Quitting (previously published as Mastering the Art of Quitting) (11 page)

Consistent with other findings about unadulterated positive thinking, just a smidge of pessimism mixed with a dash of realism is what's really needed to distinguish the kind of dreaming that is
helpful from the kind that isn't. What Oettingen calls
mental contrasting
is essential not just to dreaming about achieving a goal but also to figuring out whether it is actually feasible. Mental contrasting involves envisioning the desired future and then reflecting on the possible negatives associated with attaining it and is distinguished from three other mental strategies that pertain to goal setting. Mental contrasting alone is a strategy aimed at solving problems. It permits you to evaluate the obstacles that stand in the way of achieving the goal, all the while keeping the goal in mind—almost as if you were watching a television with a split screen. The contrast permits you to plan and act to fix what stands in the way of achievement, while you remain highly motivated by the vision of the desired goal.

Other possible but ultimately ineffective strategies include what Oettingen calls
indulging
, which involves bringing up a mental image of that rosy future or desired end in great detail and returning to that mental image frequently to add detail or elaborate. Then there's
dwelling
, where the person stays fixed on the current situation, reflecting largely on its negatives. Even though dwelling is very different from indulging, neither motivates the person to act. Finally, there is what Oettingen calls
reverse contrasting
, where the person focuses first on the present reality and then on the desired future, without considering the two in relation to each other. Unlike mental contrasting, these other ways of imaging leave the person stuck, if for different reasons, unable to gear up, on the one hand, or to disengage, on the other.

One experiment by Oettingen and her colleagues
asked participants to name their most important interpersonal problem. Among those mentioned were “getting to know someone I like,” “improve my relationship with my partner,” and “understand my mother better.” The participants were asked to rank on a scale of one to seven their expectation of how successful they'd be at resolving the problem. They were then also asked to rate how important resolution was to them, again on a scale of one to seven. All the participants were then asked to list four positive outcomes they associated with a happy resolution and then to list four negative aspects of reality
that stood in the way of the resolution. The participants were then divided into three groups, and the tasks they were given mirrored the mental contrasting, indulging, and dwelling conditions. Participants in the mental contrast group were asked to mentally elaborate on two positive and two negative aspects, the indulging group was asked to elaborate on four positives, and the dwelling group on four negatives. Of the groups, only the mental contrasting participants made plans and took responsibility for their actions when they had a high expectation of success; when their expectations were low, they took no actions.

These findings were confirmed by a second experiment that used the same interpersonal theme and procedure but went on to measure which of the groups would initiate action to achieve the goals. Participants were asked to rate how they felt (energetic, active, or empty) and then were told to come back in two weeks and report on which day they had initiated the two most difficult steps to implement. Again, the participants who used mental contrasting
and
had high expectations of success initiated action more quickly.

A later chapter will discuss mental contrasting in more detail, but it's important to acknowledge here that it's hard work. As the poet T. S. Eliot wrote, “Human kind can't bear very much reality,” and that, alas, is true. Our fondness for pipe dreams—which can range from having six-pack abs to leapfrogging from manager to CEO in a flash to becoming rich and famous—doubtless is bolstered because a pipe dream doesn't require that we acknowledge very much, if any, reality. It's way easier just to picture how great you'd look with those abs without letting in thoughts about all the sit-ups you'd have to do, the foods you'd have to give up, the time you'd be spending at the gym, not to mention the real possibility of failure. While picturing those wished-for abs is happy-making, considering the realistic to-do list that accompanies the goal is something else entirely. People, to be blunt, prefer purely happy thoughts.

Which brings us back to the homemaker who woke up from a dream with an idea. The likelihood is that with three small kids in the house, she had to do some mental contrasting and figure out the
obstacles that stood in the way of her sitting down at the computer, much less finishing her novel. And in case you were wondering, the woman's name was Stephenie Meyer and the book that came to her was titled
Twilight.

