4 Ways Quitting Might Be Braver Than You Think

quitting is brave

German poet Goethe said beginnings were burning invitations, and not to tarry. He urged, “Whatever you can do, or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power and magic in it.”

And like that, a million fridge magnets were born.

Don’t get me wrong, I love beginnings. I love how every April there are little yellow blossoms sewn on the forsythias outside my front window. I love how a New Year’s snow stretches out like a clean canvas and come September, I admit: I channel Tom Hanks in You’ve Got Mail and want to buy a bouquet of freshly-sharpened pencils.

But as romantic as starts are, I’ve learned firsthand, the hard way, that there’s also magic in a well-timed quit.

I have my dad to thank for this; he died my first week of college, freshman year. Thanks to his funeral and the grief that swarmed thick later, I literally drove down to school, unpacked and plugged in my mini-fridge, and then: I undid all those things. I un-enrolled, stripped down my mattress and hugged my roommates a sheepish goodbye.

On the drive back home, car stuffed to the gills, I remember asking my mom the same question at least a million different ways: Does stopping make me the world’s weakest woman?

She said no; quitting was brave. Stopping was smart.

To be honest, it didn’t feel that way; it felt soppy, and limp. Indulgent. It felt so much more like forfeiting, like I was folding in, and that’s why I never expected to find so much wisdom waiting in it.

But oh, I did.

If you too, are close to waving a white flag, take heart. Here are four truths you might uncover in the midst of giving up:

1. Quitting reminds us: We’re so much more than what we do.

The college machine, of course, runs on the whole “becoming” paradigm, which makes sense. Universities are in the business of minting a new version of you. But skipping out on my first freshman semester taught me something bigger: My identity needn’t be so tangled up in what I did or didn’t do. Me –  the real me – lived down so much deeper; she was entirely separate from my major, my transcript, even my someday career.

2. Quitting shows us that (SPOILER!) the world can indeed function without us. 

It’s awfully humbling to sit on the sidelines and watch the world swim along without you. But it’s freeing, too, getting a good taste of your smallness – and maybe this actually even helps you later when it’s time to take a sick day, or the full maternity leave, or heavens, just a nap. No need to feel guilty about the breaks either; you’ve seen that the universe won’t slip out of orbit.

Me –  the real me – lived down so much deeper; she was entirely separate from my major, my transcript, even my someday career. 

3. Quitting teaches us that choices are temporary, that broken things can be glued back together, and that there is time to pivot.

I don’t know about you, but I’ve too often swallowed the lie that if I stop to shift gears – if I step off this particular train, or that golden pathway – I will lose precious momentum. The truth is, watching yourself slip out from and then back into the mix might be one of the most empowering things you ever do. It is like finding a cosmic remote control buried deep in the couch cushions and realizing that, lo, you really can pause the show to go make your popcorn. 

4. Quitting actually might be progress in disguise.

To be clear, I’m not advocating an attitude that’s lazy or half-hearted or fickle, or making a regular habit of deserting. Some struggles deserve the sticking out, no matter what. But as C.S. Lewis once said, “If you’re on the wrong road, progress means doing an about-turn and walking back to the right road.” Quitting early, sometimes, is its own kind of forward momentum. It’s pragmatic, saving time and making space so you can find your bearings again.

What’s something that you’ve “quit” in this way? What did you learn?

Image via Monica Outcalt



Rebecca Rene Jones believes in the biggest God, the blackest coffee, and that earth is just an opening act. A 2005 graduate of Grove City College, Pa., she is the author of Broken for Good: How Grief Awoke My Greatest Hopes. She lives in Rochester, New York with her husband and son.

4 COMMENTS
  • Katie August 17, 2018

    This is so accurate. I loved the cosmic remote control metaphor… thank you for writing this. I felt very clearly called to a ‘Sabbath’ season for six months last year, after finishing a masters degree.
    I moved home, renovated a house, and reconnected with my siblings. I got into philosophy, starting running, and rested my head and heart. I then went travelling for three months, flying right around the globe. When I came back, my dream job was waiting.

    If I’d have just kept going, into a phd or another job, I would have missed out on so much. Thank you x

  • Anonymous August 17, 2018

    I believe in this wholeheartedly, starting my career as a nurse in a hospital, after 3 years knowing the stress and anxiety was not going to get better and that although I could continue to work there and do well, I knew it wasn’t for me. I took a chance and a major risk quitting, not knowing where I’d be next. But it was the most freeing experience, and now with hard work and determination to find something else, I can say it was all worth it. And I continue to grow and know nothing has to be permanent.

  • I agree! I think knowing when to stop is one of the bravest things to do. You’re taking a risk and thinking smartly – if something isn’t working out, why plough through relentlessly? There are a million directions in life. You don’t have to stick to one.

    Charmaine Ng | Architecture & Lifestyle Blog
    http://charmainenyw.com

  • Natalie Haines August 16, 2018

    Beautiful and so insightful.

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