So there’s been a bit of activity lately.
It seems that rejection number 457 has been followed by something decidedly strange; offer number 1. Of course, I’m maximizing the rejection count – it makes me feel like I’ve paid the proper price – that unspoken yet strictly agreed upon principal that in order for someone to actually pay attention to what you’ve spent all those nights pounding away at, you must endure an appropriate measure of pain, suffering, angst and (and this is perhaps the most important one), you must, at some point, completely give up. Preferably at least three times.
“Never quit!” We’ve all heard that one. It was probably a coach, a physiotherapist or some guy pitching self help or how to get ahead in business. What a load of bull. Quitting something in utter disgust is important. And doing it just once isn’t going to cut it. No. You need to hold that dream in front of you, slap its face hard, maybe even spit at it, and then stomp off in the opposite direction declaring you’re done. Finished. Through with it for good. Who needs that shit anyway.
And then, maybe a week later, maybe a month, you come back. Quietly and gingerly, like you’re sidling up to a firecracker that was lit but never went off. And you gently pick it up again, bob your head left and right and decide that, well, maybe I’ll give it another shot.
You see, it’s the coming back that’s important. Not the sticking-to-it-blindly-forever – that shit’s for long distance runners and heart muscle. No. For the rest of us giving up is an act of defiance, a declaration of independence from whatever it is that forces us to toil after some goal that’s forever just beyond that horizon. It’s quitting that gives you the chance to come back… to honestly admit that the damn thing was worth it all along. Think about it. There’s something to it, right?
And in the spirit of quitting, screw this blog. I mean, I’m done with it. Finished for all time and ever. I’m outa here. Who needs it? Not me, that’s for damn sure.
See you next time.