Tag Archives: regret

Challengers of Change

DSC_0904“Those who expect moments of change to be comfortable and free of conflict have not learned their history.” –Joan Wallach Scott

Change is tough stuff. It is so necessary for growth and vitality, but still so very difficult and stressful. Relocations. Career changes. Relationship beginnings and endings. Births. Deaths. Heck, even your favorite TV show getting moved to another night! This stuff is no picnic, even when the changes are ones we have looked forward to. We always hear people say “Change is good!” while we are gritting our teeth about something changing in our lives. It seems no accident that the word “CHANGE” can be extracted from the letters of “CHALLENGE,” as the former never seems to come without the latter hanging all over it like a wet jacket. When it comes to making a major move in our own life—especially an effort to improve ourselves or our station in the world—the haters seem to come out of the woodwork to let their feelings be known.

Unfortunately, the first person we usually have to battle in this process of change-for-growth is ourselves. We put up a mighty challenge, too. When I think of big moves I have made in my adult life—quitting school (a couple of times!), moving to New York and Los Angeles, leaving LA, giving up single life, going to graduate school, leaving management, even starting “Journal of You”—there wasn’t a single one that didn’t involve a full-scale war against my own fear and self-doubt. So many of those changes involved facing The Great Unknown—which I think is the biggest fear for most of us—and others involved jumping into things that seemed known but still terrifying to me. When I look at that list, I can clearly recall that I was achingly close to not pulling the trigger on every one of those moves. I was my own biggest challenger.

I may have been my biggest challenger, but I was certainly not my only one. I think most people who make big moves in their lives find the same thing. When we finally push back our demons, face our fears, and claim the move, we feel a huge relief. The weight is off our shoulders. We think we are in the clear. Only then, however—when the news gets out—do we get the multitude of challengers and haters bringing their own issues to us. Our life changes trigger a lot of issues inside of the people around us.

Jealousy is a big one. Disappointment. Anger. There is a “Who moved my cheese?” element to it, as your friends, family, and even acquaintances can no longer take your role in their lives and in their minds for granted. You have become a wildcard, a rogue player. You must be assessed in a totally different way. That uncertainty is highly uncomfortable for most people, and especially so if your life change involves you—at least in their eyes—“rising above” the status you shared with them. There are a lot of psychological forces at play.

In most of our stations in life, we don’t like to admit—to ourselves or to others—that we don’t want to be what or where we are. So, we keep the “getting out” or “rising above” discussions away. But then someone in our station, out of nowhere, announces that they are making the move, getting out. And for the rest of us, our very first reflex thought is, “Oh, you lucky son-of-a-gun!” Whether what follows are well-wishes or resentment depends on the emotional maturity of the onlooker.

I see exactly this in the world of Tennis teachers, my field of work. We are all just a freak injury away from being out of a career, so we would be fools to not have at least considered a back-up plan, no matter how much we love our work. Yet no one ever talks about it. EVER! It is like some silent code that we have agreed to. Then one day—it happened last week in my office, actually–one of our co-workers announces he is getting out, becoming a civilian, and here comes the silent chorus of “Lucky son-of-a-gun!” thoughts from the rest of us. It is a fascinating relationship we all have with denial.

It often takes someone moving the cheese to release what lies beneath. That is when the challengers of change reveal themselves, both inside ourselves and in the form of the people in our lives. We must be armed and ready to take on all challengers. I think I am about due for some change, so I suppose it is time to strap on the armor. I love the quote from an unknown author, “If nothing ever changed, there’d be no butterflies.” I feel like flying. So, bring it on, world! I am grateful and ready to begin anew. I accept the challenge.

How about you? How well do you deal with change? Open up your journal, heart, and mind, and let it all flow out. Make a list of some of the big moves you have made in your life. How scared were you? Were you more scared of the change itself, or of announcing your move to the world and dealing with everyone’s reaction? Which of your moves represented an attempt on your part to “move up” in the world, to change your station or follow your dreams in a new way? Were those the scariest? How did the people in your life react to those announcements? Were you supported? Did you lose any relationships over any of these changes? Thinking back over your lifetime, which potential moves did you not make because of fear (of the unknown, of letting people down, of failure, etc.)? Do you regret that now? What would you like your next big move to be? Moving away? Job change? Going back to school? Having a child? Ending a relationship? How much of your own internal resistance will you have to overcome to make this big change? How much resistance will you get from your acquaintances, friends, and family? Whose disapproval do you fear the most? Are you ready to make the move anyway? Leave me a reply and let me know: Are you up to the challenge of change? 

