My History of Quitting, The Cause & The Change

When I was 5 going on 6, my parents got divorced. Before I even began to have a solid understanding of what it might have been, just like my mother's arm when my dad pushed her over the couch, my concepts of commitment & conviction were fractured. It took me a while to realize it, but the only thing I did consistently was quit. I quit when the going got tough, or just when I felt like I didn't care enough. In adolescence, I often beat myself up about being this serial quitter, unable to seeing anything through. I would say though in hindsight, that perspective was not only negative, but one-sided. I understand that quitting may be frowned upon, however I realized that there's some positives to it as well that I would like to reveal. Before I get into them, I'd like to share some of the times when I was being a half-hearted quitter, unable to see with such optimism.

‍

After my parents divorce, I decided to stay with my Mother & Sister. I sought to live a meaningful, well intentioned life, while learning what it meant to protect them. Not long after, I realized they had a strength & assuredness I had yet to muster. I resigned to knowing that perhaps I too needed protecting. For some reason, beyond my perceptions at the time at least, life just didn't seem that vivid. My volition for most everything that I engaged in was closer to a "eh, sure why not it's worth a try" than it was a resounding yes.

‍

I started to get involved in activities that kept me out of trouble when my Mom needed to work her double shifts. I played baseball for the Diamondbacks Little League in Decatur with my best friend Tierre, an outgoing youth. If I recall correctly he alternated playing the bases & short stop, &I was an outfielder. A safe position for a "meh" type of conviction. I could essentially participate & not participate at the same time! I kid you not, I remember many of those days of both games & practice, that I would sleep underneath the brim of my cap... right up until I heard the ball crack! On offense, I'd swing & 98% of the time, I'd miss. I chopped it up to not caring, while my mother, found it to be the direct indicator that I needed glasses.

‍

I was always daydreaming, or stuck in my own head. My scope limited like a horse with blinders on to stay in his own lane. One day during a game, where suddenly I felt the urge to truly try, that limited awareness came back to smack me with literally the entire body of my teammate — who just like I, had his eyes in the air, feet racing, heading for that same ball. I forgot to call it, and I failed to be attentive enough to realize whether or not my teammate had done so himself. The entirety of wind I had within was knocked out of me. I laid back gasping for air, causing the game to come to a halt as everyone came to my aid. The sad part is that I remember thinking, "well at least I don't have to play the rest of this game."

‍

When I was 5 going on 6, my parents got divorced. Before I even began to have a solid understanding of what it might have been, just like my mother's arm when my dad pushed her over the couch, my concepts of commitment & conviction were fractured. It took me a while to realize it, but the only thing I did consistently was quit. I quit when the going got tough, or just when I felt like I didn't care enough. In adolescence, I often beat myself up about being this serial quitter, unable to seeing anything through. I would say though in hindsight, that perspective was not only negative, but one-sided. I understand that quitting may be frowned upon, however I realized that there's some positives to it as well that I would like to reveal. Before I get into them, I'd like to share some of the times when I was being a half-hearted quitter, unable to see with such optimism.

‍

After my parents divorce, I decided to stay with my Mother & Sister. I sought to live a meaningful, well intentioned life, while learning what it meant to protect them. Not long after, I realized they had a strength & assuredness I had yet to muster. I resigned to knowing that perhaps I too needed protecting. For some reason, beyond my perceptions at the time at least, life just didn't seem that vivid. My volition for most everything that I engaged in was closer to a "eh, sure why not it's worth a try" than it was a resounding yes.

‍

I started to get involved in activities that kept me out of trouble when my Mom needed to work her double shifts. I played baseball for the Diamondbacks Little League in Decatur with my best friend Tierre, an outgoing youth. If I recall correctly he alternated playing the bases & short stop, &I was an outfielder. A safe position for a "meh" type of conviction. I could essentially participate & not participate at the same time! I kid you not, I remember many of those days of both games & practice, that I would sleep underneath the brim of my cap... right up until I heard the ball crack! On offense, I'd swing & 98% of the time, I'd miss. I chopped it up to not caring, while my mother, found it to be the direct indicator that I needed glasses.

‍

I was always daydreaming, or stuck in my own head. My scope limited like a horse with blinders on to stay in his own lane. One day during a game, where suddenly I felt the urge to truly try, that limited awareness came back to smack me with literally the entire body of my teammate — who just like I, had his eyes in the air, feet racing, heading for that same ball. I forgot to call it, and I failed to be attentive enough to realize whether or not my teammate had done so himself. The entirety of wind I had within was knocked out of me. I laid back gasping for air, causing the game to come to a halt as everyone came to my aid. The sad part is that I remember thinking, "well at least I don't have to play the rest of this game."

‍

Not long after, I had quit baseball. I felt like it was a chore I had no real pleasure doing. Then came the band. I started off in percussion, just towards the end of middle school, playing a set of quints entirely too big for my small frame, but I was convinced I could handle it. I was inspired by the fact that I was doing something new & different. Slowly but surely, as the routine of practice began to settle in, the luster in my eyes began to dim. They were in essence, inversely related. The more I practiced the more it faded. The more conviction it required, the more I wanted to run. I stayed for a while though, as something about my parents divorce made me want to keep the acknowledgement of my mother & not let her, my band mates or anyone else who supported me down. I stuck around by diversifying my interests by switching instruments here & there. In marching band I went from quints, to cymbals, to bass, & then tenor. In band class I stuck to the drums, vibraphones, xylophones, & tympani's — which are those large, tonal kettle drums you usually see being played in an orchestra.

