ALTERNATIVE OUTLIERS

When to Quit, When to Keep Going

This question has been on my mind for a while. I’ve lived in London for over eight years, and I know I don’t want to be here anymore. Is leaving quitting, or is it a new start? What exactly am I quitting? I don’t know. The reasons that kept me here this long aren’t particularly compelling. Anything—jobs, romance, friendships, partying, life itself—was enough to make me cling to this existence and avoid change.
I’ve never been good with change.

I’m not 22 anymore. My brain now thinks in longer terms, which might explain why I view the future through a different lens. If this road isn’t leading where I want to go, why stay on it? Recently, when I told someone I was leaving, he asked, “Have you achieved what you came for?” The question hit me hard—I had nowhere to hide. What have I achieved? Did I even know what I was looking for when I arrived? Not really. I was just running from my old life, craving something new, hoping to make a name for myself. I made that choice at 20. Now, at 29, I wonder: Am I bound to stick with what my younger self decided, just to prove I’m “not a quitter”?

Here’s the thing—I am a quitter, and not in the admirable way. I’m not 22 anymore. My brain now thinks in longer terms, which might explain why I view the future through a different lens. If this road isn’t leading where I want to go, why stay on it? Recently, when I told someone I was leaving, he asked, “Have you achieved what you came for?” The question hit me hard—I had nowhere to hide. What have I achieved? Did I even know what I was looking for when I arrived? Not really. I was just running from my old life, craving something new, hoping to make a name for myself. I made that choice at 20. Now, at 29, I wonder: Am I bound to stick with what my younger self decided, just to prove I’m “not a quitter”?
Here’s the thing—I am a quitter, and not in the admirable way.

My thinking has shifted. I’ve realized that “not quitting” can mask fear—fear of change, of starting over, of facing the future. Most of all, fear of facing failure.

Here in London, I see so many people trapped in what Gurwinder Bhogal calls “Deferred Happiness Syndrome”:

Nearly three years ago, I had a similar epiphany. I knew I couldn’t keep living the way I was. I needed a change and quit everything to give myself a few months to act. Back then, I’d never done anything like it, but in hindsight, it was the best decision I could’ve made. Hindsight, as always, is the only true judge.

This shift is also teaching me how much we hate uncertainty. Wanting to know the next five moves in life isn’t something you can always—if ever—guarantee. My favorite analogy is driving at night: You can’t see a mile ahead; your headlights only illuminate what’s right in front of you. As you move, the path reveals itself. That’s how I want to live now—taking one step, then letting the next one appear, and the next, and the next. There’s no point worrying about step five when I haven’t taken the first. Things are rarely what you expect them to be.

Here are lessons I’ve learned but need to relearn:

• Trust your gut. For me, that means leaving London behind.

• As Rumi said, “When you start to walk, the way appears.”

• Defining what you want is hard because it sets boundaries where you can “fail.” Without a goal, you can’t fail—but you also can’t succeed.

• Embrace change.

Stay curious, Karam