Be boldly YOU today,

William

A Lifelong Love Letter

DSC_0880 2“Say what you want to say, And let the words fall out honestly.  I want to see you be brave”             –Sara Bareilles, Brave

Hello friend,

There is something so nostalgic and heart-tugging for me about reading a letter. Not a text or an email, but a real letter on actual paper. It is somehow more romantic if written in ink rather than typed, but as long as the signature is hand-written, it has my heart. I love to dig through old piles of random life stuff and come across a letter from long ago. It doesn’t matter who it is from—childhood friend, sibling, lost love–it suddenly takes on enormous emotional power. Maybe it is because I love to write, maybe because I really want to share my Truth with those I love, and maybe just because I often have a tough time saying just what I want to say in person. But whatever the reason, I have always been captivated by letters.

I don’t write them often enough. It always seems like such a great idea in theory, yet I never seem to make the time (I am beginning to think this is the story of my life—ugh!). So the people who have meant so much to me have not always been aware of their impact and my gratitude. I have a lot of regret about that. I have, however, developed one redeeming habit that I hope to never break. Ever since my daughter turned one—she will be six this week—I have written my children a letter on their birthdays. I just spill out what they have been up to and how I feel about them. At some undetermined point in the future—maybe when they turn 20 or 25 or when they get married or have their own child—I will give them the letters. It may sound small and silly, but gosh, what I wouldn’t give to read something like this from my own parents! I am a nostalgic guy and a natural chronicler of events. If my kids are anything like me, maybe they will appreciate what their old man was thinking about them as they moved along their journey through this wonderland called Life. So, here is what I wrote to my son last week on his big day:

30 July 2014

To my Isaiah on his 4th Birthday,

Happy Birthday, Best Man! My Prince is four years old! I suppose I am supposed to say, “Where did the time go?” But it really feels like you have been with me forever, so thinking of my baby as a 4-year-old doesn’t make the old parent in me feel sad or like I am losing time. I think what makes that the case is that you and I squeeze the most out of every day together. And we spend SO MUCH TIME TOGETHER. We are pretty much stuck together like glue—you and I—and that suits me just fine. I cherish every moment with you.

Someone once asked me if I could name the characteristic that really stands out in your personality. I told her, “He is the funniest and most fun-loving person I have ever met.” That is totally true. Once you get past your crusty-crabby state right when you wake up in the morning—you are no fun at that hour—you are the most fun-seeking, fun-having person in the world, always trying to find something to amuse yourself and anyone else who is around. That gets you into just about everything, of course. It is tough to get mad at you even when you are causing trouble, though, as I know your underlying intention is good (just sometimes misdirected!). And when I am giving you the angry Daddy look for being a little rascal, neither one of us can keep a straight face for long, because you shoot me that little glance that says, “Yeah, I am just playing the little menace role right now, but I am really just messing with you, Dad!” Then we both giggle and move on, as neither of us wants to miss the fun stuff in the next moment.

And what fun we have! One of your favorite games is “Shoot the Ball at Somebody!!!” which involves you and I getting out all of our million balls in the playroom and then throwing them at each other over and over(and, of course, laughing all the way). You also love “Dino-Fighting” which is basically just you and I pretending to be dinosaurs and wrestling each other in the yard. I may be bigger than you, but you make up for that by never getting tired. You also love to have bike races up and down the street (and yes, you beat me in that every time, too). Almost every time we go out to ride, you are totally unwilling to go back inside until you have taken at least one ride to the end of the street and back in each of your favorite vehicles: bike, Big Wheel, balance bike, and scooter. The neighbors all know to drive slowly, because you drive amazingly fast but don’t always look where you are going! It is so fun to do all this stuff with you.