Taking First Steps

By any estimation, Jamie, age twenty-nine, has done well. She has been writing for a small but well-regarded newspaper on the West Coast for over two years and has been a journalist since she graduated from a prestigious liberal arts college six years ago. Being a writer has been her intended goal since she was in middle school, but she didn't focus on journalism until after college, and then only at the suggestion of her college mentor. She took a job as a reporter, thinking it would serve as a kind of writing boot camp. “That had been my advisor's idea,” Jamie says. “He thought that reporting would demystify writing, teach me to sit down day after day, develop discipline, and hone my craft.” He wasn't wrong; all of that has happened and more.

But it has come at a price Jamie didn't expect; the day-to-day work of newspaper journalism doesn't make her happy. It isn't the kind of writing she wants to do—she'd like to try something more creative—and she knows this isn't the life she wants to live. “I can't remember the last time I didn't have to work (or worry about my work) over the weekend. I dread getting up in the morning. I feel mentally, physically, and spiritually hollow when I leave my office at the end of the day. My neck hurts. My shoulders hurt. I don't even get excited about the stories I write. I don't even really enjoy seeing my name in print anymore.”

But she still hasn't quit. Some of that has to do with the loyalty she feels to her bosses and colleagues, and to the newspaper itself. She's unsure because she has felt this kind of restlessness before at the first two newspaper jobs she'd held, but then, she'd thought she just
wasn't cut out to be a writer. Now she knows she wants to continue writing but with a different focus and under different circumstances. “I've worried that this means that I'm a failure who can't really stick with anything,” she says. “But then, other people remind me and I remind myself that I've stuck to the journalism path for six years.” Jamie has spent months trying to make sense of what she should do. “I've thought this thing to death. I've considered it from every angle. I drive myself crazy trying to figure out which decision is more cowardly. Am I a coward to leave this job, to give up on a career that I'm really quite good at, just because it's hard and exhausting? Or am I a coward if I put up with the status quo and sink into the outline of a job that makes me deeply unhappy?”

At the moment, she has put off deciding whether to quit and is taking a leave of absence from her job to travel and write before she makes up her mind. She believes that a freelance career, writing on various topics, might give her a sense of freedom and of owning her time and the ability to reflect when she needs to. “I want flexibility, you see. I'm not sure I want to do just one thing in life.” Even though she knows rationally that this is the right moment in her life to make a leap—she's married but doesn't have a mortgage or other financial encumbrances and isn't quite ready to have a child—she's still unsure. “I'm an expert ruminator,” she says. “I second-guess everything. When I'm trying to put a positive spin on it, I say that I'm an incredibly open-minded, empathetic person who can really see an issue from any perspective. But that, of course, means I agonize over every little decision.”

Interestingly, Jamie's newly minted goal of becoming a freelance writer is one of the first career goals she has actually set for herself since she graduated from college. “I don't think I've been terribly goal-oriented,” she admits. “So far, I've made it through life just sort of heading in one general direction, seeing which doors will open themselves to me. I'm getting closer to knowing where I want to go next, and that makes me happier. I hope that I'm taking a step toward the life I want to live.”

Even though Jamie hasn't quit, she's working on garnering editorial contacts for the articles and essays that she plans to write during her leave and that hopefully will be published. In short, she's beginning to master the art of quitting.

In the next chapter, we'll look at what a talent for quitting entails.

You and Your Goals

This list of statements is meant to prompt a consideration of how you set goals for yourself, how you approach them, and how you deal with potential setbacks. Please agree or disagree with each.

