The Almost-Quitter
This year, I realized that I am a serial almost-quitter. A totally SAQ.
Here's what I do: I hate change. So I begin something, decide I hate it immediately, and think of all the ways I can get out of it. I talk about little things that seem completely unreasonable or unfair to people, as if dropping hints so that when I do finally quit, I can point to these things and say, "See? Even from the beginning, there were issues." Then, I think about how I shouldn't care about what I'm doing or planning to do and just try to make it through the actual hours I'm already signed on for, because there's really no point in caring about something I won't be around for.
I first almost-quit college. I went to Boston in August and I was there early for this program for community service, and it was horrible. My group members were all complete nutcases, to the point that we actually stopped our community service and had group therapy type sessions for it. I was pretty much feeling horrible that I had never experienced anything as horrible as these people, so I had nothing to contribute to the therapy sessions. I left every day feeling guilty and depressed about life. And, since I hadn't set up my internet yet, and there was no cable at school at the time, I went home every night too late to go to the group outings (therapy sessions were more important!) and watched "Jerry Maguire" to make myself feel better. Anyway, since going to college is such a big deal in my family, I don't think I ever really considered the option of quitting, but my point is, I felt like it. I remember being so lonely that first week that I actually thought about my crazy aunt and felt bad for her always being lonely. I know it's a low point when I can commiserate or empathize with my nutso aunt. Luckily, that lasted a week, until the program ended and normal people (like my roommate and floor friends) showed up.
Then, when I went to London, I almost left there because it was horrible and scary. I remember calling up my parents and telling them the little things - "The house is disgusting," "The girls are all mean because six of us just crashed their apartment," "They don't help us with anything," - I mean, I was coming up with anything - just to set in motion the whole, "See? It was a mess from the beginning," shebang. One afternoon though, when I had really considered going home - I mean, I went through the motions of going and asking about refunds, etc. - my new friend, Radhai, and I were walking around the city. She wanted to get a metro pass, and she was asking me what type we should get. I was basically going on and on about how I wasn't sure because it didn't make any sense to get one if I wasn't going to stay and I didn't think I was going to stay and finally, Radhai turned to me and said, "Well, fine, if you're not going to stay, fine, but I am and I need get a pass." So I went with her and bought a pass. I sometimes think that if it weren't for Radhai, I would have packed up my stuff and left. And I'm really glad I stayed - not just because we became good friends and I had a decent time (I never truly loved it, I'll tell you that) - but because the experience of making it even though a lot of things kinda sucked is something that I think really had an impact on me. I'm 100% serious. When I got off that plane in London, I was scared shitless. There I was, across the freakin ocean from anyone I knew, and I was told to find my way to this program and to make it there for six weeks. And, well, I did it. And most important in my lesson-learning, perhaps, was that when I got off the plane in Boston six weeks later, I'd never been so glad to be home.
A year later, I had another almost-quitting experience. I almost-quit work at the ballpark. I'm serious. Nobody believes me now, because everyone knows how much I absolutely love my job and my time there, but it's true. I even had to convince my boss that I had almost quit on him, and that he'd been the one to stop me. Basically, I worked my ass off trying to get in touch with him to secure my job. Once I did and I showed up for work, my first day went horribly. They put me out there to sink or swim with this crazy guy leading me around. After being there for a few seasons, I realized how much of a mistake that was. When I reminded them who they put me with, even my bosses were like, "What the hell were we thinking?" I have no idea. I left mid-way through the game because the guy who runs the employee room told me I was probably done. Again, knowing what I know now, I know that this guy is the kindest, most well-meaning man you'll meet, but he doesn't have a freaking clue. On my way out, I bought a shirt to commemorate the one day I worked there (I actually justified my purchase and termed it was such) and I didn't even know to use my employee discount. I went home and told everyone that I thought I was going to quit because of the time commitment. A few people thought I was nuts because I loved the team and this seemed like my dream job, but I was adamant. I went in the next day to talk to my boss.