You were busy away from the house this year, too. You love playing with your cousins, at Minot for Christmas but especially at Pelican Lake in the Summer. You all play together so well and have the best time in the lake and on the trampoline. Those are my favorite times of the year, when I get to bring you to a place that has always been special to me and see you love it as much as I always did when I was a kid. When you are not terrorizing your sister, you are glued to her and think she is the coolest thing ever. The zoo is another one of your favorite spots, as you are a great explorer. This Winter, you got into your first class ever: Swimming! After spending the entire first class period being held by the teacher while screaming for me—one of my toughest half-hours ever–you were a champion the rest of the way. It is such a treat to watch you enjoy the water. Just last week, you and I were the only ones in the outdoor pool at the gym right when it opened, the only two foolish enough to be out there on a gray, 65-degree morning. We had a blast, though, as always! Just a couple of weeks ago, you also got to start Soccer. And while you haven’t gotten into a Tennis class yet, you and I have spent a lot of time on the court together (most days you don’t want to hit anything but overhead smashes, which is how I know you are my kid!). It is such a treat to be your best buddy for all this.

The one hobby that I wish you did less of—but that totally mesmerizes you—is watching television and movies (your big favorites this year have been “Monsters Inc.,” “Tangled,” “Frozen,” and “The Incredibles, to name just a few). What amazes me always is how perfectly you memorize all of the scenes. And because you are a born actor, you entertain us nonstop with performances of the scenes the rest of the day, or you just throw movie lines into your regular conversation. It is genius and completely hilarious. Since just before your last birthday, you have been into superheroes. You were Superman for Halloween last year and are already trying to decide who to be this year. Superheroes, balls, dinosaurs, cars & trucks, wrestling—yeah, you kind of seem like a stereotypical boy in a lot of ways.

But you are also so unique and extraordinary. You are amazingly intelligent and so sweet, and somehow you manage to balance all of that with your superhuman energy and joy of life. I am in awe of how you can contain all of this in one little four-year-old body. It is a testament to the power of your spirit. You are surely destined for magnificent things. I can’t wait to cheer you on every step of the way. I am so, so proud of you and so wildly grateful that I get to be your Dad. I couldn’t imagine a better son, and I thank you for sharing your magic with me every single day. These are the best of times. Happy 4th Birthday! I love you more than you can possibly imagine.

Always, Dad

What about you? Is there anyone you want to write a letter to? What do you want to say? If you feel a little weird about it–or scared or whatever–sometimes the best place to start is in your journal. Open it up and just start writing to the person from your heart. Don’t judge it; just say what you want to say. If you think they don’t know how you really feel about them—most people don’t, precisely because we don’t tell them—then really lay it out there. Say what you have always wanted to say, what you have always really wished they would know about you and what they mean to you. Who in your life do you need to deliver this letter to? A parent? Sibling? Childhood friend? Teacher? Hero? The one that got away? The one who doesn’t know they are the one? How about someone right under your roof who you have been unable to get on track with for awhile, e.g. a child or spouse? Maybe the letter you need to write is to someone no longer living, someone you never got to say all you wanted to say to. That is a wonderful letter, a healing letter. What about my habit of the annual letter to someone, whether you save it for later or deliver it each year? Is there someone you might get in that habit with?

In the end, it makes me feel better about myself—more honest and more fully who I am—when my Truth is out there and my loved ones know where they stand with me. I can feel how it deepens the relationship. Actually, that is how journaling has made me feel about me. I am authentic because of it. I know myself, warts and all. Telling on yourself—whether to yourself or to others—is the best way to rob shame of its power. Then you can just be you. Authentic, beautiful you. So, write to someone! Expose yourself and experience how liberating that is. And please, write in your journal. Give yourself the gift of a lifelong love letter. 

You are worth it,

William

Have You Gone Dark?

