Those two little words used to haunt me. I was paralyzed by shame when telling my parents I wanted to quit piano after five years at age 10. I played every stupid ball sport every season for at least two years before I finally found the guts to quit and thus put myself out of my misery because I was terrible and terrified of every minute. Until recently I simply could not quit reading a book until I had finished it, even if I wanted to throw it across the room out of boredom or disgust or both.
But today, today I have decided to embrace quitting. To tell the type A people pleasing I can do it best myself airline stewardess to other people’s lives living in my head that she can take a flying leap, because I quit.
I quit pretending like I have any idea what the hell I am doing as a parent or a wife or a daughter or a sister. I quit wondering when all the answers to being an adult are going to show up. I quit wondering when I’m really going to feel comfortable in my own skin. What does that even mean, anyway?
I also quit shame.
And I quit all of the things the make me feel ashamed. I don’t want to feel ashamed anymore.
I’m not asking to be happy.
Just to be here in my life, to be present without fear or crippling self-doubt or fantasies of what might have been had I made different choices decades ago.
I quit everything that’s in the way of simply living my life in gratitude and with hope.
Like letting go of the monkey bars half way across, I’m just done and ready to try something else now.