The Ultimate Quits

"Nothing is perfekt

Certainly not me

Success to failure

Is just a matter of degrees..."

—Geddy Lee, Working at Perfekt

Two weeks in, I was miserable. Actually, misery had already been trailing me like a nasty funk, but it was the physics did me in. Literally the physics class. I had started community college with a scholarship, down a path to engineering, something I thought I wanted, but really didn't. In fact, I didn't know what I wanted at all way back then after high school. The end of high school for me was marked with horrible anxiety that stemmed from childhood trauma and the pressure to succeed from others, and from myself. 

Bottom line — I was a mess. So, two weeks after community college started, I quit. For a week after that, I pretended to go to classes, too afraid to tell my parents. They figured it out, were disappointed, but listened to me struggle to tell them why. A year later I'd start college at San Jose State University, where I eventually and proudly finished, but even that was a rocky road at first.

People quit things for many reasons. They quit school they never wanted, bad habits, unhealthy relationships, and thankless jobs. In fact, during the past year, millions of people have quit their jobs in search of something more for themselves, for their families, or both. If anything, the COVID-19 pandemic became a super-accelerator of change for many. Not just about jobs, but relationships and many other life choices. There's been so much loss as well of all the things we used to take for granted. We can't forget that we're nearing 1 million deaths related to COVID-19. 

Our children have also experienced traumatic changes during the past two years — losing loved ones of course, but also how they learn, where they learn, where they can go, who they can be with and see, what extracurricular activities they can or can't participate in. It''s no surprise that mental health challenges have increased dramatically with children and teens today. 

Pandemic aside, I was raised that when you start something, you finish it, no matter how unhappy you are or you become. It's worse when you're forced to do something you don't want to do because the adults in charge want you to do it. That it's the unhappiness of the challenge that builds character, resilience, and grit.

I used to believe that, but I don't today, although I've struggled with it to this day. There is context for for everything, and while persevering and working through challenging situations can help us become more resilient, we still have and should have the capacity to choose. To change our minds. To quit if necessary, especially when it's no longer fun and fulfilling. 

My wife Amy and I have always wanted our children to try new things, to want to learn new things. Beyond core curriculum in school, we're talking about sports, music, art, and other related activities. Years ago I wanted our daughters to sign up for the Jedi training at Disneyland, being the big Star Wars fan I am. There were nervous and stressed about trying it, almost backed out, but did it and loved it. 

Maybe they didn't want to disappoint me, but they did it. And true, that was me living my life through them, an adulting habit that can be hard to break. However, when they do discover activities they find fulfilling and fun, then we encourage them to pursue them further (even if we encouraged it in the first place). Fun and fulfilling is foundational for positive growth, grit, confidence, and overcoming fear. If they aren't feeling it, and misery follows and they want to quit, then they should, even if they're good at it. Soccer they both felt and still feel. Playing in the school band, not so much. They still tried, though. 

However, that's the hard part for me, fighting my "when you start something, you finish it" upbringing, no matter how miserable you are. That you can only be proud when you stick it out, because quitters are losers. But that's such crap. The latest meditation that Amy and I have been practicing is all about letting go. Letting go of things that are no longer fulfilling or fun, nurturing or loving, that are destructive emotionally and physically, and the list goes on. 

So, when we went to Ms. Tina's celebration of life, one of the beloved teachers from our girls' grade school who passed away suddenly last December, I looked out over the sea where the setting sun was headed as it let go of yet another day of possibilities. And it hit me — life is here, and then it's gone. Letting go of the not fun or fulfilling is healthy, the ultimate quits, ones we should be proud of for ourselves and our children. 

Of Their Own Making

By the time we parked, Beatrice announced for the fourth time that she probably was not going to climb the rock wall.

"Did you see it?" I asked.

"Yes," both girls answered in unison.

"It's in the parking lot," Beatrice added.

The rock wall, which was actually a cylindrical rock wall tower over 30 feet high, stood in the corner of the supermarket parking lot. We saw it clearly once we rounded the corner of the parking lot entrance. There was only one girl climbing up its face at that point.

"Daddy, I'm a little nervous, so I don't think I want to climb it," Bea again reminded me.

"Bea, you don't have to do anything you don't want to. If you want to try it, great. If not, that's okay."

"Okay. I'm just a little nervous."

"I'm not climbing that," Bryce said.

"Girls, you don't have to. Don't worry. Let's go check out the other booths."

It was a small "summer camp" fair we'd gone to. There were about 10 small booths encircling a small corner of the parking lot with the rock tower at its head. Represented were science camps, active activity camps, adventure outdoor camps and even a LEGO engineering camp. The latter being the one the girls gravitated to first. Bryce immediately began building and Beatrice drop things on a LEGO conveyor belt that dropped them in a big bucket. Then they switched roles and Bea built stuff while Bryce dropped stuff on the moving belt.

"Very cool," I said.

Bea looked past me towards the climbing rock tower where another boy and girl were giving the climbing a go. "Daddy, I'm a little nervous. Maybe I'll climb it next time."

"Don't worry. You don't have to climb it; it's up to you."

At one of the active activity camps, the girls had to spin a wheel to then do a specific activity to win a prize. They both hit "do 10 jump jacks," and so they did 10 jumping jacks with the people running the booth. In between exploring each booth, we'd have to jump back to the LEGO booth for more building and playing.