Now, my boss is probably the busiest guy you'll meet. I mean, he's always running from place to place and if you can get his undivided attention for even five minutes, you're doing okay. So I walked in and I told him I didn't think I could work as many games as he wanted, blah blah blah, telling him I was going to quit because I didn't think I could make the commitment he wanted me to make for the number of games. I've said this to him and to others before, and it's so true: he didn't know me then. He had no idea whether I was decent at my job or a total failure. He'd spent about five (God, if he reads this ever, I should say about thirty. But in reality, probably close to 20) minutes interviewing me and that was it. He could have easily said, "Okay, see ya," and been totally justified. But he didn't. He asked me, "Well, what can you do?" He added, "A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush," which is an expression he still uses that makes me laugh but also always makes me think of that moment. And it's funny, because as much time and work I've given them, I think that in that second, he really might have changed my stupid life. I don't mean that in that ridiculous way, but I just mean really concretely: that's the best job I've had and I absolutely love the people I've met there, and because he took an extra second to listen and to care about whether I worked for him, well, it kept me there. Because I'll tell you, as an almost-quitter, I really almost did. And when I think about my life now, I can't imagine it without that job or those people, and I can't believe how easy it would have been for me to just give up. Pretty amazing. I try to keep that example in my mind whenever I think about quitting anything or whenever I talk to anybody about them almost quitting: I try to give myself and give them an extra chance not to quit, just to see if I or they'll stay. Most of the time, I (and they) do. I ought to send the guy a freakin thank you note.
This brings me to my final almost-quit story. I almost-quit my job this year. I really did. Actually, I almost had it done for me, because at first, they weren't sure if they could keep me on for the full year because of enrollment. I'll tell you, for the first month, I secretly wished that they did. Everything was so hard and overwhelming and I really thought about the different ways I could get rid of my job. And then, they never cut me. And because I really had nothing better to do, I kept going to work. (And, well, because I actually do have a sense of responsibility and commitment.) But here's the thing. Some time between September 6th and December 1st, I stopped wishing that or thinking of ways to quit or be done. I can't tell you how challenging it is to teach 65 sixth graders every day - to maintain a level of patience, humor, competence, expectations, and sanity - and I can't tell you how much of your time and energy and life they consume (I really don't want to think about it), but I also can't tell you how important they are to you. I couldn't know that back in September, when I was almost-quitting. But I can know that now.
Anyway, I didn't mean for this to be a sappy entry or anything like that. It's just that I was thinking about what I do in my life today and I realized that I'm a serial almost-quitter. I quit almost everything in the beginning, and if it weren't for those people I mentioned (and I'm sure there are others), I'd probably have quit altogether. They're really lifesavers. Or life changers, anyway, because I'm pretty sure it's because of them that the "almost" is even there.
Here's what I do: I hate change. So I begin something, decide I hate it immediately, and think of all the ways I can get out of it. I talk about little things that seem completely unreasonable or unfair to people, as if dropping hints so that when I do finally quit, I can point to these things and say, "See? Even from the beginning, there were issues." Then, I think about how I shouldn't care about what I'm doing or planning to do and just try to make it through the actual hours I'm already signed on for, because there's really no point in caring about something I won't be around for.
I first almost-quit college. I went to Boston in August and I was there early for this program for community service, and it was horrible. My group members were all complete nutcases, to the point that we actually stopped our community service and had group therapy type sessions for it. I was pretty much feeling horrible that I had never experienced anything as horrible as these people, so I had nothing to contribute to the therapy sessions. I left every day feeling guilty and depressed about life. And, since I hadn't set up my internet yet, and there was no cable at school at the time, I went home every night too late to go to the group outings (therapy sessions were more important!) and watched "Jerry Maguire" to make myself feel better. Anyway, since going to college is such a big deal in my family, I don't think I ever really considered the option of quitting, but my point is, I felt like it. I remember being so lonely that first week that I actually thought about my crazy aunt and felt bad for her always being lonely. I know it's a low point when I can commiserate or empathize with my nutso aunt. Luckily, that lasted a week, until the program ended and normal people (like my roommate and floor friends) showed up.
Then, when I went to London, I almost left there because it was horrible and scary. I remember calling up my parents and telling them the little things - "The house is disgusting," "The girls are all mean because six of us just crashed their apartment," "They don't help us with anything," - I mean, I was coming up with anything - just to set in motion the whole, "See? It was a mess from the beginning," shebang. One afternoon though, when I had really considered going home - I mean, I went through the motions of going and asking about refunds, etc. - my new friend, Radhai, and I were walking around the city. She wanted to get a metro pass, and she was asking me what type we should get. I was basically going on and on about how I wasn't sure because it didn't make any sense to get one if I wasn't going to stay and I didn't think I was going to stay and finally, Radhai turned to me and said, "Well, fine, if you're not going to stay, fine, but I am and I need get a pass." So I went with her and bought a pass. I sometimes think that if it weren't for Radhai, I would have packed up my stuff and left. And I'm really glad I stayed - not just because we became good friends and I had a decent time (I never truly loved it, I'll tell you that) - but because the experience of making it even though a lot of things kinda sucked is something that I think really had an impact on me. I'm 100% serious. When I got off that plane in London, I was scared shitless. There I was, across the freakin ocean from anyone I knew, and I was told to find my way to this program and to make it there for six weeks. And, well, I did it. And most important in my lesson-learning, perhaps, was that when I got off the plane in Boston six weeks later, I'd never been so glad to be home.
