When I was in elementary school, a classmate of mine once returned to campus in September to announce that henceforth, she would be going by her middle name. Goodbye Megan, hello Jules. Her friends spent a week quizzing her about her choice and then moved on. It was a new school year, and everyone was starting over. Someone had a new haircut and pierced ears; someone got glasses; someone stopped playing soccer and joined the band; someone switched lunch tables. Big deal.

I’m jealous of my childhood self now when I remember that every fall we got to start over, as if our lives were getting a routine software upgrade. I cleaned out my book bag, tossed old notebooks, lined up fresh pencils, got my feet measured for new shoes and showed up to school ready to learn. I bemoaned the end of summer, but I also loved the sense of possibility a new grade held. Mystery and possibility don’t come calling for us so often in adulthood. When we get out of school, we lose that annual prompt for reinvention. I miss it.

Without that automatic opportunity to reintroduce ourselves to the world, we get a chance at a reboot only if we manufacture it. So I’ve decided I’m going to look at this fall as if I’m starting the next level in school. If I pick up where I left off, that would put me in (please hold while I count on my fingers …) 40th grade.

I’m starting 40th grade by changing how I allocate my time. First, I’m setting my alarm 12 minutes earlier, downloading the Calm app and adding guided meditation to my mornings. Before I start responding to various stimuli, I want to begin the day on my own terms, in peace. Second, I’ve cut back my hours at my day job, meaning I’ll be able to sit right down to my writing most days instead of opening work email. Will meditating for a few minutes help me take a more serene approach to life? Will I get more work done on my new schedule? Or with less regular income and more solitude, will I go broke and/or insane? In 40th grade, I’ll find out!