Quitting is for losers!

You only fail when you quit!

How often do you run into this phrase?

In the ’80s, it was some version of “No pain, No gain”. The sentiment survives today in memes of athletes, perhaps injured, sweating buckets, … striving.

Yes. Fine. Good. You do you.

But I wonder where is the discussion of respecting limits?

A Few Broken Racquets

In high school, I played tennis. I did ok. Tons of practice, private and group lessons, playing on the team,… I put in my hours.

But it was never quite enough. A few rage-broken racquets and a dropping from the team left me feeling a bit lost.

I could have said, “To hell with them. I’ll show them.” Maybe I could have tried harder, taken on more partners, studied books, videos, and more.

I didn’t. I quit.

I didn’t lounge about, but quitting gave me time.

Even though it was my senior year, I tried out for gymnastics. And, I loved it.

It immediately became clear how much better suited my build was for gymnastics. Within a few months, I was having a blast at competitions, doing “L’s,” “the iron cross,” and more.

Limits Are Not the Enemy; Hard Is Not “Right”

Limits are somehow considered a swear word, a villain, a thing to destroy. Simultaneously it becomes the target.

If you have a limit, well, maybe you just haven’t worked “hard enough” to break it yet. Implied is a laziness ready to swallow you whole if you happen to stop.

Limits exist. I can only lift so much. I can only run so fast. I only have so much attention in the day.

Work places regularly ask for “stretch goals”. Once reached, they ask for another level, regardless of cost to the employee. Meanwhile, some other strength or potential of the individual may well go squandered.

A Measure of Ease

Does that mean you should quit when you hit a limit? Of course not. The issue is that just because something is hard doesn’t make it “right”.

If I force composing at the piano, I can hear that force in the notes. The music reeks. Despite the notes themselves even being “accurate”, listening to the result gives me a headache, and I’m certain that headache would be there waiting, too, for my unsuspecting audience.

But, when my fingers can rest in a gentle ease of the moment, the muse is so much more likely to appear. Fingers flow channeling its spirit. Missed notes and timings only enhance the rivers, mistakes reminding us of our shared humanity.

Without a doubt, the discovery and working through of limits through practice has helped me reach that ease.

But also without a doubt, ease is my measure of mastery, not pain.

When I hit a limit, I respect it. Maybe there’s something I missed. But maybe I cannot figure it out in that moment.

Resting my hands away from the keys gives the moment space to breath. I can then return fresh to search for ease within the challenges, often where I’d been too tense to find it before.

– Kourosh

PS If you’d like to read my related rant on goals, check out Lay Off the Goals a Bit, Would You?