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“Don't be a quitter” was a phrase I heard countless times growing up. In my family, if you committed to something, there was no backing out or giving up. Throughout college, this has
been a phrase that has stuck in the back of my mind and filled me with anxiety. Once you sign up for something, you must see it through, no matter how hard it is.
The last couple of months have been filled with late nights and early mornings. Balancing so many different jobs, executive positions in clubs, and social commitments has left me feeling empty and full of complaints. Sometimes, when life feels so overwhelming, we just don't have the mental capacity to be present with the people we love most. On the phone with my boyfriend one night, I complained, “It's been such a hard week... You just don't understand.” He replied, “Riley, every week is a hard week. That's just your life.”
I tried to brush that comment off, but somehow I couldn't shake it. The truth in his words stung like a hot knife. My life was crowded. Too crowded to make space for the people and activities I loved. That night, I glanced at my nightstand. 2 books sat there, covered in dust. I have been trying to read them since the fall, with no luck. I used to love to read; I would devour a book in 2 days, hungry for more. But since college, reading has felt like a chore, something to do to prove my academic excellence, not something I do for fun. I had turned all of my hobbies into a competition, and I was only competing with myself. I love journaling, but haven't picked up my journal in months, for fear of not writing poetry and prose that might be world-renowned
when future generations inevitably read my journal. I love to stay up to date on politics and
culture, but reading the news each morning causes me an immense amount of stress. I don't do
it because I enjoy it, I do it to sound smart to those around me.
Slowly, I look around and don't recognize my life. I don't see the joy that was once there.
And I knew then that it was time for some spring cleaning. Over the next couple of weeks, as
school winds down, I no longer want to focus on achieving or winning. I have achieved enough.
My next goal is to be a quitter. It may seem counterintuitive and go against all the beliefs I once
had about myself. But, for the first time in my life, I strive to be a quitter. I want to weed out all of
the things that no longer bring me joy. I want to quit the clubs with fruitless meetings and the
pointless honor societies. I want to make space in my life to love those around me, and love
them well. I want to start watching trash reality TV again and go for aimless walks and drives. I
want to listen to music “just because” and not to culturally educate myself. And I want to think,
not to somehow become a more thoughtful individual, but to really develop my own mind, for my
own sake.
Engraved in the wood above the seminar room reads “Let us dare to read, think, speak,
and write”. I don't think when John Adams wrote that, he meant let us dare to write beautifully,
speak thoughtfully, and read every book ever written. He meant to dare to do it and fail. Dare to
speak even if it's not perfect, to read even if you don't understand, and to think about everything,
not for the sake of achievement, but for the sake of mindfulness. If I were John, I might add one
more verb in there. Dare to fail.
Riley is a McConnell Scholar at the University of Louisville in the class of 2027. She is studying political science and philosophy with a minor in criminal justice.