On Quitting
Superpowers are all the rage. In fact superlatives of all kinds are de rigueur; maybe a leftover from our unconstrained former president? Everything is now iconic, which shouldn’t be possible but somehow is.
I digress. Back to superpowers. One of mine is that I’m really good at quitting. By which I mean that when I’m ready to move on I am READY. No rearview mirror, no what if, no misty water colored memories.
This attitude is evenly spread over jobs, relationships, cars, cities, blogs, sports, hobbies, books and possibly everything else there is.
Once I’m done I can walk away with relative ease. Not that I can always disentangle myself the minute I feel the click; that can be a challenging process. But I can’t second-guess myself even if I want to, the smell has changed, the magic is gone, there’s no turning back.
The click. It’s hard to describe, because sometimes I only recognize it after it’s happened. Sometimes it feels as though a switch has been hit in my… brain? Soul? Heart? Somewhere deep and visceral. And suddenly I just don’t want to be there anymore, don’t want to do it anymore.
As a child I was always quitting things. My mother described this tendency as an inability to stick with anything I wasn’t immediately good at. To which I now say: And?
I’ve got a short attention span and a LOT of interests. There seems little utility in plugging away at a thing once the appeal has faded.
Someone is surely fretting about my flippancy, because it takes practice to get really good at anything and hobby-hopping will never lead to mastery. To that I say: don’t get your knickers in a twist. There are plenty of things I’ve done for years and am very good at. I just allow myself to let go when my interest has waned.
I mostly let my kids quit things, too. My baby is just like me, though she’s automatically good at just about everything she turns her hand to. No lack of mastery for her, but why play softball AGAIN when aerial dance beckons?
With my oldest it was another story. I made her join the track team despite her misgivings. It wasn’t lack of interest that was keeping her away, it was nerves. I’ve shied away from plenty of stuff I wish I hadn’t because of anxiety, which is a whole other ball of wax. I was determined that she’d at least give it a try.
And voilà! 1o years later she’s still coaching the team she loved being part of. (I love to use this example of being right, but the fact that it’s pretty much the only one I have.)
Here are some of the things I’ve encouraged my kids to quit:
Jobs. So many dead-end jobs! Kids are supposed to work boring, annoying jobs. It’s one of the things that turns them into compassionate adults who tip well. But when those jobs include sexual harassment, panic attacks, and unrelenting rudeness or encourage generalized anxiety it’s time to let them go.
College. My own father pushed me to finish when I wanted to quit, and honestly I’m not mad about it. But it was 1985 and I was having a terrific time! My kids have had vastly different and less pleasant experiences. Maybe they’ll finish, maybe they won’t. I’m not worried.
Friendships. Having let some of my own go on long past their expiration dates, I’m pushy about teaching my kids about boundaries. I’m striving to prove that you CAN learn from other people’s mistakes. (I mean, my kids have seen me make those mistakes, right? So it’s not such a giant leap.) Boundaries are the key to a happy life, and if you’re saddled with a friend who just won’t recognize them, then it’s time to let that person go.
Often they listen to me; sometimes they even take my advice! And while I wonder if I’m the only parent encouraging my kids to quit stuff (and also to take mushrooms), I feel like we’re all okay.
So this is my paean to quitting. Let yourself off the hook! Have a boss, apartment, book club or hairstyle you can’t stand? Let it go. There’s another one waiting in the wings.
Maybe we should start a Quitter’s Club! We’ll have monthly meetings, with donuts, until one by one we become bored and, well, quit. On second thought, let’s leave that one alone.