Knowing When to Quit: How Quitters Never Win (Except for Sometimes)
I’m really not much of a quitter.
In fact, when I talk about my decision to leave the classroom, I like to say that I retired from teaching. I feel like it has softer, sweeter connotations for the life I left behind. But I’ve also never turned in a two-week notice without tears in my eyes¹—most definitely for fear of letting that supervisor down.
Anyways, when I do find myself at a crossroads between committing to the bit or knowing when to quit, I’m deeply uncomfortable with the prospects of the latter.
I like the feeling that comes with doing whatever the old me had set out to do, even if it means barely making it across whatever finish line she committed us to. There are merits to this kind of weird, intrinsic loyalty I feel toward the plans I make and the oaths I’ve sworn to myself. But I’m never really that far from running her into the ground in order to complete whatever inane end I’ve set out to achieve—whatever ship I’ve apparently felt obligated to go down with.
I feel like my parents really instilled this into me. There was no talk about transferring schools or quitting the team (“We paid good money for you to [insert activity here],” which is honestly so real), or not being friends with my bestie anymore. I was urged to make it work! And I do think it made me more resilient than I would’ve been otherwise.
I know how to be a villager because I’ve been part of some great villages. However, thinking about sunk-cost fallacies has probably kept me in a lot more metaphorical ball games than it should have. But these are just the life lessons we have to learn at some point, right?
I’ve shown up to all sorts of hangs feeling raggedy and out of spoons because there was a more optimistic version of me out there who already RSVPed in the affirmative. I lose my mind the night before my blogs are supposed to come out because I can’t stand the idea of missing an arbitrary deadline I set for myself.² I’m truly my own meanest and least compassionate boss.
But I’m learning that sometimes we have to drop the ball on certain things and retract the good intentions we set when our outlooks were sunnier and our obligations fewer. Plus, now that I’m 31, I can no longer afford to pull an all-nighter without experiencing life-altering, devastating ramifications that I cannot recover from for days at a time. (I’m only just now learning to listen to my body—oops.)
But here are a few things I’ve discovered about knowing when to quit—and how I’m learning to be okay with it.
Sometimes, the path you set out on isn’t the same one you end on.
And that’s on discernment. And nuance. And allowing ourselves space to breathe and room to grow. The dreams we had when we were younger (and dare I say dumber?) will inevitably change as we gain new insight into ourselves and our capacities in whatever new season we’re in.
I can definitely see the fruit that comes from taking it all one day at a time—even though I hate it with every part of my being. But life everlasting awaits us on the other side of our humility and flexibility and the understanding that we’re not in control of it all. And there’s usually always a way to reroute and recalibrate with grace.
You can, in fact, still be a good friend without being everything, everywhere, all at once.
My bestie Shelby affirmed this in me earlier this week on a catch-up call. Because this is an insecurity I feel deep in my bones. I want to be an immediate yes in all things. And if I could get my hands on Hermione’s Time-Turner, it would literally only be for the sake of assuaging my Enneagram 7 fear of missing out. Or to never have to sleep again so that I could be the productive queen of my own dreams.
I so deeply want to be seen as reliable and available and down to clown at all times. But I cannot feasibly do it all. So, I’m learning to make it count when I’m fortunate enough to be counted in attendance.
The mere act of quitting is different from being a quitter.
If you have a track record of showing up and sticking things out when you can, then there’s grace for you on those occasions when you can’t.
This was precisely the gist of the “goodwill clause” in the syllabus that my professor pointed out to me one morning when she found me camped out by her office door because I couldn’t find the paper I’d stayed up working on the night before. She believed me, and she didn’t dock any points for lateness. (Did I still end up with a C on that paper anyway? Yeah. 🫠 But that’s not the point here.)
Be there when you’re there. But give context for the times when your reality can’t match the expectations you had for yourself. None of this means that we shouldn’t have boundaries. Or that we should have so many set in place that we’re keeping our fellow villagers at a distance. It’s not that black and white because most things aren’t.
It’s just that we can’t be quitters. We’ll never know what path we’re supposed to be on—or what it might lead us to—if we don’t at least try. We’ll never know what we’re capable of if we never commit to anything long enough to find out.
Wisdom is doing the best we can with the knowledge we have available—and embracing the grace we’re extended when we don’t get it right.
Quitters never win, but winners for sure know when to stop, take a beat, and sit still long enough to figure out what comes next. Maybe quitting isn’t always the same as giving up.
¹ Pastor David, I really am still so sorry I quit the day before you left on sabbatical. Evil behavior lowkey!!!
² Am I scheduling this out at 3:44 a.m.? Literally DO NOT ask me that.
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