1. I'm most motivated to work hard when there's a financial or another tangible reward.

2. It's important to me that I feel stimulated and creative and I actively pursue those opportunities.

3. Conflict often paralyzes me, and I end up doing nothing.

4. When I'm feeling conflicted about what to do next, I think about what matters most and choose.

5. Give me an opportunity to procrastinate or waste time, and I'm there.

6. I'm very disciplined and good at controlling my impulses.

7. I spend a lot of time worrying about unfinished tasks.

8. I'm a planner. I do what I can, but if I can't do it all, I don't worry.

9. I'm definitely proactive. I think along the lines of “If I do this, then that won't happen.”

10. I'm motivated by the positive. I usually think “If I do this, then that will happen.”

11. I feel a lot of pressure to measure up to what others have accomplished.

12. I'm usually focused on what will make me happy.

13. I don't like being around sad people, and I hate being a downer myself.

14. Sadness is a part of life. I deal with it by talking about it.

15. I'm the only person who can fix what's ailing me.

16. It's valuable to find out how other people deal with things in times of crisis.

17. If someone criticizes me or my work, I can't stop thinking about it.

18. I try to take criticism in stride. I consider the source and whether it's true.

19. If a task is frustrating me, I'll just keep going, no matter what.

20. If something's driving me crazy, I'll take five and consider whether I should continue or not.

21. I think it's important to put a positive spin on things, no matter what.

22. Sometimes I have to let myself consider that things aren't working out as I'd hoped.

The more odd-numbered statements you've agreed with, the more likely it is that many of your goals are extrinsic or avoidant.

 

Chapter Four

A Talent for Quitting

There's a tradition followed at Harvard Law School and other institutions of higher learning. The dean or someone else in authority gathers all the first-year students into a room and tells each of them, “Look to your right and your left, because one of you won't be here next year.” The truth is that we could, with a straight face and no intention of intimidating, ask you to do precisely the same thing the next time you find yourself in a group. One of you won't be “here” next year, because one of you is better at quitting than the others.

What qualities or characteristics keep some of us so intensely hidebound, resistant or sensitive to change, unable to let go even when holding on is making us deeply unhappy? Why do some of us only see a chasm of negative possibilities when we're confronted with a leap of faith and remain rooted to the spot? Why do some of us approach life's challenges in a defensive crouch, always looking for a way to cut our potential losses? Why do some of us seem to lack an off button when it comes to managing negative feelings? Why do some of us keep persisting, no matter what?

What gives some of us the grace and skill of a yoga master when it comes to moving from one thing to another in life, whether it's a relationship, a job, or an aspiration? What does a human being need to be able to imagine a new flight plan, complete with a successful landing? Why is it easier for some people to find the right balance of realism and optimism, and how do they come by the
skill? Do they know a secret that eludes the rest of us, or do they have some kind of internal thermostat? How do they leave one thing and go on to find something else that really makes them happy? How do they bounce back from losses? Why do some of us have a talent for quitting while others of us don't?

That's the question at hand, and in the pages that follow, we'll be talking about those qualities and the people who have them and what you can do to polish yours or, if need be, begin to acquire them if you don't. The talent for quitting is distinct from those unproductive, emotionally fueled styles of quitting covered earlier. What we have to say is founded on science, but let's begin with a small disclaimer anyway. No single measure or how-to formula can possibly address the question of the right time to quit. There are simply too many variables in any situation. Disengaging from a goal or a life path in the real world is often a complicated affair, which differentiates it from a laboratory setting, where hypotheses are set forth and tested. Deciding to change paths may be easier at certain times of life because there are fewer real-world consequences; it's safe to say that the more financial and emotional obligations you have to others, the more difficult it may be to find the right time to quit a relationship, job, or career path. In addition, the time may be right for you, but not for the other people in your life.

Quitting is easier at certain stages of life—young adulthood, for example—than it is at others, both because there's less cultural disapproval and there are usually fewer real-life complications. The risks of starting a new business or any other entrepreneurial activity are more easily tolerated early in your career, as is resetting goals if the venture fails. You're allowed to change your mind about your path when you're young, especially if you're relatively free of responsibility. The millennial generation—those born between 1977 and 1992—has appeared to embrace fluidity for the moment at least, even in a bad economy. They are getting married later (the average age is now twenty-eight) and spend only two years in a job (as opposed to baby boomers, who spend at least five). Quitting at a later stage of life takes on a different complexity, not simply because
of personal obligations but because long-held goals and perhaps a diminishing sense of what's possible may also come into play.

But that said, once you understand your own talent for quitting (or the lack of it), the habits of mind that are keeping you in place, and your ability to assess and prioritize your own goals, the question of timing will become clearer to you. You'll know and feel with some certainty when the time is right.
Studies show that while persistence is valuable
, knowing when to fold them—to borrow a term from poker—is absolutely invaluable. One of our aims in this chapter is to encourage you, the reader, to take your own measure of not just your goals and persistence but also your innate ability to quit.