DSC_1061“You can’t stay in your corner of the Forest waiting for others to come to you. You have to go to them sometimes.” –A.A. Milne, from Winnie-The-Pooh

Hello friend,

Yesterday, I had a total “Blast-From-The-Past” moment. I got a Friend Request on Facebook from an old, dear friend whom I haven’t heard from in over 15 years. It felt like it arrived from another planet! Memories flooded my mind and my heart, and I wanted to see her—or at least give her a call–right then and there. I have thought of her so often over the years and silently wished her all the best. Silently. So what did I do? Nothing. I told myself I would send her a message right then, but something came up—as it always seems to—and the moment passed. Somehow hitting “Accept Request” was not nearly as satisfying as a phone call or an embrace. Bummer. Welcome to my world!

That old friend’s face is sticking with me, though. Eating at me, really. I recently read an article about the most frequent regrets of people on their deathbeds. The one that really struck a chord in my soul was “I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.” Actually, it wasn’t just that it struck a chord; no, it was more that it stuck a knife in my heart. I have been really feeling that lately, and the article was a bold reminder.

It made me think of a group of guys that I went to high school with, guys that I liked a lot but weren’t necessarily in my innermost circle of friends. I often hear about these guys still finding a way to get together a couple of times per year despite living all over the country, and still communicating often. I think that is so cool. I am envious of not just their friendship with each other, but their persistence in keeping it close and frequent. They have done the right work, because good friendships are worth it. Those guys will be tight until the day they die.

So, what about me? Have I kept a group like that? And beyond the group, have I even kept individual friends that close? I just now made a list on a full sheet of paper of all the friends who have been nearest and dearest to me on all of the stops on my journey. I started with my friends from childhood and high school; that is where the biggest group came from, and really the people I still consider my dearest friends. Next came the other stops where I stayed long enough or exposed enough of myself to build relationships: college, Minneapolis, New York City, Los Angeles, college again, graduate school, and then finally my pre-children life here. There are over 30 names on the list, and they are all people I would love to happen upon in a quiet space, so that I could give them a big hug and enjoy a wonderful conversation. Friends only, no acquaintances.

It is certainly bittersweet to look at this list. It is sweet, of course, because I truly love these people, and it does the heart good to think of those I love. But the bitter part is aimed at my own role in the next column of the list. That is where I noted how much communication I have with each person. Sadly, next to almost every single name on my list, it says “None”. None! My favorite people in all the world—outside of my family, of course—don’t hear from me at all. That is both disappointing and embarrassing. I cannot stop looking at this list! It is haunting, really. These tremendous people and the relationships that I had with them are now like ghosts to me.

How did I get to this point of having created these ghosts? Of course it is easy to claim lack of time. That is our world, isn’t it? But, even if that can explain it, it doesn’t satisfy me. There is the issue of the increasing awkwardness that goes with increasing time between correspondences. I wonder if it would be weird to call someone out of the blue—would I be inconveniencing them?—so I hesitate. That hesitation continues to the point that I wonder if I even matter to them the way they still matter to me. So I go dark, sitting silently and wishing them well.

Then I think about how to transition the relationship from a catch-up conversation (e.g. “What do you do, in general?” or “How have you passed the years?”) to a regular conversation (e.g. “What did you do today?” or “What do you think about Issue X”). The whole process paralyzes me, gets in my head and keeps me from doing what my heart knows it should do, which is reach out. Make that call. Send that letter or email or Friend Request. But since I haven’t, and because I don’t really seek out new relationships, I have a pretty tiny social circle. Even living in this city the last dozen years, there are only a couple of people I make it a point to see occasionally. This seems to be why, as I age, my family becomes increasingly my best friends (though I do a pretty poor job keeping in touch with them, too, I must admit).

All of this is just to say that I can definitely see how “I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends” made the list of top deathbed regrets. I am (hopefully) in the middle of my life, and I already regret it. I miss them. And I think I will miss them even more in the years to come if I continue my silence. So, I think I will get on Facebook tonight and send that old friend a message. Maybe we can even trade numbers and have a real conversation. That would do my heart good, maybe even ease some regret. It is something. A baby step. But nevertheless, a step in the right direction. It is time to break my silence. Time to turn the light back on. I am open for business!

