QUITTERS DO IT FOR A REASON AND IT’S NEVER GOOD ENOUGH

Quitters. They’re are all over the place, but they’re hard to see.

Hard to see because being a quitter isn’t the sort of badge people wear with pride.

Sure, quitters can be positive, like quitting cigarettes, but that’s not what we’re here to talk about.

In this post the focus is on The Big Quit, the walk away, the run away, the disappearing.

It comes with a theme song from The Who.

Extra points for the right guess, Tommy.

Raise your hand if you’ve done this: Woke up one day and had enough.

It’s the apartment, the house, the car, the bus, the train, the rain, the air, your hair.

You look around and say, “ENOUGH.”

It’s all so wearing so you say it again, “ENOUGH.”

And you’re right, but what you really mean is it’s all too much.

Too much to learn, too much to do, too much to feel and say.

But you don’t complain, not a whiner, not a sniveler. Besides, who’s listening?

More important, who cares how you feel? If you have someone who cares how you feel, will they care more if you unload your worries and woes?

Or, tune out because they’ve got enough problems of their own.

So, you remain quiet, tamp it all down, and nothing changes. Ever.

Follow me on this because what I’m describing is The Big Quit. All of you quitters know the drill.

Buck up, turn the page, find the light. Read a book, see a movie. It’s all the same and nothing matters any more than anything else.

And no one cares about quitters?

You are invisible. You know you are when everyone around goes deaf.

“Did you say something? You said something? What are you trying to say?” It’s a sign.

Except, you didn’t say anything.

It’s the look, the act, the tell that gives you away.

There’s a sweet old lady living a blissful life. She’s got noooo problems in her perfect day. Always bright and chipper whenever you see her.

A world traveler with headlines and pictures of all the beauty she’s seen, sharing the experience and stories.

What she won’t share is her secret shame of a bad husband with a checkered past. He’s on a business trip, or working late. The phone rings and a woman’s voice asks for him, a voice she’s never heard from a woman she’s never met.

Once you’ve heard about it, she’s no longer the chipper, happy lady you knew. Instead, she’s crushed by the betrayal, the deceit, the gnawing suspicion she keeps hidden away.

But now that’s all you see. She hasn’t changed one bit, you’ve changed. And not for the better. She could be you, couldn’t she?

Women put up a brave front, a sturdy facade. Men get angry.

Such a perfect match, don’t you think?

There they are, living their lies to each other in plain sight. ‘No one knows,’ is their common bond.

Crushed women make the world go ’round. Maybe your world?

Angry men give it a spin, over and over and over again.

Getting dizzy yet? A little nauseous? What happens when you erp up in your mouth with nowhere to spit? I think you know.

One way to rise up

Find a piece of paper and a pencil and draw something. Draw a tree, a house, a cat, something like that.

Take your time, then look at it.

Are you shocked that you’re not DaVinci, not Michelangelo, not an Old Master, and certainly not new?

Not Picasso, not the water lilly man, just you.

Save that little drawing, put it on the wall and ignore it as long as you can. It’s crap, but now you understand.

The time you took to draw it was a moment of creation, a bolt of lightning, unexpected and frightening. It changes every time you pass by thinking, ‘I can do better than that.’

Yes, you can. If you need permission, here it is: Make another drawing on different paper with a different pencil.

Draw a water lilly, an abstract dog. Just don’t start a blog. I don’t need the competition.

But if you’ve got an itch to scratch, leave a comment.

Who are you? Who? Who?

You’ve got the time right now. I want to see what you come up with.