What if quitting was a learned behavior? Have you ever
considered that? And if so, when do you think you learned to quit?
I have a ten-month old son, Brecken, who is beginning to
attempt walking. He will pull himself up on furniture, bob up and down a little
bit, maybe side step some, and then eventually fall down. To this point, he’s
known nothing but failure. Each attempt ends up with him landing squarely on
his little behind, yet he remains enthusiastic and sometimes even giddy during
these attempts. Why?
To start with, he’s exploring new and exciting horizons,
experimenting ways to get into more trouble faster and more efficiently than
ever before! But he also hasn’t learned to quit. He doesn’t know failure has a
stigma. He hasn’t been inundated by people who have decided to just settle,
being content to crawl for the rest of their lives because falling became too
painful. In fact, he’s surrounded by four older siblings, all of whom walk, and
he is eager to join them. He joyfully fails over and over again. He’s so
excited about the small steps he makes, he mostly ignores the inevitable falls.
You are surrounded by people who have resigned themselves to
crawl through life because they told themselves a story, a story that says
falling is too high of a price to pay for the privilege of walking, much less
running. You’ve been taught that failure is somehow shameful and to be avoided.
You’ve been conditioned to believe hitting your chin on the train table
(because not all the falls are cushioned by a soft diaper) is too costly and, if
you stay content crawling, life won’t hurt as much. And somewhere along the
line, you learned to give up. To settle. To compromise. To quit.
Here’s the good news: if quitting is learned, it can be
unlearned. Just like any bad habit, it can be replaced. Your knees were meant
for praying, not crawling.
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