About a month ago, I listened to a podcast that considered the benefits of quitting. The message was simple enough: sometimes "quitting" is a productive choice. Most of the podcast was based on the idea of a "sunk cost".
A "sunk cost" is what you've already invested in something; it's the stuff that you cannot get back. Here's a brief illustration: let's say you invest a lot of your time learning how to play the guitar and find out you don't really like it. You decide that you want to stop playing the guitar. The sunk cost here is the time that you spent learning to play the guitar.
Sunk cost can apply to more than just time. It could be the money you spent on that gizmo you don't want. It could be all those papers you wrote for that major you're not enjoying. It could be all those sleepless nights you spent worrying about that friend who continues to make the mistakes you warn them against.
That last one came off a bit bitter. I swear I'm not referring to anyone I know. I. Swear.
But, seriously, you should quit when you're wasting time.
Yet what constitutes as a "waste" of time? This was one question that the podcast was reluctant to answer, justifiably so.
It's a hard question.
I've quit a lot of things over the course of my life, so much so that I feel like I've got the authority to speak on this a bit (gotta put that on a resume). In my expert experience, their are things that I've regretted quitting and things that I'm happy I gave up.
Well, sort of happy.
For me, a lot of what I find stressful about quitting is less what I've already lost (the sunk cost) and more of what could have been. It's not the "Well, I've already put so much effort into this" moment that bothers me, but I always worry about saying "Well, I could have had that if I continued". Let me give you an example. Watch this video before continuing.
(Take a moment. It's cool, I teared up the first time I saw it too. My roommate cried harder though)
One moment in this lovely commercial stands out to me when I reflect on it: the scene on the beach. When I look at the Dad's face I see a moment of struggle. I see him think "Will my little girl, now growing up, still like this little bird? Will she think I'm just treating her like a child? Am I treating her like a child? Maybe I should stop this...."
But he went for it. He didn't quit. He kept going, and it is beautiful. Dad had a lot of guts.
But he went for it. He didn't quit. He kept going, and it is beautiful. Dad had a lot of guts.
You can see it on his face when he's waiting for her response, the longing for that sparkle in her eyes and smile that says "I'm still your girl, Dad". He aches for it so much that, in that moment, it hurts me. We've all been in there. We've all taken a leap of faith.
And we've all had it end badly.
Imagine if, instead of a sparkle and a smile, she just didn't acknowledge the bird. What if the eyes rolled, a disapproving sigh passed her lips, and, disdainfully, her head shook? What if she crushed the bird with her hand and spitefully said "Come on Dad. Grow up."
Should he have kept going? Would it have amounted to anything if it did? Does it matter?
Should he have given that happy ending a second shot?
I think we can all learn something from Dad here.
Should he have given that happy ending a second shot?
I think we can all learn something from Dad here.
The things in life that I did not regret quitting were those that I know would have amounted to something bad. What I regret is quitting those things where I didn't know where they would lead or, worse, having quit something that would have (probably) led to something good.
If something looks like it's going to end badly and your only reason for staying is because "I spent so much time in it already" by all means quit. Sure, there is something to be said for loyalty and persistence, and rarely are situations clear to begin with, but I doubt many would condemn your choice.
But if you're quitting because it's gotten hard, because you're scared of what the future might bring or because of the pain you might suffer in the path to it, I don't think you should quit. Dad took the plunge. Dad was willing to endure scoffing and disdain to create something beautiful with his daughter. Sure, it all worked out, but you can't know that until you take the risk.
But if you're quitting because it's gotten hard, because you're scared of what the future might bring or because of the pain you might suffer in the path to it, I don't think you should quit. Dad took the plunge. Dad was willing to endure scoffing and disdain to create something beautiful with his daughter. Sure, it all worked out, but you can't know that until you take the risk.
And this advice goes double for me. I'm pretty terrible at following through with things out of a fear of rejection. But I've let this fear get to me too many times and stop me from reaching out for something beautiful. I sincerely believe it's not worth it.
So here is a rare word of encouragement from an ENTJ to all the people reading this struggling with fear. Be rational and courageous. If you truly think that what you're pursuing can bring about something good, keep at it. Don't let yourself be abused, but if that goal is still there, if it's still good and beautiful, if you're able to deal with the rejection and pain that might come, keep at it. You're stronger than you think, and we all need you more than we admit. Be a champion for the Light, and keep at it.
