I am not a quitter.
Okay, that’s a lie. That’s what I want people to think of me. That’s what I’d like to think of myself. The truth is, I have immense shame about my lily-livered quitting nature. From a very young age, my mother has admonished me for quitting:
“You always give up so soon! I hate quitters!”
My mom’s right. She especially likes to tell the story of how I would have quit the violin if it weren’t for her, and now I’m a musician. (Actually, I’m only a musician because I gave up on studying for the SATs.) When I was around twelve years old, I begged tearfully to quit the violin. My mother, seeing my tragic flaw rearing its ugly head, repeatedly refused. When I persisted, she said I could quit only if I also quit the piano. That gave me pause, because I loved piano. But after some thought, I decided to take her up on her offer, only to discover that it had expired. I imagined myself the victim of unspeakable abuse and spent the rest of my adolescence punishing her in my head. That might be the only thing I haven’t quit.
As fate would have it, I ended up developing a deep love for the violin, and made the choice to quit piano in my sophomore year at conservatory. Most recently, I quit my job as Assistant Concertmaster of the Washington National Opera in order to join eighth blackbird. This job was supposedly the culmination of all my efforts: a title position that paid the bills, that my mother could brag about, and that didn’t demand very much of my time or energy. I lived in a great city, had a nice condo, boyfriend with a dog, dinner parties with friends. Why would I want to quit?
Recently I listened to a Freakonomics podcast with the same title as this post. I knew the title was provocatively spun in the way health and fitness magazines cover titles often are (Lose your gut while drinking all the beer you want!), but I was curious anyway. Perhaps I would find some rationale for my lack of perseverance, some brilliant psychological advantage it gave me. The first segment was a story about a woman who left a desk job earning $70k for a life as a high-end prostitute making over $300k. Then there was a statistic about minor league baseball players earning 40% less 10 years after high school than those who never pursued baseball. At the very least, quitting was looking like the smart thing to do if you cared about your bank account.
When I agreed to audition for eighth blackbird, Nick asked to have a conversation with me over the phone. He asked me repeatedly why I would even consider quitting my cushy opera job – didn’t I know that I would be working much more and making less? Plus there was no guarantee in this quasi-freelance world. Was I in a relationship? I’d never see my partner. Planning to have children? I’d better think twice. He seemed to be trying to scare me out of auditioning. He might as well have offered me money not to audition, which, according to the Freakonomics podcast, is exactly what Zappos.com does. One week into their employee training session, they make an offer: $3,000 to anyone who wants to quit, no strings attached. Surprisingly, only 10% of trainees take Zappos up on this offer, even though it represents two months of pay at $11/hr. When asked why they turned down the money, the trainees said,
“This job is worth a million dollars.”
Bring in the expert, please. He (Dan Ariely, a behavioral economist) says, “This is about cognitive dissonance. If you’ve acted in a certain way, over time you’re going to overly justify your behavior.” Meaning, once you’ve turned down the money, you’re going find all sorts of reasons to love your job. We like to suffer, and if we suffer for something, we will decide we love it. If you think this is crazy, think about fraternities, the military, sports teams, religious cults – they all use this tactic. By the way, this segment ends with one trainee taking the money because she thought Zappos was too cult-like. The afore-mentioned prostitute ends up quitting her lucrative lifestyle because she falls in love. The whole podcast ends with two women who have finally quit their cultish religions to lead normal lives.
Oops. Is it possible that I have joined some sort of new-music cult? Maybe I should have listened to this podcast before I quit my job, although I’m probably even more confused about quitting than before. Sometimes we don’t quit soon enough, sometimes we quit too soon. You can’t tell which is which until after you’ve made your decision. Whatever the case, it’s too late for me. I’m deep into my decision to join eighth blackbird and now I’m going to find all the reasons why it’s the right one. I don’t have to look very hard. I get to vote on what we play. I get to be onstage instead of in a pit. I no longer have to wear all black. I get to play viola — wait a minute…
