There is a type of quitting that does not mean surrender. It is a type of self-recognition, self-respect. We have been trained to believe that perseverance is the greatest expression of power.
Keep moving. Move further. Outlast everyone.
But at what cost?
The one who never stops is celebrated. The one who does is doubted. “Aim for the sky,” they say. But where’s the limit?
Beyond the blue sky, there’s often an empty, lifeless, and dark reality. One that can slowly drain the vitality from you. No one talks about that. No one pays heed to that. We enjoy the sunshine. But we rarely discuss the burn.
When celebrities we admire, like Arijit Singh and Zakir Khan, take their long-overdue breaks, we question their decision. Even after closely observing their struggle, we overlook their exhaustion.
The soulful voice is often easier to romanticize than to understand. And the one who makes us laugh is often the one who has learned how to hide their own fatigue and exhaustion behind a smile.
We learn to measure their presence. But we never understand their depletion! We celebrate their output and never notice their inner turmoil.
For some, taking a break is a way of turning inward. It is a way to focus on what truly matters in life, like family, self-love, and good health. But a refusal to let go of your momentum is a way of remaining visible.
It’s a deliberate attempt to retain what needs to pass with time, almost like putting a shackle on something that never wants to stay still. And the tighter you hold it, the less alive it will become.
To quit is to ask yourself a barred question. Am I still treading my way or just keeping my pace?
Am I running to get to a destination or to stay in rhythm with others?
We live in a generation where we celebrate exhaustion as ambition. We wear our tiredness as a badge of honor. And taking rest is like a negotiation. A setback.
I learned this through my own life experience.
I am a medical professional with an MD. My training made long hours and constant fatigue seem normal. Even “admirable”! Giving up my personal time was treated as an important part of the job. Missing important occasions was described as a worthy compromise. I believed that way of thinking for years.
Then my child was born, and suddenly it was no longer just an idea. It was real and deeply personal.
I remember returning from a long clinical shift. It was still dark outside, and I had a newborn in my arms, and I was holding my child with absolute awe.
No title accompanied me into that room. No qualification was important there. Only presence was important. Only warmth was felt. Only time mattered to me. Soon, I made one of the hardest yet easiest decisions of my life.
I decided to have a career hiatus and bring up my child. It puzzled some, disturbed others. A few quietly understood.
Leaving work is not necessarily about quitting. It is sometimes about letting go of a version of yourself that exists only to accomplish. It means going back to the self that knows how to feel.
At the end of it all, I often find myself asking questions, like –
What about the person who has toiled all his life, only to find, when he has time to rest, that intimacy is no longer there or needed?
Or is the real courage found in pausing early enough to actually live with the people for whom all the effort began?