The Optimal Time for Quitting

When Hop Along meets Taylor swift <The Letting Go Series: letter no. 2>

Dear Ina,

Let’s say I’m driving along the Interstate 10, headed West. I’m playing peek-a-boo with the late afternoon sun, and we beam at one another momentarily as I arrive at the top of one desert mountain. I advance into a descent and the sun hides its face once again behind a forthcoming peak. We continue the game for a joyous hour before the sun moves on to play with someone else.

Driving those 6 and a half hours from Tucson to San Diego, I pass semi trucks and imagine them the gentle giants of the road. They’re usually traveling a little slower than me, remaining loyally in the right lane. Realistically, crashing into a semi would extinguish me and my trusty Honda CR-V, but still their presence comforts me. Every so often the time comes to circumvent one of my behemoth friends, and I glance at the rear view mirror to scan for left lane adversaries. Assured that no threat approaches from behind, I return my gaze to the path ahead and make a move.

Looking Backward Has Consequences

Maybe self-reflection and rumination are like looking in the rear view mirror while you’re driving. Self-reflection is essential. In glancing back, we gain the potential to strategize against crash-and-burn events of the past. For example, to draw from my own life, if I now make the informed decision to be honest about my romantic feelings up front, then I am less likely to find myself anguished, desperately hopeful, and 3 years deep into an intimate friendship with someone who is committed to another.

The metaphorical consequences of staring too long into the rear-view mirror are obvious. Some cursory googling has shown me that this is a common analogy in which to view over-examination of the past. But I think the real-life drawbacks of unceasing self-reflection are more nuanced than the metaphor implies. The damage isn’t as straightforward as crashing into a semi truck. Driving down the interstate, the obstacles ahead are predictable – a big vehicle or a small one, perhaps an abandoned tire, maybe even a rabbit darts across the road. You break or you swerve.

Life is not a highway. It’s much more complex. A lifetime of looking backwards could not prepare a person for events brought by maturation plus a changing world. I can imagine a scorned lover who checks their every moment against their previous pain, so effectively avoiding another wound that they never again feel any love at all. They’ve saved themselves from what they could predict, the harm done by wretched love, and simultaneously rejected the unpredictable, the healing love they hadn’t yet learned to recognize. That’s not to say that this result is a necessary consequence of looking backward, but I believe overdoing it can have big consequences.

So maybe I think that the fine line between self-reflection and rumination is a measure of time. Self-reflection is essential, but past a certain point, there are diminishing returns because the future is too complex to predict effectively. And then a mile past that point, there could be a devastating crash. That crash may take the form of a crushing realization that protecting oneself against events of the past prevented one from experiencing the magic and joy of similar, better events. I think prolonged counterfactual thinking belongs in this realm too – reality is too complex for us to really know how things could have gone differently.

The Optimal Time for Quitting

I must admit that I felt some burning anger in my chest and stomach reading about Annie Duke’s quitting criterion you mentioned. I think it’s unrealistic. I think rigidly holding to an under-informed criterion underestimates change, and as you said, neglects potential. I think the impulse to quit requires introspection on one’s current emotional state and intuition, which cannot be predicted ahead of time. I believe thoughts and logic are useful when problem solving non-complex issues, but our emotional sense is crucial to traversing complex scenarios. Emotions summarize the state of affairs when there are too many components to hold in mind at one time. Thoughts and analysis are essential to decision making, but so are emotions and the parts of you that don’t have a voice. Perhaps this is why Ina, as you navigate these complex decisions, art in the form of music floats to the top of your mind, as opposed to some sort of map or plan. I think your intuition knows that a perfect solution cannot be predicted and subsequently executed.

I hear anger and grief in So Long, London. The line “Two graves, one gun” sticks out to me, and I find it relatable. It reminds me of a few lines in a song called Sister Cites by the band Hop Along:

Do you think someday, through all the flowers,

Your eyes finally will meet?

Where he'll tell you,

"Honey, you know I had to shoot that dog you loved so much

You know I had to do it"

"Aw, honey, you know I had to shoot that dog you loved so much

You know I had to do it"

"Oh yeah, I know you had to shoot that dog I loved so much

I know you had to do it"

Something about feeling the need to shoot the dog, Old Yeller-style, feels familiar to me. I was actually writing about these lyrics in my journal the other day, thinking about a time when I felt like I had to end something, hurting myself and another person, for our benefit. More for my benefit than for his. He called me his best friend. I couldn’t stop thinking about him and I had such a desperate desire for more from him. My self worth was pooling at the bottom of my feet and leaking out my shoes. I felt like severing ties with him would save me from the pain of being so close yet so far from him.

And guess what? It didn’t! I still couldn’t stop thinking about him, only now I had hurt us both. “Two graves, one gun” reminds me of my actions there. The violence of this line resonates with my emotions. I certainly have some regrets. I wish I had been more kind to him. I wish I had been a better friend. I wish I hadn’t let my anger get in the way of what was beautiful and worthwhile about our friendship. Looking back, I see the faint glow of my adoration for him. It reminds me that feeling those emotions makes life worth it. I’m thinking about that poem you quoted in your letter from Kate van Horn’s Inner Tarot again:

The day has come for me to let go.

I hope you know I held on tirelessly.

I’m inclined towards jumping ship when relationships get hard. And I love moving far, far away. These actions feel addicting to me – I drink in the sharp pain of loss, embrace the numbness that follows, and get high off the hit of something new. But I’m starting to dislike this part of me. I feel like I’m getting too old for it. This poem sort of breaks my heart, particularly because it expresses a maturity I’ve never had. Too scared of rejection to put in real effort, I’ve never held on tirelessly. I’ve given up on people, and I’m ashamed of that.

