When the market changes, so does the question underneath it. Reinvention isn't becoming someone else. It's deciding what is fundamentally yours, and rebuilding around it.

Nobody announces it. A piece of work suddenly takes half as long. A role stops carrying the same weight. A customer asks for something you've never sold. It feels personal because work is personal. So the question is not only commercial. It is also: what am I for now?
A strategist thinks their value is the deck. A founder thinks it's answering every question. A craft business thinks it lives in its routines. The real value is usually judgment, taste, trust, a way of seeing. Preserve everything and you defend who you were. Discard everything and you call the rupture progress. The work is separating what endures from the form that once held it.
Which assumptions no longer hold?
Which convictions, capabilities and relationships still matter?
What expressed the value without being it?
What are you keeping only because it's familiar?
Think big, start small. What experiment lets the next version begin today?
The next version shouldn't be exactly like the old one. But it should still belong to you.