Abscission

IN THE FALL, as the days get shorter and colder, a deciduous tree (deciduous comes from the Latin for falling) will stop producing chlorophyll in its leaves. This brings about all those beautiful autumn colors—the corals and ochres and ambers, the bright, juicy reds. At the same time, the tree produces abscission cells at the base of the leaf, where it connects to the branch. These cells are designed to break apart, and so release the dying leaf to the ground, where it can decompose and fertilize the soil for next year. Sometimes, a tree that ought to produce these cells fails to do so, maybe because the fall was too warm, or because the cold came on all at once, with no warning. You can spot these trees once you know to go looking for them: all winter, they hold on to their dead, dried up leaves, like so many desiccated fists raised to the air.

This is a metaphor about knowing when to quit.

We live in cultures where quitting is fraught. First, there’s the powerful and enduring social stigma that associates quitting with failure. We (wrongly) presume that quitting signifies some lack of skill, some incompetence or fuck up. Even when we consciously know that the truth is likely otherwise, those old stories have a habit of sticking around, of lurking in dark corners and tucking themselves into our quietest thoughts. Second, there’s the appalling lack of support, both emotional and financial, around the act of quitting, especially in the States. If your job is eliminated, you’re (in theory, at least) entitled to both sympathy and help getting back on your feet. But if you quit or are (gasp!) terminated? Most of the time, you’re on your own.

Even now, years after the so-called great resignation, there’s still enormous pressure in the form of social and structural capital that wants to make it as hard as possible for you to quit. This, of course, works to the benefit of corporations, who can wring productivity out of desperately unhappy employees, knowing that the risks of quitting still fall heavier on the other side. That the long term consequences of making it hard for people to leave are well known and terrible doesn’t change the calculus, since for most corporate investors, long term means something like next Tuesday, and anyway, they approach churning through human beings they way they burn through carbon—capriciously, and with no accountability for the damage.

And yet. In any working life, there will inevitably arise both the need and the desire to quit, not just once but several times. And as stressful as it’s likely to be, it’s usually also a moment that brings a great deal of relief and welcome change. To quit is to refuse the dry, narrow path that has been laid out before you; to venture off into the woods where you know there’s water and life. Fortunately, quitting is a skill like any other: you can develop aptitude and experience with it, and get better at it over time. But like all the great movements we make in our lives, you’re going to need companions and some sturdy walking sticks to keep you safe along the way.

As soon as you start to think that quitting is on the table, reach out to your people and talk it out. Steer clear of current colleagues, unless you feel very confident in their discretion; look instead to kin, life friends, and work friends who have experience you can draw from and who can keep you company as you forge a new path. Think of this outreach not as a transaction but as the activation of care, as the engagement (or re-engagement) of a mutual, reciprocal kinship in which you each have each other’s back. They’re going to need to quit someday too, such that their companionship today is your promised future counsel. You’re not asking for charity, but a recognition of interdependence; you’re not reaching out with empty hands but with a full heart and thoughtful, attentive mind.

Second, take some time to do your art, or whatever it is that brings you joy and life and energy. Quitting a job involves processing a lot of intense emotions, making difficult decisions, and likely navigating the entirely unfair and demoralizing process of looking for a new gig. You will need people around you to help you bear the weight of all that, but you also need something that gives you some life and verve along the way, that reminds you of the fullness and wildness of your very best self. Maybe it’s writing or painting or playing music or rock climbing or baking bread, or going to a rave or a march or a game convention—whatever it is that brings you back to yourself, commit to doing it, soon and on the reg. So much of our cultural programming around work tells us that we have to prioritize jobs at all costs, especially when they are scarce or unstable (which is most of the time); but in every case when I’ve walked alongside someone going through a difficult work transition, having an art (or rock climbing, or baking, or etc.) practice was the thing that kept them moving through the inevitable disappointments and difficult days. You can’t keep yourself alive by sacrificing the gifts your life brings to bear.

Third, remind yourself that in changing jobs, you are also changing yourself. How you see yourself, how you tell your own story, how you talk about yourself, both to yourself and to others—all of that is up for grabs. This is not to say that your work identity can or should be your whole identity; but work is too big a part of our lives to not have an impact on who we are. That change is likely to elicit as much excitement and enthusiasm as it does fear and doubt, and reasonably so. It’s a joy to honor our own capacity and longing for change; but it’s risky too, and it requires a—terrifying! exhilarating!—leap into the unknown. Now is also the time to talk to a trusted counselor—whether therapist, elder, coach, neighbor, or wise friend—who sees you clearly and can help you see yourself clearly, too.

You haven’t yet met the person you’re becoming, and don’t know what they’ll be like when you do. But the actions you make today are the seeds of that new person’s living. Remember also that quitting is a choice and you get to make it. That’s one of the most beautiful and sacred things about quitting—it’s an exercise of your agency and power in the world, and one that no one can take away from you. You are the one who knows what’s best for you and your kin, and you get to decide how to act on that knowledge. Someday, maybe someday soon, that will mean making the choice to quit—and I invite you to honor that choice, as you honor your great and beautiful life. Somedays it will mean sticking things out and using your gifts in other ways. Some kinds of trees intentionally hold on to those dried leaves for the winter, where they give cover to song birds and other critters during the long, cold nights. You will know when it’s time to go, and when it makes sense to hold on and hold together, to keep shelter for yourself and for others around you. Knowing that, when spring comes, there will be new green leaves to catch the light.