This is a little outside the typical scope that I write about here, but I decided that vulnerability is never a bad thing. I know, typically my ramblings on here highlight my adorable, opinionated little toddler of whom I am quite strongly endeared, but today, it’s a little more personal.
I’m a quitter.
Yikes. Not fun words, are they? Something about that word has an incredible haunting ability capable of crippling the strongest of men. “A quitter? Me?! NEVER,” most men proclaim. From the outside, it appears that most of them are right. I mean, when I stack myself up against other men I know – my father, my father-in-law, friends, cousins, etc., – it appears that most are driven, hard working, capable men that have substantially more character than I do. They decide to do something, and they do it. They create a plan, and they see it through. I don’t stack up. And quite frankly, it sucks to see myself in such a way.
There are many things I care deeply about not giving up on. My family deserves better than a quitter. I work two jobs and I’m in school, so from the outside, by most accounts, I appear to be a hard worker. But from the outside, people don’t see my routinely bleak evenings of eating crap food, drinking beer and binge-watching Netflix. They don’t see the empty promises and goals I proclaim to the world, and to my wife, like a man on a mission that meekly fall, like a shell without a seed, by the wayside without so much as a passing glance.
You see, I talk a big game. Something catches my interest, and for about 5 seconds, I’m all about it. “I’m going to write a book!” I said. “I’m going to get healthy!” I said. “I’m going to read my bible every morning and work out every night!” I said. Yet here I stand – or rather, sit – not doing any of the above. Not writing a book. Not changing my diet. Not reading every morning and not working out every night. I sit, eyes fixed to the TV screen, mindlessly shoveling chips into my face, instead of actively taking charge of my own identity, my own life, my own possibilities. Basically, I’m acting as a bystander to my own story, a victim of perfectly and wholly avoidable circumstance in my own life, and it is driving me absolutely mad.
So, why do I quit? Why do I give up on things that clearly matter to me? Perhaps it’s from a fear of failure. Perhaps I’m just lazy. Perhaps I put too much stock on the “now” instead of the “then.” But something seriously, deeply, profoundly must change in my approach to following through on the goals I have set forth.
I’m done quitting. Time to start doing.