Going Monk: How To Reinvent Yourself By Disappearing

Sometimes, the best way forward is going off the grid.

Have you ever had to disappear?

We live in a world obsessed with visibility—likes, followers, constant output. But take a closer look at the people who truly make it, who come back transformed. There's always this fascinating moment in their story where they just... disappear. Not because they quit, but because they went all in.

They went into monk mode.

What Does Going Monk Look Like?

Kevin Hart

Kevin Hart's early career is a masterclass in persistence through humiliation.
At 22, he landed a sitcom and flew to New York for the network upfronts—the big stage where new shows are unveiled. Backstage, waiting his turn, he asked a PA, “When am I going on?”
The reply: “Actually, your show’s been canceled. You’re not going on. Please step back.”

Just like that, Hart was back to square one. He took a retail job to survive. Desperate for stage time, he started doing open mics in bowling alleys and dive bars around Philly. His agent dropped him. He even joked about considering stripping to pay rent.

He once described bombing in a bowling alley, his punchlines buried under crashing pins. When he complained, a fellow comic told him, “Anytime you get a mic in your hand, it’s a good thing.” Hart took that to heart.

This wasn't a retreat—it was boot camp—with nobody watching and no guarantee it would ever pay off. When he finally resurfaced in the mainstream years later, he wasn't just funnier—he was unstoppable. Hart's journey from nobody to superstar shows what happens when you put your head down and do the work, especially when there's no audience to cheer you on.

Taylor Sheridan

Before he became the screenwriting genius we know today, Taylor Sheridan was just another actor struggling to get decent roles. Fed up with playing bit parts, Sheridan made a bold move. With a wife and baby to support, he moved his family into a cramped 900-square-foot apartment on Sunset Boulevard. Talk about pressure.

But this wasn't desperation—it was determination. In that tiny space, he hammered out the scripts for Sicario, Hell or High Water, and Wind River. Sheridan's deliberate retreat from acting wasn't giving up—it was strategic reinvention with everything on the line.

Steve Martin

In his memoir, Born Standing Up, Steve Martin discusses how when he was beginning his career he found some early success doing routines like other stand-ups popular at the time (this was the 1960s). He found some early success but realized that if he was ever going to reach his full potential and make his mark as a truly original comedian he needed to completely start over. So he threw out his act, a solid twenty minutes that was working and which was earning him a living—and started over.

Martin kept experimenting, searching for something that felt authentic. Frustrated with the standard comedy formulas, he pulled back from the scene to completely reimagine his approach.

What emerged was something wildly different—absurdist humor that ditched conventional punchlines entirely. This weird, innovative style clicked with audiences and catapulted him to fame in the 70s. Martin's story reminds us that sometimes you need to step away to see clearly.

Steve Jobs

When Apple kicked Jobs out in 1985, it could have been game over. Instead, it became the setup for an epic comeback. During his exile, Jobs launched NeXT and transformed Pixar into an animation powerhouse. These ventures weren't just side hustles—they were laboratories where he refined his vision and leadership style.

His 1997 return to Apple triggered a renaissance that gave us the iMac, iPod, iPhone, and changed everything. Jobs's time away wasn't a timeout—it was the incubation period for his biggest ideas.

Winston Churchill

In the 1930s, Churchill found himself politically sidelined, his warnings about Nazi Germany falling on deaf ears. During this "wilderness" period, he doubled down on writing and painting while keeping a watchful eye on world events.

His persistence paid off when he became Prime Minister in 1940, leading Britain through the darkest days of WWII. Churchill's years in the shadows weren't wasted—they prepared him for the moment when history needed him most.

My Own Monk Mode Journey

I never planned on disappearing, but sometimes life makes the choice for you.

In 2020, I was a screenwriter with momentum. I'd developed a project called Beatrice Clover with John Ridley—yes, the Academy Award-winning writer-director. We had Disney and ABC attached. When that passed, I took it out again and sold it to Netflix and HBO. Things were looking up.

Then March 2020 happened.

Remember those disaster movie scenes where the spaceship's crashing and all the escape pod doors are closing? I was the guy who didn't make it through in time. Because my projects weren't in production when the pandemic hit, I was shut out completely. Hollywood went into a four-year tailspin—two years of pandemic, writers fighting their agents, industry-paralyzing strikes, economic upheaval, streamers consolidating. From 2020 to 2024, it was arguably the worst time to be in the entertainment industry in decades.

I had a choice: wait for the storm to pass or build something new.

I chose the latter. I disappeared from the pitching circuit, the meetings, the development calls. Instead, I went monk. For four years, I didn't pitch a single TV show. I used that enforced isolation to launch a completely different career—as an author.

