a quick audience (a trusted reader or user), and adjust based on what lands. Finally, protect rest; silence is part of music. When you return, your ear will be fresher, and the song—clearer still.