How about you? How well do you stay in contact? Open up your journal and spill some ink. Maybe the best way to start is by making the same type of list that I made, with all of your most beloved friends from the various stops on your life journey and how much communication you currently have with them. How does it look? Are you pretty good at making the consistent effort, or is your list as bleak as mine? Are your best best friends from childhood, like mine, or are they from a different phase of your life? Is your communication frequent enough that you have “regular conversations”, or are you stuck in “catch-up conversations” each time you talk? How many do you get together with in person? Do you have a group that still gets together for things like a “girls weekend”? How much regret do you feel from losing touch with people, and how does that compare to how much you think you will feel on your deathbed? Is it enough to get you to reach out? This listing exercise was quite therapeutic for me, and I hope it works the same for you. Leave me a reply and let me know: Have you gone dark? 

Listen to the quiet wisdom of your heart,

William

Is Your Job Working You?

IMG_1015Hello friend,

Picture yourself on your deathbed. Your mind spins like a broken record, replaying your life over and over in hopes of coming to some peace. Peace with what you have done and left undone. Peace with your accomplishments and your failures, your great loves and great loves lost. But mostly, you are trying to make peace with how you passed your time here on Earth, how you spent your dash. Regret enters the conversation. “I wish I had done that.” “I am so sorry that I did the other thing.” Woulda shoulda coulda. These are tough thoughts, heavy loads to bear as you cross over to the other side. So, here is my question: At the end of the road, are you going to say, “I wish I spent more time at work”?

Naahhh! Me neither. Not many people, I am guessing, would fess up to that regret. It is not that I discount that as a possibility, especially for those who are truly following their Bliss–their calling–and have turned it into a career. I love writing these posts to you. If I was earning a living wage for it, I could definitely see spending a little “too much” time delivering one to you on a daily basis. Mostly, though, I think that, like most of you, wishing I had worked more hours won’t be among my biggest deathbed regrets.

But how about the reverse? Have I spent too many hours at work? Have I missed out on the things that I would tell you are important: my kids, my wife, my family of origin, taking care of my health, pursuing my passions, learning? Has my schedule reflected my priorities?

As with many other areas of my life, I have taken a unique, winding path in my relationship with my work schedule. After spending most of my 20’s trying to work as little as possible so that I could spend my hours on self-improvement, my early 30’s found me living the life of a workaholic. I was on both the teaching and the management sides of tennis, and that meant a grueling schedule of more than 40 hours per week pounding my body on a tennis court and then another 20-30 hours in the office stressing over budgets, staffing, programming and the like. I was burning the candle at both ends, to be sure, only seeing the light of day on the weekends (some weekends). Every night found me completely exhausted.

In my work on The Journal Project, I have been able to revisit those years via my daily journal entries. Let me tell you, those are the most boring, repetitive entries of my entire adult life! They are like a broken record that goes something like this: “I am so tired. My body hurts so badly. This is no way to live. I wouldn’t recommend this to anybody. I am happy and grateful. Life is beautiful.” Yes, thank goodness that my spiritual and psychological foundation—my base of deep happiness and gratitude—had been laid prior to those years, because I never would have made it through without that foundation. It is true that I believed in my cause—I loved being in tennis and was heavily invested in making my club a wonderful place to work and play—and that certainly helped me to sustain my energies while there. But it was all there. I didn’t have much energy left to offer anything outside the building. All of those other things I would have said were high priorities—wife, family, passions, health—were left to pick at the crumbs of energy I had left when I limped in the house under cover of night. Between the stress and the physical beating and the endless hours, my work certainly exacted a heavy toll on me in exchange for a paycheck. In effect, it consumed me. (Here might be a good place to add that my wife is a saint.)  I knew what was happening, too, but I just couldn’t seem to do anything about it.

But then, something magical happened. My daughter was born. The sweetest, most beautiful angel ever in the world was alive and coming to stay in my house, where I could scarcely find time to be. That seemed just plain wrong to me. My priorities suddenly came sharply into focus. But more than that, the need to match my schedule to my priorities became urgent. So I did. I quit the management side of my job and cut my teaching schedule down to four days, with no nights or weekends. The paycheck and status took a huge hit, but finally my schedule was in alignment with my priorities.