If I’d adjusted my grip, instead of abandoning the ship altogether, perhaps I’d be more at peace with my behavior. But this is counterfactual speculation. I can’t change what I did, and who knows how many different ways it could have gone wrong. I can only act out future events with the more mature sense of integrity I’m working on cultivating.

Giving Up vs. Letting Go

In contemplating the differences between ‘giving up’ and ‘letting go’ you asked about, I started by listing things that seem to align best with one or the other:

• The French clothing line “Lȃcher Prise Apparel,” which can translate to “Let Go” Apparel. Literally, it translates to something like “release the grip”. I’d wear “Let Go Apparel” but I wouldn’t wear “Give Up Apparel.” Wearing “Let Go Apparel”, I’ve relinquished control over my fashion sense, but I haven’t abandoned fashion altogether.

• I’m walking the dog and he escapes. Retelling the story to my mom, I tearfully explain that the dog saw a rabbit in the bushes across the street and bolted toward it. I say, “Then I let go of the leash.” I don’t say I gave up the leash, as that implies more guilt than I’d like to take responsibility for. After all, the dog was at fault as well.

• Teaching my kid to ride a bike. When the kid is first getting started, I hold onto the handle bars and run alongside them. When they’re ready to try on their own, I let go. It doesn’t sound correct to say I ‘gave up’ the handle bars. This is a collaboration between two parties – when I let go, my child keeps pedaling and the bike riding continues.

• Getting sober. I ‘gave up’ the drink. It doesn’t sound as right to say I ‘let go’ of the drink. The drink didn’t walk away after I put it down. It’s solely my choice to not pick it up again, which determines the relationship between me and the drink.

• Child adoption. It seems more correct to me to say I ‘gave up’ my child than to say I ‘let go’ of my child. And both of these are different from having my child ‘taken away’ from me.

It’s difficult to describe the exact differences between letting go and giving up. But it’s clear that there are situations where the terms do not align well. To me, the differences appear to hinge upon responsibility and duration. ‘Give up’ implies more personal responsibility. ‘Give up’ also sounds finite whereas ‘let go’ appears to imply continuation. Perhaps the multi-party responsibility (where one party can be as intangible as ‘the universe’) involved in “letting go” allows for the possibility of continuation whereas the singular party responsible for “giving up” designates an end point. I really like what you said about how “letting go” can open up a space for something better. I think that concept is important to distinguishing the terms. When you let go of the bicycle handle bars, your child continues the forward movement – there are two responsible parties, which denies finiteness in the face of one party relinquishing control. And better yet, now that you let them go, the kid knows how to ride a bike on their own! Both lives have expanded.

And then I was thinking about scenarios where either ‘let go’ or ‘give up’ could apply. These things still show differences in the usage, but more flexibility:

• Holding on to the hand of a friend who is hanging off a cliff. I’m losing strength and my hands are slippery with sweat. My ability to hold onto them is decreasing by the second. And finally my friend drops. When I hate myself, I feel that I gave up on them. When I’m less inclined toward self-flagellation, I recount how I “let go of their hand.” It seems that word usage is dependent upon my emotions at the time of usage.

• I’m a seasoned professor and a program director of the genetics department at the University of Pennsylvania, and soon I’ll be retiring. In a year, I will “let go” of my position as co-chair of the genetics program. You could also say that I’m going to ‘give up’ the position. I’m looking forward to having more time to garden and play the piano. The two phrases seem to have similar meaning here, without too much emotional attachment.

I think these situations, where the necessity of one phrase over the other is less explicit, are more applicable to your questions. That is to say, I don’t think ascertaining how an action aligns better with one phrase or the other will free you from the fear or actuality of regret. I’m starting to think that the usage difference between ‘giving up’ and ‘letting go’ lies less in the action, and more in the perceived degree of responsibility and integrity in carrying out the action. I think ‘giving up’ and ‘letting go’ are likely to describe the same action of relinquishing your hold on a person or a job. And then it’s up to you to pick one based on how you’d like to use words to support or punish yourself emotionally.

Above, I said that I’ve given up on people. I did mean this as a bit of a rap on the wrist. I’d like to change how I’ve acted in the past. I’m glad I’ve reflected on my behavior. And I see myself changing. I wish he knew that I’m so sorry I hurt him. That I hurt us. But it comforts me to know that I’m learning from my mistakes.

Regret – Only Half of the Story

Now this gets me thinking about This is me trying. I see that you included lyrics where she describes her regrets. But after reading the rest of the lyrics, what stands out to me is that this is only half of the verse. In the second half of the verse, she speaks of her resilience. Her continued efforts. She wants her love to see that she’s trying. That she’s still looking to the future. I hear outstanding hope when I listen to this song. “At least I’m trying”. To me, this song is about self-forgiveness. She looks at her past, forgives her mistakes, and tries again. She’s looking forward again, through the doorway of the person she loves.

Maybe one of the benefits of tarot and music both is that they help us identify our emotions. Once identified, we can trust and act upon them. I am certain that heeding our emotions is very important, and I know it’s easy for them to get buried under the rubble in our minds. I feel pretty ill-equipped to answer any of your questions. And about having grit, when it is a burden and when it is a virtue… The best I’ve got is that perhaps this is not something we can predict ahead of time. Perhaps the important part is learning to forgive ourselves when we feel those pangs of regret.

And, of course, it helps to talk it out with a good friend. What do you think?

With love,

Amara