Seizing the Moment

The postcollege years, the third decade of life, are widely understood to be the time to build the foundation for the life you'll be living in your thirties and forties. This cultural understanding can make quitting one arc that is stable and predictable for one that is decidedly more risky a difficult balancing act. That was certainly true for James, twenty-seven, who graduated from college in 2009 and since then strove to maintain both the demands of a full-time job in the financial industry and the training required to pursue his passion, rowing. Unlike other sports such as tennis, skiing, or football, rowing is by its very nature an “amateur” sport that carries with it none of the perquisites—endorsements and money—that other sports do. Still, it was something James wanted to do—to see if he could compete at the highest levels of national and international competition, including the Olympics. Rowing had long been his passion—since ninth grade, in fact—but was relegated, out of necessity, to a secondary status, something he fit in around his working schedule.

He was finding it increasingly stressful to put in the number of hours of training he needed, some sixteen to twenty a week, ­alongside the demands of a forty-hour work week. But he enjoyed
the collegial atmosphere of the firm, even as it became clear to him that finance—something a number of family members had traditionally been involved with—wasn't the career path he would follow. Then, an opportunity to train at an elite level of rowing presented itself; it came with the added benefits of housing, insurance, clothing, and food.

But while rowing competitively was a deeply held goal that James was passionate about, it wasn't precisely a career. Moreover, even if he succeeded at reaching the highest level of competition, what lay beyond that was unclear, except perhaps a coaching job. He was giving up a steady job that paid well in a weak economy to pursue a dream that, most likely, wouldn't enhance his ability to earn a steady living. Not everyone was thrilled with his decision, but as he says, “Quitting is a very personal decision. I was really the only person who could fully understand my motivation to quit.” Another complication was his three-year relationship with his girlfriend, who was, understandably, upset about his making his training a priority over their relationship as he moved hundreds of miles away.

The decision to go forward, quit one path, and take on another has required James to manage a complex range of feelings. He feels responsible for his girlfriend's turmoil, has worked hard at being sensitive to and understanding of her feelings, and appreciates how hard it is for her to be supportive. But when he's asked what happens if he fails at this goal—if he discovers that he simply doesn't have the talent or ability—his voice is confident: “I'm not sure it matters, because I'm not focused on the end; I'm focused on what I'm doing and trying to focus on being the best that I can be. It's hard to shift your mind-set, to become completely engrossed in a single task with full mindfulness. You have to get yourself from being very good to being exceptional, and that takes a great deal of focused clarity.” He doesn't see this as a detour or as something that will put him behind his peers who are following a more traditional career arc. “The lessons I learn in rowing are easily transferable, and I would venture to say that few people are willing to work as hard as elite
long-endurance athletes.” In addition, he's confident that when he finds a career that is as pleasurable and sustaining as rowing, he'll know where he needs to go, and he'll have the persistence to get there. He isn't worried about taking his time to get there.

Evaluating Your Talent

Different psychological theories have offered answers to what personality traits or temperaments make one person better at setting goals, evaluating them, and then disengaging from them, if necessary, than another individual. We'll take a number of perspectives to get as complete a picture of what the talent for quitting looks like. While there's some congruency between these theories, each offers a slightly different point of view.

Please think about yourself as you read, and decide where your talent for quitting fits into the scheme of things. No matter where you find yourself, this chapter and the ones that follow will offer you strategies to build your skill set for quitting.

As we mentioned,
one perspective has been suggested by Andrew J. Elliot and Todd M. Thrash
, who examine people in terms of their basic motives and goals as being either
approach
or
avoidant
in character. The basic urge to approach (i.e., to secure a positive end) and to avoid (i.e., to avert negative or painful consequences) is built into the human species, as well as across many other animal groups, including one-celled animals. Their theory, though, goes further and identifies approach and avoidance motivation as a key component of personality; early socialization plays an important role in determining which of these two temperaments describe how you navigate life and goal-setting.