A year later, I had another almost-quitting experience. I almost-quit work at the ballpark. I'm serious. Nobody believes me now, because everyone knows how much I absolutely love my job and my time there, but it's true. I even had to convince my boss that I had almost quit on him, and that he'd been the one to stop me. Basically, I worked my ass off trying to get in touch with him to secure my job. Once I did and I showed up for work, my first day went horribly. They put me out there to sink or swim with this crazy guy leading me around. After being there for a few seasons, I realized how much of a mistake that was. When I reminded them who they put me with, even my bosses were like, "What the hell were we thinking?" I have no idea. I left mid-way through the game because the guy who runs the employee room told me I was probably done. Again, knowing what I know now, I know that this guy is the kindest, most well-meaning man you'll meet, but he doesn't have a freaking clue. On my way out, I bought a shirt to commemorate the one day I worked there (I actually justified my purchase and termed it was such) and I didn't even know to use my employee discount. I went home and told everyone that I thought I was going to quit because of the time commitment. A few people thought I was nuts because I loved the team and this seemed like my dream job, but I was adamant. I went in the next day to talk to my boss.
Now, my boss is probably the busiest guy you'll meet. I mean, he's always running from place to place and if you can get his undivided attention for even five minutes, you're doing okay. So I walked in and I told him I didn't think I could work as many games as he wanted, blah blah blah, telling him I was going to quit because I didn't think I could make the commitment he wanted me to make for the number of games. I've said this to him and to others before, and it's so true: he didn't know me then. He had no idea whether I was decent at my job or a total failure. He'd spent about five (God, if he reads this ever, I should say about thirty. But in reality, probably close to 20) minutes interviewing me and that was it. He could have easily said, "Okay, see ya," and been totally justified. But he didn't. He asked me, "Well, what can you do?" He added, "A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush," which is an expression he still uses that makes me laugh but also always makes me think of that moment. And it's funny, because as much time and work I've given them, I think that in that second, he really might have changed my stupid life. I don't mean that in that ridiculous way, but I just mean really concretely: that's the best job I've had and I absolutely love the people I've met there, and because he took an extra second to listen and to care about whether I worked for him, well, it kept me there. Because I'll tell you, as an almost-quitter, I really almost did. And when I think about my life now, I can't imagine it without that job or those people, and I can't believe how easy it would have been for me to just give up. Pretty amazing. I try to keep that example in my mind whenever I think about quitting anything or whenever I talk to anybody about them almost quitting: I try to give myself and give them an extra chance not to quit, just to see if I or they'll stay. Most of the time, I (and they) do. I ought to send the guy a freakin thank you note.
This brings me to my final almost-quit story. I almost-quit my job this year. I really did. Actually, I almost had it done for me, because at first, they weren't sure if they could keep me on for the full year because of enrollment. I'll tell you, for the first month, I secretly wished that they did. Everything was so hard and overwhelming and I really thought about the different ways I could get rid of my job. And then, they never cut me. And because I really had nothing better to do, I kept going to work. (And, well, because I actually do have a sense of responsibility and commitment.) But here's the thing. Some time between September 6th and December 1st, I stopped wishing that or thinking of ways to quit or be done. I can't tell you how challenging it is to teach 65 sixth graders every day - to maintain a level of patience, humor, competence, expectations, and sanity - and I can't tell you how much of your time and energy and life they consume (I really don't want to think about it), but I also can't tell you how important they are to you. I couldn't know that back in September, when I was almost-quitting. But I can know that now.
Anyway, I didn't mean for this to be a sappy entry or anything like that. It's just that I was thinking about what I do in my life today and I realized that I'm a serial almost-quitter. I quit almost everything in the beginning, and if it weren't for those people I mentioned (and I'm sure there are others), I'd probably have quit altogether. They're really lifesavers. Or life changers, anyway, because I'm pretty sure it's because of them that the "almost" is even there.
<< Home