Any fan of the seminal 90’s sitcom Seinfeld knows the plight of lovable loser George Costanza and his fondness for giving up: “Yeah, I’m a great quitter. It’s one of the few things I do well. I come from a long line of quitters. My father was a quitter, my grandfather was a quitter...I was raised to give up.”
George, among others, would agree if I said that quitting is an art. But as of late, it has become a science as well.
Seth Godin’s 2007 book “The Dip: A Little Book That Teaches You When helps people determine when to give up on things when the going gets tough, and when to stick it out. Godin posits that “winners quit all the time. They just quit the right stuff at the right time.”
I wish I had owned that book when I decided to join a fraternity with four members. Because it wasn’t long after signing that little piece of bid paper that I understood, firsthand, “the dip”—the need to quit at just the right moment.
Three semesters ago I became involved with a certain fraternity. The brothers were open, and kind. They were tight to a degree I’d never seen before. The cliché of being able to “be myself” around them even checked out. Their house was modest enough for me to believe I belonged in it, but ornate enough to appease the sense of self–important validation I craved at the time, as a new student to Penn.
There was a catch, of course. A combination of interpersonal brotherhood conflicts and dwindling pledge classes had decimated the house’s numbers from twenty–five to six in only three years, an exodus. They were almost certainly going to lose their house on campus. They were a glowing example of how fast a fraternity can go south. Simply, the frat was a sinking ship, and I was an eager sailor, ready to plug holes and turn the tide.
I made a three–year plan of how I would turn the ship around— growing membership, organizing events, creating buzz. I saw myself creating a fraternity for those exceptional students that had no place to go socially, some kind of Penn haven. I imagined myself almost as a war hero, leading my troops through battle and emerging victorious.
Soon, reality crept in. An additional brother left the fraternity after another had suddenly began spouting racist remarks. The same racist brother then threatened to burn the house down. This was a far cry from the shining brotherhood of which I’d dreamt. I found myself on the losing side of the battle to keep the fraternity alive.
Two weeks into my newly acquired brotherhood, my feet were getting cold. I felt as if I had stepped into a frigid arctic pond, and it occurred to me how easy it would be to simply step out. So I did.
I met with our president and told him I wanted to forgo the rest of the initiation process. I framed it as a personal struggle of finding balance and focusing on priorities. Perspective and time have since proven that I was simply terrified of failure.
To make matters even more complicated, I had already agreed to live with three of the brothers for the next year. Luckily, my presence was nothing compared to the pressure of supporting a failing fraternity.
Fast forward to two weeks ago. All is well in the house. I arrive home late one night to the brothers sitting in our living room next to a tall, muscular man I’d never seen before, wearing a baby–blue polo entirely too chipper for the occasion. The visitor was a representative from fraternity headquarters in Ohio, sent to Philadelphia to help the fraternity “rebuild” and “determine its identity.” His rhetoric was that of a hopeful, suave expert, even despite his almost impossible task.
The boys seemed to respond with a collective optimism, compliance and cooperation. Though as I was about to discover, they had little choice.
“I’m proud of you guys for not giving up,” I said to one of my closest brothers shortly after everyone else had left.
“Don’t be. We tried to shut down,” he responded.
“What?” I said.
“We never told you, but right after you decided to leave we voted. We agreed we wanted to shut down the fraternity. HQ wouldn’t let us, since we’re the only chapter in the Ivy League. So they sent him.”
In that moment, I understood: the entire time my brothers had been just as ready to move on as I was. The only difference was that I had the freedom to go and they didn’t. They forgave me because they would’ve done the same.
We were just as united in our weariness as we had ever been in our desire to make the fraternity great. Perhaps it was that weariness that made us true brothers.
We all came to Penn seeking success in some form. I’ve found that even more important than pure success itself is what we choose to focus on as our means of reaching it. As we delve into forty different clubs as freshmen, a process of quitting, failing, and flaking inevitably ensues. Embrace this mayhem. The greatest, most successful, most innovative people all know that to quit is to step back whilst still looking forward.
So I’d encourage you. Leave that position that stresses you out, even if it means your resume takes a hit. Drop some of those peripheral activities keeping you from focusing on your bigger projects. Consider how your time could be better spent. Clean house, and simplify. You’re still a winner. You just know when to quit the right stuff at the right time.