About 15 minutes later, Bea said, "Daddy, I want to climb it now."

"What?"

I'd blocked out the possibility of it, because I just didn't think she'd want to climb it. I didn't want to push her either, or under-encourage her. Instead I just kept making it about her choice. But what I didn't get at that moment was the fact that, with her repetitively saying out loud she maybe didn't want to climb it, actually meant that she was building up her confidence to climb it.

Damn. You go, Bea.

And that was all she wrote, as the expression goes. One of the adventure booth representative fitted the climbing harness on her and away she went. Within a minute, Bryce said, "Daddy, I want to climb, too."

There will be times in our lives where the pride we feel for our children's accomplishments will send us skyrocketing into summer's dusk like brilliant fireworks on Independence Day. This was one of them; I beamed a reverent rainbow while I watched them climb the rock, repel down and then climb up again.

It didn't matter that neither went all the way to the top. It didn't matter that Bea made it twice as far as Bryce did. All that mattered was that they both climbed the rock wall tower by their own volition. They did that. I was supportive, yes, as I should be, but they did that. This part I didn't miss, knowing that their mountains will be steeper at times and potentially more treacherous because of their gender. That having each other as well as supportive and empathic mentors and peers, both women and men, will empower them. My wife and I also know we can only help them develop their confidence and grit one step at a time, and that the cumulative heights they reach will ultimately be of their own making.

Here be the bold and tenacious. Here be the #BhivePower. Amen.

“Ain't no mountain high enough
Ain't no valley low enough
Ain't no river wide enough
To keep me from getting to you babe…”

—Ashford & Simpson, Ain't No Mountain High Enough

A New Hope of Grit and Growth

"Beatrice G. and Bryce G.," called the Jedi training coordinator.

Music to my Force-filled ears. We had missed the regular reservation times and could only sign the girls up as alternates. No guarantees. Come back at least 15 minutes before one of these times later today. Thank you and good luck. And now they were being called to participate!

"I don't know if I want to do it," said Beatrice.

"It'll be fun, Bea. Don't worry," I said.

"I want to do it!" said Bryce.

"Don't worry," said the Mama (what I lovingly call my wife).

"Okay," said Beatrice.

This was the part where many parents come to in the lives of their beloved children: making them do something whether they want to or not -- so we can experience the experiences they need to have that we never experienced otherwise and live these experiences anew vicariously through said beloved children.

Thank you and good luck.

"Do you both want to do it?" asked the coordinator.

I'm not sure if they both said yes or not, but we ushered them to the gated entrance where all the Padawans were corralled, being dressed in robes and prepped.

Bryce beamed when I took her picture in her training robe. Beatrice had that look of constipated anxiety she gets when she's nervous about something, the same look I've had since I was a child and even into adulthood.

I gave Bea a big thumbs up and then we smiled and waved at them both. One of the Jedi training coordinators called for the parents to follow her and led us to the open quad stage where the performance/training would take place.

"I didn't realize we'd be leaving them up there alone," said the Mama.

"I know. They'll be all right, though."

"I'd better go check on them," she said.

"Okay, I'll be right here. Love you."

"Love you."

But then I worried that, by going up there to where the Padawans were being prepped, one or both girls would have a out with the Mama not to do the training exercise. I didn't want that to happen, although I did feel a little guilty about pushing them, Bea especially, out of their comfort zone. I remembered how painfully shy I was at her age, and how tentative I was to try new things like this, to try anything for that matter. Thankfully both girls already have more grit than I did at their ages, more like their Mama in that regard, so I thought they could handle it. It wasn't like we were sending them out to fight for the lives in The Hunger Games.

Right?

I mean, I wanted them to handle it; I would've paid money, begged, may even cry a little if Disneyland would've let me participate in the Jedi training. Even the Mama would've loved to do it.

I waited for the training to start and kept looking in the direction where the Mama went to check on the girls, half-expecting to see her return with one or both of the girls at any moment. I hoped they'd persevere and enjoy the experience. For me. And for them too, of course.

The Star Wars theme music launched and my heart lept back to the summer of 1977. John Williams composes a mean crescendo and diminuendo, that's for sure. The Mama joined me back near the stage, no girls in tow, as a line of Padawans filled the quad, Jedi trainers guiding them to their starting positions.

"Were they all right?" I asked.

"Yep, just fine."

The performance itself was quite entertaining, with all the Jedi trainees collectively controlling and channeling the Force to vanquish the dark side and the Seventh Sister, Darth Vader and Kylo Ren. Each Padawan had an opportunity to battle the Seventh Sister and Darth Vader, showing off the newly acquired light saber skills.

Because the Force real. Really. No judging, please.

Our girls made us proud, washing away any guilt of pushing them into Jedi training. Pushing Beatrice more than Bryce that is. Which, with all due respect to our beloved children, was pretty minimal in the first place. After the performance ended, the girls ran to us all aglow and confident.

"Did you have fun?"

"Yes, I want to do it again! It was exciting for me," Bea exclaimed.

"Yes! It was awesome" said Bryce.

We want them to get excited like this after trying new things, to experience the unexperienced, and to always see them through. Not all of what's learned will stick long-term, nor will they even like everything they try, but that doesn't matter. What's matters is in their becoming of something better, smarter, stronger and resilient for whatever life throws their way -- and throw things it will, lots of things (damn all those things). What will matter the most is for them (and us) to always be a new hope of grit and growth.