On Changing Course

And learning from my kid

Jan 27, 2023

My kid, it turns out, is remarkably good at quitting things.

God only knows where they learned this particular skill because it sure wasn’t from me. I’m horrible at quitting things. Instead, I tend to hold onto things with a death grip even if I’m absolutely miserable as a result, because in my (obviously sometimes tortured) brain commitments are irreversible.

It’s a weirdly absolutist interpretation of the obligations of integrity, this tendency of mine to refuse to let go of something I’ve committed myself to long past the point where it makes any kind of sense.

I’ve clung to relationships that were clearly going nowhere and jobs and roles that I dreaded. Not simply because I felt I’d made a commitment and had to see it through, but also because I was too wedded to the way I imagined things could be, or should be, to be able to pay proper attention to the way things actually were.

Not all of this inability to let go or to gracefully change course arose completely from me. I was also taught it explicitly. That “we” were not the kinds of people who quit things. You said you were going to do it, so stop making excuses or being lazy and get it done.

Except sometimes you’re not making excuses or being lazy. It’s just that the choice you made with the best of intentions was wrong. And no amount of wishing (or dogged, determined effort) will make it right. To be right, or at least back on the path towards being right, you have to quit.

My kid somehow learned none of this grinding, absolutist, chained-to-your-choices-come-hell-or-high-water ethic that I could have so easily taught them. They are only fifteen, but in the past handful of years, twice (twice!) they have made really significant course corrections without any parental input at all. They simply looked around at their life, decided something wasn’t working, and said, “Right. Not doing this anymore! I’m going to do this over here instead.”

The first time it was a change in school. They thought they wanted to go to the alternative school like their older brother. Having given it a good two years, they announced they were going back to regular school. They didn’t ask for input or permission. They simply thought it through and then presented their case for why it made both academic and emotional sense. Which, it turned out, it totally did.

This latest time, they bit off more than they could chew, committing to taking more classes than they needed to in a subject because they thought they would love it. Instead, they ended up buried in work, failing that subject, and nearly failing all their other subjects as well. So, they talked to the folks at school, got everyone necessary to sign off, and dropped the extra class.

Again, they didn’t ask for input or permission (beyond having their dad sign the form). They simply looked at the reality of the situation and did what was necessary to change course, with full understanding of the consequences. And, again, it was exactly the right thing to do. Not the thing it would have occurred to me for them to do if they had asked because of my aversion to quitting anything. But once it was done, the rightness of it was undeniable. They had quit like a champ— deliberately, graciously, and openly.

Perhaps you aren’t someone, like me, who attaches to obligations like a barnacle that has to be scraped off. Instead, like my kid, perhaps you have no trouble assessing the reality of a situation and course correcting to avoid the whirlpools of despair ready to suck you in. But if you have barnacle tendencies like me, or struggle with guilt or shame around changing course midstream, allow me to state for the record this hard-won lesson I am finally learning.

Even those commitments that end up lasting a lifetime aren’t a one and done. They are, in fact, an endless string of daily decisions, each of which presents a chance to make a different choice or take a different road. If, after clear-headed reflection and honest communication with those involved, given the truth of the situation, taking a different road makes the most sense for you, then take it. Integrity doesn’t demand that every promise is for a lifetime or that every commitment lasts forever. In reality, nothing lasts forever, and you are absolutely allowed to change your mind, change course, change direction, and make a different choice than you had originally planned.

The only thing integrity demands is that you be forthright, accept the consequences of your new choice, and show some mercy for whoever may be affected. We may have to disappoint people, inconvenience them, or even break their hearts, but we don’t have to be spiteful or glib about it. We can take responsibility for our impact, even as we act on our own behalf.