Taking a break from the photo-filled, light-hearted posts to write about something that I’ve faced a lot through my life. And that’s the decision to quit something.
Now, I’ve never been a quitter. I always work hard to finish any task given to me, but aren’t there times where you just feel like you can’t handle it any more? Can’t handle the rejection or the stress or the annoyance of those around you? That’s where I am.
Quit comes from Anglo-French and is defined as being released from obligation, charge, or penalty or to be set free. Those all sound like awesome and good things, but in reality you don’t always feel that way.
When I think of the word quit, I think of giving up, a failure – saying that I’m not up to the challenge. If you know me, you know that it takes a lot to get me to that point.
I’m not one to give up. I’ve been faced with so many things, whether health related, school centered or work room woes, but I have never once thought about dropping it all – except for this year.
I think there comes a point where you work as hard as you can to get the best results and even then you still don’t get the grades you want or the outcome you were waiting for. Take for example my job as a reporter.
I’m surrounded by other college students who also love to write. We all want the best product on the stands the next day and yet, we have still not figured out how to work together – it’s November. Come on people.
You would think as journalists we know how to communicate but in fact, we don’t even know how to hold a decent conversation with each other. Secrets are whispered, glares are given – it’s not the place I loved three years ago. Now it’s like a war zone where as soon as you step in all you are trying to do is get out as fast as you can. I’ve come to the point where I wanted to leave this job and let them figure out how they would replace me and how they would handle it.
But what would leaving do?
Would it change the situation there? Would it help my new writers? Would it make me feel better? I mean, all it would do is give me tons of free time, which if you know me you know that I don’ know how to handle myself when I have free time.
I’m a workaholic. Like my dad, I love staying busy. I’m always either studying or writing or volunteering or working on something. I can’t just stay in my room all day and do nothing (unless it is really cold outside and I have pizza and Netflix, then it’s fine).
So if I did quit my job, what would that leave me with? Free time, yes. But also the sense of failure. The sense that I couldn’t handle it or that I wasn’t up for it. That I can’t finish a commitment. That I’m not who I say I am. And that’s not okay with me.
At UNC, many people joke about how the bricks are out to get you, always making you trip and fall. Life is kind of like that too, except it’s not just nasty bricks. It’s also flying rocks, pouring rain and steep hills. What’s the point, you ask? That shining ray of hope at the end of the path – the place you always wanted to be – your dreams.
And that’ why I can’t quit. And I won’t. And you shouldn’t either.