(ring)
Hey, how are you?
Eh, we’re all sick, mom. Maya had it, then I got it Friday, and it’s almost gone. Now it’s Gavin’s turn.
So, I’ve got an off-the-wall-question for you. How old was I when I started taking ballet?
Oh, I think you were about four. It was after we moved to Corpus Christi.

I don’t WANT to go to ballet!
You can’t just quit whenever you decide you don’t like something.
But I don’t LIIIIIKE it!
Life is full of things you won’t like.

How long did I take lessons?
Oh, a year at least.
And whose idea was it for me to take lessons?
It was my idea.

Please, don’t make me go. I don’t like the game running around playing like squirrels hiding their nuts in the Fall. It’s stupid.
Sigh. You really shouldn’t just be a quitter like that, but okay.

And when we took piano lessons, whose idea was that?
I think that was my idea too — at least for the first year. After that, it was up to you guys.
Okay, thanks — I’m at Maya’s school now; gotta run.

The answer was as simple as a phone call.

Ballet, piano lessons (which I took for several years before leaving), numerous activities that I *didn’t* pursue because of the attitude of, “oh, you’d just quit them anyway.” Other things I dabbled in and quit later (despite my insistence that I’d continue): skydiving, choral music after college. Things that I continued out of sheer love of it: music, extracurricular reading for personality and psychology. Devotion toward my kids and dedication to helping them grow up emotionally healthy.

After that first experience with accepting the label of “someone who quits things,” everything I’ve done has been colored by the idea that I simply can’t — or even worse, can but *won’t* — follow through. I strained against this identity in my first two major relationships, which lasted long past their consume-by date, despite the stench (I’m looking at you, JD). In reaction, most of my relationships since then have seen me as the one who’s never been willing to commit. Even as a married gal, have my emotions really ever been “all in?” To my shame, probably not.

My brother, by contrast, finished *everything.* In a household full of Judger-types, this was a virtue. I freely admit that I enjoy the initiation of a project more than the completion of it (although hitting “submit” on an assignment does feel really damned good). If you take a look at the piles of research and outline notes I have for each and every late assignment that is stressing me out, that becomes blindingly obvious. There is a place for completion drive.

But what if when I was a child it was actually *I* who did the right thing? What if my brother played soccer, not because he liked it, but because he was expected to not QUIT? What if it was okay for me to move on from activities I disliked after giving them a fair trial?

I’ll never know what the reality was. Memories are notoriously inaccurate, and mine is no exception. But, even the idea that maybe — just maybe — things weren’t exactly as I thought gives me a freedom. I have the freedom to do what makes sense to me, without regard (fear, even) of a label.

Perspective is good. Now pardon me while I complete some work. You see, despite what I was told at the age of 5, I’m not a quitter.

****Edited to add:****

I should mention — this does *not* mean that I am staying in at Walden after this quarter. What it does do is give me some psychological space in which to burn through the assignments for which I’ve had massive mental blocks (even when I HAVE had time free from baby-love). It also means that I know I’ll return. And I can do so without feeling haunted by this idea that I’m destined to fail or otherwise fall flat on my face.