If you've ever spent any time in a playground or schoolyard, you've probably seen what approach and avoidance temperaments look like in real life. There's the little girl who climbs to the top of the slide, confident and smiling, and sails down, waving at her mother, making eye contact. Then there's the other child, who picks
his way through the other kids and equipment as if the playground is hostile terrain. His mother sits nearby, talking on her cell phone, but the little boy doesn't look up or gesture at her. He shuns the slide, afraid of stumbling on the steps, and avoids the jungle gym out of fear of getting stuck and looking dumb. He's content to sit on terra firma in the sandbox, by himself, avoiding contact with the other children. One child approaches the playground with nothing but positive motivation; the other, though, sees a different landscape. Are these approaches inborn or has each of these children been shaped by his or her environments? What happens to these children when they reach adulthood? Will their temperaments remain consistent?

Andrew J. Elliot and Harry T. Reis suggest
that indeed they will. Their 2003 study specifically connected familial patterns of relationship as explained by attachment theory to the exploration and formation of goals in adulthood. Understanding attachment theory—and how you were attached to your parents—is a stepping-stone for understanding your ability both to persevere and to quit in life generally but especially in relationships. Attachment theory also helps explain how
comfort zones
—situations that are emotionally familiar and hence feel comfortable in that sense but actually make you unhappy—function in your life.

Attachment theory grew out of a series
of experiments conducted by Mary Ainsworth. The experiments have been replicated hundreds of times since and focused on the character of the mother-infant relationship. The model, called the
strange situation
, looked at how a baby reacted when, after arriving at the lab with his or her mother, the mother left and a stranger entered the room. Ainsworth focused on the child's response when the mother returned. As she expected, most children fussed and cried when they were left but were immediately reassured by their mothers' return. They reconnected to their mother by reaching for her, establishing eye contact, cooing, and becoming content. Ainsworth labeled these children “securely attached” and deduced that their mothers were attuned to the children's needs and consistently responsive to the infants.

But not all children responded to the strange situation in this way. Some babies showed little emotion or distress when their mother left, and weren't comforted when she returned. Others showed no emotion when the mother left, and they avoided contact when she returned. Ainsworth categorized these babies as “insecurely attached” and refined insecure attachment into three types: avoidant, ambivalent or anxious, or disorganized.
Avoidant attachment
is a result of a mother's unavailability to the baby or her rejection of her baby's approaches; the child adapts by avoiding emotional and physical proximity to her. Unreliable or unpredictable maternal behavior results in
ambivalent attachment
; the child never knows whether the mother will be attuned or dismissive, so he or she adapts to the unreliability. The last and most damaging category of insecure attachment is called
disorganized attachment
, because it creates within these children a conflict between the need to have their wants met and their fear or apprehension of their mother. This last category is usually the result of maternal behavior that is physically or emotionally abusive.

Patterns of childhood attachment are reliable predictors of how we handle adult relationships, including romantic ones, handle stress, and regulate our emotions. Securely attached children grow up to be adults able to pick romantic partners who are attuned and loving, and are able to regulate emotions better than their insecurely attached counterparts. Why are these patterns of attachment so enduring? Human infants are wired to adapt to the circumstances in which they find themselves, thus increasing their chances of survival. Because these early attachments yield the mental images and neurological templates for how relationships work in the world, they also form the basis for motivation and action.

How an infant depends on the signals he or she receives from the mother and learns to react to them was demonstrated by one
fascinating experiment called the
visual cliff
, which has often been replicated with some variations. With the baby's mother visible at the far end, a baby who is able to crawl is put on a countertop that is half solid and half clear Plexiglas. Once the baby reaches the edge
of the Plexiglas, it looks like a sheer drop down (the baby doesn't know about the wonders of Plexiglas, after all). The baby stops dead in his or her tracks and looks up to scan the mother's face and waits for the answer: Safe or dangerous? Go or stop? The child is skilled at reading his or her mother's expressions by now—thanks to the limbic brain and evolution—and a smile or some happy expression will keep the baby crawling, no matter what the drop looks like. But if the mother expresses negative affect, the baby will respond very differently.