Quitting is Courageous

“How much courage does it take to fire up your tractor and plow under a crop you spent six or seven years growing? How much courage to go on and do that after you've spent all that time finding out how to prepare the soil and when to plant and how much to water and when to reap? How much to just say, "I have to quit these peas. Peas are no good for me, I better try corn or beans.” - Stephen King

It's rare to think of giving up on something as courageous. Little kids who give up on a sport they don't like are quitters, runners who don't finish the race are quitters. Too often we call people who change course in the middle of something quitters. What if those people we see as quitters for leaving something behind when we see it as “unfinished” really are brave? Or do they have a foresight that others are missing? Where some see the middle of something, these people see the end; they may see that they are already there or that the end isn't what they want so they make a course correction.

A course correction. That's not quitting. It's standing at the top of the hill on a beautiful winter afternoon and planning a course down the mountain. From the top, it's easy to see where to ski, where the snow looks good. Then, as the hill guides the skis and they run over a patch of ice a course correction is in order. It's clear, now that the path has begun, that it's not the best choice. The path that seemed so perfect just seconds ago is now corduroy snow, and just to the left is soft powder. So the ski's turn and by the time the destination, the bottom of the hill, is reached the skier is no where near where they thought the would be.

Too often in life, we hold on when we shouldn't instead of changing course. Friendships that no longer fit into our lives, or have become toxic are hard to let go of. Relationships that began with love, or grew into love and then shriveled are even harder to give up. We hold on to them, believing that with enough hard work we can salvage them. The people around us agree. One good day is enough to last a week, then two, then a month. Next thing we know, it's impossible to remember the last time it wasn't work to be around the person we claim to love. It's easier to hold on than it is to walk away.

Jobs are the same way for most. I've watched people settle into jobs they hate because they pay the bills, the hours are good, they don't think they will find anything else. They're miserable, but they stick with it. I've never been that person, I hate a job and I walk away without another thought about it. Until now.

I resigned from my job last week. Not because I don't love teaching; I do. Not because I didn't think I could help my students; I was helping. I did it because the people “above” me, the ones “in charge” decided that I was making too much noise. They didn't like the way I stood up for the rights of my students. They really didn't like it when I told them I wouldn't keep doing it their way. So they had some meetings and made a threat; I made the choice to “resign gracefully” as they say. I didn't quit. I changed course.

This path, its a detour really. The destination remains the same, and this road will still take me where I want to be. I just have to slow down and take the city streets; the highway is under construction. I'll have a minute to do some sightseeing.

Someone said I should start writing again...

“You should write a poem about that,” I say to my mentor within five minutes of walking into his office.
 “No Liz. YOU should write a poem about that.”
 “I haven't written a word since I finished that chapter. Not even a few lines of poetry. I don't even Blog anymore.”
 “I know.” He looks disappointed. I hate it when he looks disappointed.

 It had been two years since I sat in my mentor's office; it could have been yesterday as comfortable as it felt. I went there to pick up a copy of the book he holds me responsible for. My Dad's stories are in the book, well a part of the story is anyway. Writing that, making it feel the way I actually felt, was a draining, painful experience. I may have spent more time crying about it than I did writing it. I might have sat at my computer, trying to write it realizing there were blank weeks in my memory; maybe even blank months. Not only did I have to fully explore my feelings about what had happened, I also had to admit to myself who I was during that time and how it must have been to be around me. It scared me. I wasn't sure there was much I liked about that person. And when My Mentor finally told me the revisions were done, I didn't have to stare at those words anymore, I was relieved. I didn't write anymore.

 So as we sat in his office, and talked about my goals for the future he takes the time to inform me that this, the writing thing, is what I should be using to change the world. He says that the education stuff is great, and the teaching, and the becoming a professor would be nice but its this writing thing I do that is really has the potential to change the world.

 I never thought of it that way, and the weight of the thought... well it's heavy.

 This writing thing is the thing I do because I want to, its the thing I do because I can. I don't do it to change anything, or fix anything. At best I do it to understand things a little more than I do when I only let the words roll around in my head. I tell him this, that I don't think my silly little blogs and poetry are really changing anything.

 He tells me maybe they will.
 He tells me to start writing again.
 The surprising part is that I'm actually listening.