I Thought About Leaving a Hundred Times

What I learned from cold calls, food poisoning, and raising someone else’s kids.

When were you glad you stayed with when you wanted to leave?

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Welcome to issue #124 of Beyond Self Improvement. Every Wednesday, I send an essay with practical ideas for personal freedom in an unfree world.

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Dear friend,

I used to quit nearly everything: sports, academics, jobs, hobbies.

I quit cross-country running because I wasn’t fast enough. I quit cross-country skiing because I was the clumsiest skier on the team. I stopped studying because I didn’t get good grades. I quit jobs because they were too demanding and paid too little.

Whenever I didn’t succeed right away, I bailed. I wasn’t just afraid of failure. I feared that I was a failure. If I didn’t excel at something right away, I figured I must not be good at it, so why try?

I hadn't yet realized the paradox that effortlessness takes great effort. I hadn't read the first sentence of The Road Less Traveled: "Life is difficult."

Eventually, I saw that if I wanted to grow, I had to stick with things long enough to give myself a chance to succeed.

Bolivia: A Lesson in Endurance

I planned to climb two peaks over 19,000 feet (5.8 km): Parinacota and Huayna Potosi in Bolivia. I trained for months and swore I wouldn’t eat local food until the climbs were over, fearing food poisoning. But on the first night at the outpost on the Altiplano (14,400 feet / 4.4 km) run by a husband and wife team, I gave in. Everyone else, including the leader, ate the stew. I looked down at my packets of Thai rice noodles and thought, "Stop being such a namby-pamby tourist and eat it."

That night, lying in a mud hut with a tin roof on a mattress-less bed with springs that sagged like a hammock, I woke with sharp stomach pain. Not long after, someone stumbled outside and vomited into the dry dirt. At least I wasn't the only one suffering.

I heard it again, then again, and soon I was bent over the same dirt, heaving. Then came the dysentery. No seat on the toilet, just a hole in the wall through which I stared up at the moon. I had never felt so alone.

Despite the sickness, we had to press on. Our leader, who was also sick, offered to let me stay behind, which aroused all my stubbornness. I had trained too long and come too far, and I wasn’t going to miss the climb. So, I stuffed my 65 lb (30 kg) backpack and joined the team.

Mercifully, we had hired donkeys to carry our gear. Even walking was a struggle. We climbed for ten miles (16 km) across soft volcanic soil, into the wind, our boots sliding backward with every step. It felt like a death march. My climbing partners who avoided food poisoning checked on me throughout the day, giving me hard candies to keep me going. It was the most grueling day of my life.

Three days later, we stood on the summit. I ran along the crater’s rim like a child on Christmas morning. The leader said, “I’ve never seen anyone with so much energy on top of a mountain.”

Three of us stood atop Huyana Potosi six days later while the others stayed behind in La Paz. When life gets hard now, I think of that difficult day and remind myself: if I could survive that, I can survive this.

Sales: A Test of Resolve

In my mid-thirties, I took a straight commission sales job. I was painfully shy, couldn’t think on my feet, and got so nervous during sales calls that my hands turned into a fish on ice. Every day, I dreamed about quitting. The job felt meaningless, like I was being punished for some bad karma I wasn't even aware of.

Surely, I was put on this earth for some higher purpose than this stupid job.

But at some point, I got tired of my complaining. I realized that if I quit my job before finding success, I wasn't making a choice. I was running away again.

So I made a deal with myself. I could quit, but only after I succeeded. If I still wanted to leave, fine, but not before.

I read every book on sales I could find with titles like How I Raised Myself From Failure to Success in Selling. I tracked my daily activity in a spreadsheet and reviewed every meeting to see what worked and didn't work. I asked to go on appointments with top salespeople. I created my marketing materials. When I didn’t know the answer to a question, I told prospects I’d find out and follow up. I set up and serviced every account.

In my first full year, I was Rookie of the Year. The next year, I won a trip to New York overlooking Central Park and finished in the top 1 percent of 1,800 reps. Later, I became a top 3 percent sales manager. I only left after a change to the compensation plan that would have cut my income.

Nothing about it was easy or glamorous (except the trips and awards). But once I stopped complaining and started doing everything to improve, I began to succeed.

Meditation Retreat: Sitting Through Fire

My first meditation retreat was pure misery. We sat cross-legged for forty-five minutes at a time, without moving, then practiced walking meditation for another forty-five. We did this seven times a day for five days, and were told to stay mindful in every waking moment in between.

Each sitting brought waves of fiery, hot, searing pain in my knees and back. My thoughts were a jumble of judgment and insecurity. “Everyone here is enlightened except me.” “I wish I were at the coffee shop drinking a latte.” “Why are those people meditating lying down?” "That's my walking meditation spot." “For the love of god, please ring the bell.”

I don’t think I followed my breath for even one moment. But what I took from that retreat (and subsequent ones) stayed with me.

I developed a tolerance for discomfort. I stopped reacting to every strong emotion. I began to see through my thoughts instead of believing them. Most of the things that used to bother me no longer do. I judged others less, and myself too. I became less angry, less reactive. My mind cleared up. I stopped overthinking. I used to hate being wrong. Now I welcome it. I even started laughing at myself.

And when I meditate, I never quit before the timer goes off.

Family: The Longest Climb

Two months after moving in with my partner and her two kids, I told my therapist I had made a mistake. I said it was too hard, that I didn’t have the skills. The house felt heavy with clutter and the depressed energy of unresolved grief. I had entered someone else’s life, and since they weren’t my kids, I had virtually no say.

Every morning, my stepson would lock himself in the bathroom and refuse to go to school. My partner would plead, lose her patience, drag him to the car, buckle him in, then do it all again when he unbuckled himself or flung the door open. She was depressed. After dropping the kids off, she’d crawl back into bed and sleep until afternoon.

Two years after he had moved out, her ex-husband’s things still took up half the garage. She didn’t want to pressure him to move them, so I did, and he got angry. They were separated, not divorced, and she didn’t want to make an enemy, which would make things worse for everyone, especially the kids.

I thought about leaving a hundred times. When it got really bad, I searched for apartments and began packing my dishes. Why dishes? I don't know. My partner triggered every unresolved childhood wound I had. I became depressed and had suicidal thoughts, yet even in the worst of it, I knew I was still okay.

But I stayed, and we got help. After two and a half years of couples therapy, we are closer than ever. Finally, it feels like we're on the same team, rowing in the same direction. I feel connected to my stepkids. I’ve become more constant, more loving, and stronger than I ever thought possible.

If I can survive this, I can survive anything, even death.

I Don’t Quit Anymore

Now, when life is difficult, I remember the endless rejection of cold-calling, the sickness on the side of a volcano, the pain of long sits, the heartbreak of parenting someone else’s children, and the hard-won closeness of a relationship forged in fire.

I don’t give up anymore. Not unless it’s what I refer to as an “impossible situation.”

Otherwise, I stay.

When were you glad you stayed with when you wanted to leave? What did you take away from these experiences? How have you drawn strength from them over the years?

Keep on and don't give in,

Ryan

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Australian Cattle Dogs, distinct personalities.