Those quality days with my daughter—and eventually my son, too—were worth more to me than any paycheck ever was. If you could ever climb inside my heart on a “Three Amigos Day”—one of our weekdays with just the kids and I—or “Family Fun Day” (all of us together on a weekend), you would understand completely the meaning of the word “priceless”. We have been carrying on like this for 5 ½ years now, with me spending less time at work and more time with the ones I love and having the energy to be fully present when I am with them. So, there I was at the bus stop this morning to give my daughter a hug good-bye before school, and there I was at the end of the day to see her jump off the bus and run smiling toward me for another giant hug—an untradeable moment—and a trip on our bikes to the park. And tomorrow, on that weekday away from my job I have clung to all these years, I get to go along on the kindergarten fieldtrip to the museum and the zoo. These days of my being my kid’s best friend don’t last forever, right? I think I’ll soak them up while they are still here.

As you can see, my relationship with my working hours has been one of extremes. I have known dipping my feet in the water, wading comfortably at waist-deep, and full-fledged drowning in my work. I have known myself to be happy in the midst of all three, but actual satisfaction came only when I was finally able to make my schedule reflect my priorities. Who can say how my path will meander in the coming years as circumstances change, but I hope that when I am in full life-review mode while lying on my deathbed, I will have no regrets when it comes to the time I spent at work.

How about you? How are you doing with your work schedule? Open up your journal and tell yourself about it. Are you spending too much time at your job? Are you missing out on important aspects of your life because of your work schedule? Do you ever wish you worked more? Is your job your true calling or just something you do? When it is all over, are you going to regret the way you spent your time? And most importantly, how closely do you think your schedule reflects your priorities? If it does not, what small step can you take today to change that? Leave me a reply and let me know: Is your job working you?

Live a self-approved life,

William

Are You a Quitter?

DSC_1169Hello friend,

Last week, somebody told me I was a quitter.  That’s right: a quitter.  It is not everyday that you get that thrown at you in polite conversation.  But there it was, right in my face.  Quitter!

Let me give you some context.  I was talking with an acquaintance who hadn’t previously known a lot about my past but has been reading my blog posts the last couple of months.  I have been pretty open in the posts about my past as well as the things that light me up—like writing this blog for you—and what I see myself doing in the future.  I have mentioned things like leaving college to study acting in my early 20s and later leaving a doctorate program.  I have also mentioned my desire to reach and teach a greater number of people through writing/speaking/life coaching.

So, last week when I saw my acquaintance who suddenly knew a lot more about me than she had before, she instantly got on my case about pursuing a life coaching certification immediately.  It was totally well-meaning, of course; she really seemed to want me to live my purpose as soon as possible.  She was pushing hard, though, trying to press me on what was holding me back and then dismissing any possible excuse.  Then she dropped it on me.  “Look, you have quit on a lot of stuff in your life!”  I was a little taken aback at first but mostly amused at the accusation, so I said, “Like what?”  She, of course, listed all of the things I mentioned above, and concluded with, “You have quit everything you’ve ever done!”

Was it true?  Am I a quitter?  I decided I needed to explore this idea, so of course I turned to my journal.  I walked myself through all of the major course changes I have made in my life and asked if each change was a result of me quitting something.  I came to see that it was crucial to the discussion to find the essence of what “quitting” really is.

What does it mean to quit?  The term carries such a negative connotation in our daily conversation.  For me, quitting involves giving up on something that is very important to you, especially when the going gets tough and you believe you just aren’t up to the task, that it is too difficult and too scary.  Fear is a big part of it: fear of not being enough.  The other key element, in my view, in defining the concept of quitting is regret.  When you really quit on something—when you bail out of something that is an important part of who you are—it is worthy of feelings of regret later.  It doesn’t have to be the case that you feel regret—lots of people bury their heads and hearts in the sand (with addictions, denial, or other destructive behaviors) to escape the feeling—but rather, if you looked yourself in the mirror for the cold truth, you would find regret shrouding the event.  Quitting is regret-worthy.

So, how about me?  Had I been quitting on each step of my journey?  Was each new road I took just a cowardly bailing out of the previous path?  Let’s review.  From the time I was a kid, I always thought I was going to be a doctor.  I told myself that all through high school and my first couple of years of college.  Then, as that whole world of medical school/doctoring/the rest of my life began to feel close at hand, my inner voice started screaming at me that that was not the path for me.  So, in fairly abrupt fashion, I pulled out of school.