‍

I got to play with the drum line of the Marching Wolverines of Miller Grove High School, affectionately known as Black Ice. We were good, really good — and I was proud to be a part of the team. We even made it to Battle of the Bands, & I remember the butterflies playing in a stadium full of guests & other high school band members, intricately drumming in a battle against our rivals. I was on tenor drum during that performance & displaying the best of what I had to offer. Playing through pain & blisters & the increasing burden of the strap's weight tearing down at my shoulder. But I played, & played well. And yet, the pain & the blisters & the burdens of the drums weight, the blistering heat, & every other excuse that was starting to pile up, broke that streak of consistency. Right before the next semester, when I was to be promoted to learning the Snare, the crème de la crème of the drum line, I quit the marching band. I felt justified, & rather than even being convicted in my decision to quit, I simply managed to quell the anxieties of my mother, band mates & supporters by staying in the class & switching to jazz band for another year before fully moving on.

‍

Now don't get me wrong, I love music, even then I had a passion for it, yet I couldn't understand why the world still felt gray, & why my convictions always seemed to fade. I started to beat myself up about the fact that I always seemed to quit when things get tough. I started to think that's... exactly what my father did. Quit when the going got tough. When he & my mother needed to be strong & resolve the challenge in front of them, he forfeited his hand when he acted in aggression. It was too late to try after that.

I still felt confused & hurt about it, especially because he was never a really violent person, never coming off as aggressive, seemingly docile even. I think I felt so disappointed because the actions were so unlike him. Truthfully I didn't think he had it in him. Nevertheless, here I was, drawing the lines of similarity between myself & my father again. Thinking that if he quit & I quit, we can't be that different. I lacked conviction because he did! That's what I would tell myself, relinquishing my autonomy to the emotions of external circumstance.

‍

You see, it took me some time to realize that while the apple may not fall too far from the tree, I can still be my own thing entirely. Even so, I quit. Over & over again. I chopped up & minimized the opportunities to cultivate my confidence, certainty & conviction, with excuses, hurt & blame. Relationships were even more challenging, running almost every time I felt the conversations of commitment creeping in, because I was afraid to quit after promising them I wouldn't. I'd end up loving & longing, & unable to verbalize how passionately I felt about someone, because I didn't know conviction. It has taken me some time, overcoming these cycles in life, love & endeavor. To break free of that damaging pattern that kept me away from striving for what I felt certain enough about. It took me some time to realize that we are all fallible human beings... but we are all malleable human beings — capable of great & enduring change. I had to recognize this not only about myself, but about my father as well. I knew that, if I could face myself & the struggles I was enduring with compassion, then I could also face him & address him with that same compassion.

‍

That too, took me some time, but I chose to do my best. While we will never get back the years of father & son bonding that we have missed, I can decide to return the gratitude, appreciation & love, that he's tried to rectify the situation with. We can decide to build new memories with the time we have in front of us. We can decide, not to quit anymore. That's the thing. That subtle shift in perspective that opens up the mind to the possibilities of what more the act of quitting can become.

‍

I can only imagine that at one point or another, in some shape or fashion in all of your lives, that you have experienced these kinds of struggles. Uncertainty. A wavering conviction. Commitment issues, perhaps. We share a similar struggle, yet we also share similar strengths whether you know it or not. Those strengths, are Perspective & Decision-Making. We have the right & the capacity to choose what we want to do with our lives. We have the right to decide what we want for ourselves moving forward. Regardless of what the past had offered you, & the decisions you made then, you can make a new decision right now in this moment & every moment onward. Regardless of how you've reflected on those times in your life when you had quit, you can simply shift your perspective to this realization — I tried new things, & let go of that which was not for me. It doesn't matter if your path is one of conviction, exploration or a mixture of both. You can uphold a perspective that allows you to remain self-compassionate. Alleviate those doubts. Stop cementing yourself within, in a way of being that does not truly align with the highest version of yourself that you can see. Most of all, if you need to quit doing something, so that you don't ever quit on yourself or your sanity, do that. Quitting can always be a temporary retreat. It can serve as an opportunity to reflect & pivot so that you are moving even more so in alignment with the things that truly call out to you, & when you are ready, you can begin again or start anew.

‍

However you strive to make right your convictions, I speak success into your journey. It is my hopes that sharing my story & my content can inspire you all to now take whatever steps you may have been previously hesitant to make. Shining a light on a possible pathway forward is the best that I can do, after all, I'm still walking my own journey. It will be up to you to put one foot in front of the other, & continue your journey as best you can.

Regardless of the choices you make in order to embrace who you are & your convictions fully, I applaud you for your efforts & I encourage you — to Live Life Well.

‍

All the Best,

Sean aka Mr. Wildenfree

#LiveLifeWell

‍