I spent 2020 and 2021 writing my first two books, including "The Strange Crimes of Beatrice Clover"—reclaiming that same concept that Hollywood had loved but couldn't produce. Since then, I've written five books total. Oh, and I started pitching again this year and have two shows set up at studios with more to come.

The thing to remember is sometimes your monk mode is chosen for you and sometimes you choose it for yourself.

The question is, what do you do with it?

The Champion's Invisible Work

In sports, this principle is sacred. Kobe Bryant famously talked about the "Mamba Mentality" being built in empty gyms at 4 AM, not during prime-time games. The shots that won championships were perfected when the arena lights were off and nobody was watching. The highlight reels capture the glory, but they never show the thousands of hours of solitary practice that made those moments possible.

Floyd Mayweather, for all his flash and trash talk, lives by the same code. Behind the money-flashing persona is a monk-like discipline. "The work is done when no one is watching," he insists. His 50-0 record wasn't built under the bright lights of Vegas, but in grueling, private training sessions where he pushed himself beyond what any opponent could imagine.

The Warrior's Training Montage

It's no accident that our favorite movies feature this same pattern. The hero has to disappear to transform:

In "Kill Bill," The Bride (Uma Thurman) doesn't just pick up a sword and start slicing. She undergoes brutal training with Pai Mei, isolated from society, pushing through pain and failure until she masters the five-point-palm exploding heart technique.

Rocky Balboa in "Rocky IV" abandons modern training facilities for the harsh Russian wilderness. While his opponent uses high-tech equipment, Rocky chops wood, runs through snow, and lifts farm equipment. His isolation builds more than muscle—it builds resolve.

Nearly every Jean-Claude Van Damme movie follows this template. The hero retreats, suffers, transforms, and returns capable of impossible feats. These aren't just convenient plot devices—they reflect a truth we instinctively recognize: greatness requires temporary disappearance.

The Disappearing Act in Our Culture

This pattern isn't just in real life—it's woven into our most powerful myths and stories.

Batman doesn't just happen. Bruce Wayne has to leave Gotham for seven years, training in obscurity, pushing his mind and body to their limits. When he returns, he's not just a rich kid with anger issues—he's become something else entirely.

Superman retreats to his Fortress of Solitude when he needs to reconnect with his origins and purpose. It's essentially a recreation of his journey to Earth, where his father's teachings were imprinted on him. When the world becomes too noisy, he steps away to find clarity.

One of literature's greatest transformations follows this same pattern. In "The Count of Monte Cristo," Edmond Dantès doesn't just escape prison—he's reborn through it. His years in the dark cells of Château d'If become his monk mode. Under the tutelage of the imprisoned Abbé Faria, he transforms from an uneducated sailor into a man of profound learning and sophistication. When he emerges with the hidden treasure of Monte Cristo, he's not just wealthy—he's completely reinvented himself. The world thinks Edmond Dantès is dead, and in a way, they're right. The man who returns is someone else entirely.

The Power of Stillness

Even our most basic practices acknowledge this need to step out of life temporarily:

• In meditation practices like Transcendental Meditation, you're literally checking out of reality once or twice daily. That's the whole point—to step outside the stream of life briefly so you can return with greater presence.

• Religious traditions have built this into their core: The Sabbath in every religion creates a sacred pause, a day where you intentionally disconnect from the world to reconnect with what matters.

These stories all point to something crucial: stepping back from the noise to focus deeply can spark massive breakthroughs. Ryan Holiday nails this in his book Stillness Is the Key, where he talks about how slowing down creates space for clarity. As he puts it, "Stillness is that quiet moment when inspiration hits you. It's that ability to step back and reflect."

Embracing Your Own Monk Mode

Feeling stuck or overwhelmed? Maybe it's time to step back. Use that space to think, learn, and grow. The path to mastery isn't always about charging forward—sometimes it's about the quiet preparation that nobody sees. Going monk isn't retreating; it's reloading for a stronger comeback.

So I'll ask again: Have you ever had to disappear? Maybe the better question is: When will you give yourself permission to?

Further Reading and Viewing

• Kevin Hart’s Journey to Comedy Success – 60 Minutes

• Taylor Sheridan’s Screenwriting Wisdom – ScreenCraft

• Steve Martin’s Memoir: Born Standing Up

• Steve Jobs’ Return to Apple – Wikipedia

• Stillness Is the Key by Ryan Holiday – Daily Stoic

• Winston Churchill's Wilderness Years – Wikipedia. Here is a link to “The Gathering Storm” a movie HBO made that is an excellent look at Churchill in the years he was out of power: here