I had become enchanted with the idea of studying acting, so I bounced around the country doing that, eventually landing in Los Angeles.  From the time I arrived there, it was fairly clear to me that I wasn’t in love with the people or the business of acting, but I loved the craft of it.  Though I very much wanted to be famous so I could make an impact on people’s lives, I always told myself that as soon as something else lit my fancy, I would leave LA.  I never did get the “big break” acting job, but I was doing my best—getting some parts and an agent–at the time I decided to leave.  I can honestly say that it never crossed my mind as I was preparing to leave that I had “failed” as an actor.  I simply found something else I wanted to do more.  I wanted to travel and enrich myself with books and self-exploration.  So I left.  I have always missed the acting but never the other stuff.  Great lessons, no regrets.

From there I passed into a wonderful period of travel and learning.  All of this study eventually led me back to college—hoping to learn even more–which then led me into a Ph.D. program in Philosophy.  I hoped that by studying Applied Ethics, I could bring positive change to the world by eradicating social problems.  It wasn’t until I got going in the six-year program that I realized that this path was not for me, that it wasn’t going to fulfill me the way I had envisioned it would.  The goal was a good one, but this wasn’t the best way to achieve it.  So again, I abruptly removed myself from the situation.  I quit the program.

From graduate school, I moved on to teaching Tennis.  Here I have been for the last twelve years.  (Well, if truth be told, I actually quit part of this job, too.  I was a manager in the field, but I stepped down from those duties when my daughter was born so I could spend more time with her.  Quitter.  Ha!)

I guess that the best way I can explain this to myself is that there feels like a big difference between truly “quitting” something—with the fear and the future regret —and simply changing course because the path you are on no longer feels authentic to you, not representative of your soul’s true calling and joy.  We do change, right?  I surely have.  I was into college 100%…..until I wasn’t.  I loved acting…..until I found something that lit me up even more.  I thought that graduate school was going to lead me toward a goal that meant a lot to me…..until I got there and realized the road was going in a slightly different direction.

Now I have been on this Tennis path—and enjoyed being on it—for all of this time, but my soul is stirring again.  I am wondering if I can do the world more good–and be more fulfilled–by doing more writing/speaking/life coaching.  What if I change course again?  Will that qualify as quitting another thing?  {Odd aside: does it strike you as ironic that the woman who called me a quitter was doing so to motivate me to quit my current profession?  People are special.}  I think that to label every course change as “quitting” is to turn people into cartoon characters.  It is a shallow way to label.  Besides, is there really some great honor in staying in something that no longer serves your greatest good nor feels authentic to you?

I know that quitting happens.  We get faced with difficult life situations all the time—it is not easy to achieve our goals—and bail out.  We make excuses and hide from the regret that comes with abandoning our dreams.  But more often, we think we want something—a marriage, a career path, whatever—so we try it out and give it a good opportunity to light up our soul, eventually finding that it simply does not, or that something else lights it more.  So we choose a different path on our quest for happiness.  It seems to me that true quitting is much more rare than our convenient use of the term.  More tragic and frequent, I think, is the absence of trying, the paralyzing fear of failing if we really do make a run at our dreams.

I would rather fail or “quit” a hundred different pursuits as long as I was living my Truth, taking a chance on true Happiness and Fulfillment.  So, I will keep living authentically, marching to the beat of my own drummer.  Then, when I reach the end of my life’s journey, I can look back with contentment on all of the roads I have traveled.  Walking in my Truth is enough for me.

How about you?  Open your journal and write about your journey.  What does the road of your life look like?  Have you kept your hands at ten and two the whole way, never changing course?  Or, are you like me, taking some sharp turns or totally jumping off track here and there?  How would you label your shifts?  Did you quit, or did you simply choose differently?  It is certainly not easy to admit that we quit, and we can go to great lengths to convince ourselves otherwise.  So, I commend you in advance if you really can own the regrets and other baggage that comes with such an admission.   Walk through all of your big life changes.  Then leave me a reply and let me know: are you a quitter?

Embrace yourself,

William