Sign up to save your podcasts
Or
Share Quitting Is Easy
Share to email
Share to Facebook
Share to X
Share to email
Share to Facebook
Share to X
Or
Quitting Is Easy
(From my book, Morning Musings, available on Amazon)
I got a compliment yesterday, and it’s stayed with me — which is impressive, because I’m the guy who usually hears a compliment and silently thinks the person who gave it doesn’t know what they’re talking about.
This time, though, it stuck.
A longtime and dear friend told me she was impressed with my writing about Katie. She said she’s always wanted to write a book but never figured out how to start. Then she added something that really landed — she admired that I’ve stuck with it.
That hit a spot inside me.
See, I’ve always thought of myself as a quitter — in fact, a rather grand quitter. I won’t list all the things I’ve started and abandoned along the way, but let’s just say the roadside of my life is littered with good intentions and half-finished projects.
One that still haunts me? The guitar.
I got to a beginner’s level, called it “good enough,” and walked away.
Sure, I still strum now and then, but mostly I play no better than I did years ago.
Yeah, it bugs me — and I’m not sure why I don’t do something about it.
When my friend said what she said, I told her the truth — I’ve thought about quitting Katie countless times.
I’ve sat staring at a blank monitor, waiting for words that don’t want to show up.
I’ve said, “That’s it, I quit!”
And I meant it.
Then, somehow, by the end of the next day, my backside hurts from sitting too long on a folding chair, writing until I finally reach the end of something.
And that feels good.
Accomplished, even.
The thing is, all I’ve done is write what I was meant to write. The story still has missing pieces — parts I only think I know, and others I don’t know at all. I’m sure there will be more moments when I stare at that blank screen and think I’m done.
But I pray there will be more moments when I can say, “My butt hurts.”
Because that means I’m still at it.
I’ve read about visualization — great athletes and fine actors swear by it. I used to think it was all mumbo-jumbo. But when I started writing Katie, I began having a vision before I’d fall asleep.
It wasn’t something I made up — it just appeared.
In it, I’m sitting at a table in a bookstore, signing copies of Katie.
Imagine that — me at a book signing.
(Audience laughter encouraged.)
Yeah, I do imagine that occasionally. And you know what? I’m beginning to believe it could happen.
In the meantime, I’m taking my friend Andy’s suggestion: next time I’m housesitting and all I’ve got is a folding chair and a TV tray, I’ll bring a pillow.
Quitting is easy — I know that for a fact.
But in this case, quitting isn’t an option.
After all, if I quit…
how will I ever get to that book signing?
View all episodes
By Wally Bornmann
(From my book, Morning Musings, available on Amazon)
I got a compliment yesterday, and it’s stayed with me — which is impressive, because I’m the guy who usually hears a compliment and silently thinks the person who gave it doesn’t know what they’re talking about.
This time, though, it stuck.
A longtime and dear friend told me she was impressed with my writing about Katie. She said she’s always wanted to write a book but never figured out how to start. Then she added something that really landed — she admired that I’ve stuck with it.
That hit a spot inside me.
See, I’ve always thought of myself as a quitter — in fact, a rather grand quitter. I won’t list all the things I’ve started and abandoned along the way, but let’s just say the roadside of my life is littered with good intentions and half-finished projects.
One that still haunts me? The guitar.
I got to a beginner’s level, called it “good enough,” and walked away.
Sure, I still strum now and then, but mostly I play no better than I did years ago.
Yeah, it bugs me — and I’m not sure why I don’t do something about it.
When my friend said what she said, I told her the truth — I’ve thought about quitting Katie countless times.
I’ve sat staring at a blank monitor, waiting for words that don’t want to show up.
I’ve said, “That’s it, I quit!”
And I meant it.
Then, somehow, by the end of the next day, my backside hurts from sitting too long on a folding chair, writing until I finally reach the end of something.
And that feels good.
Accomplished, even.
The thing is, all I’ve done is write what I was meant to write. The story still has missing pieces — parts I only think I know, and others I don’t know at all. I’m sure there will be more moments when I stare at that blank screen and think I’m done.
But I pray there will be more moments when I can say, “My butt hurts.”
Because that means I’m still at it.
I’ve read about visualization — great athletes and fine actors swear by it. I used to think it was all mumbo-jumbo. But when I started writing Katie, I began having a vision before I’d fall asleep.
It wasn’t something I made up — it just appeared.
In it, I’m sitting at a table in a bookstore, signing copies of Katie.
Imagine that — me at a book signing.
(Audience laughter encouraged.)
Yeah, I do imagine that occasionally. And you know what? I’m beginning to believe it could happen.
In the meantime, I’m taking my friend Andy’s suggestion: next time I’m housesitting and all I’ve got is a folding chair and a TV tray, I’ll bring a pillow.
Quitting is easy — I know that for a fact.
But in this case, quitting isn’t an option.
After all, if I quit…
how will I ever get to that book signing?