When Is It Time to Throw In the Towel?
Let the towel tell you.
It’s time we had a talk, you and I.
For the past ten years, I’ve been draped around your shoulders, keeping you warm… massaging your neck… catching your blood, sweat, and tears. I’ve never once complained.
I started out dry, fluffy, warm; now I’m cold, threadbare, and soaking wet. I’ve had enough. I’m taking a stand. Stamping my metaphorical foot. It’s time. You know I’m right, but I fear you’re in denial.
Ten years! You’ve been slogging away for ten years. Remember when you began and you believed you were going to make it? Ignorance is bliss, ain’t it?
You hiked up Mount Stupid with a haste that left you giddy. You don’t remember Mount Stupid?
Ah, yes, you do remember. Why are you cringing? Those were the best times! You knew you were great. You were a Marcia with the aplomb to ignore all the naysayer Jans.
Unfortunately, you stumbled and tripped—I told you stilettos were a bad idea —sliding down the steep descent into the Valley of Despair. Those were dark days. I thought I was going to lose my coveted position on your shoulders for a while there.
You pulled through, though. Worked on your skills, listened to feedback…. Oh! Do you remember that self help guru who told you that the secret to success was to “seek out a tree and let it teach you stillness”? We stood under that f — king tree with the thousands of chirping birds for hours; the stains still won’t come out.
You were good. You had talent. Shame you didn’t get any opportunities to show it. It was funny, wasn’t it, how you kept thinking every job you did would be the one that got you “discovered.”
Now why are you crying? Are you remembering all those gigs you did for the “exposure.” Those were fun! The giddy excitement that you were getting to work with big-name, influential people… for free. OK, you really need to stop crying. I can’t hold any more liquid.
It’s time to face reality: You’re middle aged. If you couldn’t make it when you were younger, you’ve got Buckley’s chance now. Yeah, yeah, I know all about J.K. Rowling, Betty White, Samuel L. Jackson, and even Martha Stewart; it’s cute how you’re still holding out hope.
But let’s cut to the chase. We both know what you need to do. I’m weighing you down. Think of the opportunity cost. I’ve been holding you back for a long time. You’ll be free. You can do anything you want to.
That’s it. Nice and slow. Unwind me from your shoulders, hold me up. Yes, I am heavy; it’s the blood, sweat, and tears. Raise me above your head, swing your arm back –—get some momentum going —I don’t believe it… you’ve done it! You let me go. I’m flying! I’m whizzing through the air… oof! F — king brick walls.
Um, a little help here? Hello? Where’d you go…?
You’ll be back.
