The internet learned me that the second Friday in January is National Quitter’s Day. Like Thanksgiving, it doesn’t have a designated number, rather the second time the odometer passes Friday in the long, cold, first month of the new year, and one is facing the depravation of biscuits and gravy or a “do more” resolution with another day of burpees and meditation looming like a black cloud of flesh nibbling locusts, human nature pulls us toward throwing in the proverbial towel.

Statistics indicate that on this Friday, the harsh reality of sustaining or leaving a habit gets real, and we are compelled to yell, “Uncle.” Those same stat professionals indicate that it takes twenty-one days for new behavior to fully take hold. On National Quitter’s Day, we never even made it to the real starting point before we stopped. Bless our uncommitted hearts.

I wrestle with quitting. I’ve been known to hunker down and continue a path of choice long after it makes sense. It’s challenging to know when and how to stop and when and how to keep going. How do we decide at the intersection of Difficult and Abandon which direction to turn. How do we know if the way we choose leads to a place of growth or stubborn stupidity? In the words of the quote shared by my wise friend, Kitty, “Life brings hard choices. Choose your hard.”

Don’t get me wrong, I support hard quits. Leaving a bad marriage, exiting a toxic work environment, disengaging from fake, unfulfilling friendships, divorcing family members. There are times when quitting is the brave thing, the right thing.

It’s more of the not quitting part of quitting, the sticking to it, the staying the course, the keeping the fire lit and burning.

With confidence, I can speak of the people I admire and how they have what they have because they didn’t quit when the quitting was good. Very few people fall from the sky on top of the summit, instead they keep climbing to the peak.

My word for the year is shine. I chose it (or it chose me,) in response to reading a bit of research that revealed that many of us expend energy to dim our lights rather than brighten them. It got me wondering about what, pray tell, are the benefits from poorly illuminated humans feeling their way around in shadows and darkness?

My personal light dimming has occurred, (and still occurs,) for two consistent and distinct reasons. Both involve fear. I’m afraid of how good I might be and I’m afraid of how bad I might be. If I keep my light down low, attention will remain manageable, and I won’t be forced to step all the way up or fall all the way down. In other words, I’ll remain in my comfort zone.

So here it is mid-February and I’m shining like the crazy little diamond that I am. It’s an exciting time for me as a collection of my essays, a dream that I have been pursuing for decades, got picked up for publishing.

“Heard about your book,” said a friend’s husband, at a dinner party.

“Oh, yeah,” I responded. “Thank you.”

“Can’t wait to read it,” he said. “When will it be available?”

What? The banging that started in my brain made my eyes twitch. I don’t know this person very well, but our limited interactions have been about books and reading. He and his wife told me about A Swim in the Pond in the Rain by George Saunders. Here’s the description of the work, “four Russians give a master class on writing, reading, and life.” I both read the book and listened to it on Audible so that I could understand the message. It was phenomenal. I had to look up large words.

He (my friend’s husband, not the Russians, although anything is possible,) has a designated library and reading space in his home. A reading chamber. A reading room. Allocated square footage, for the reading of words.

I had to fight myself, and I do mean fight here, not to say, “Oh, don’t bother reading my book. It’s not that good. There are much better uses of your time, say, maybe filing your toenails or alphabetizing your spice rack. Or how about volunteering and preparing for an IRS audit? I hear that’s a real crowd pleaser. Listen, I did the document test, and my book is at sixth grade reading and comprehension level. The words aren’t big as I’m relatively a simple-minded person. Pretty please for the love of all things holy, don’t read this book.”

 “It will be available at the end of February,” I said. Then things were awkward, and I cracked under the pressure of self-doubt. To the best of my recollection, I mumbled something like, “Local buy books. Support there. Me, grateful. Beer, good.”

Being a kind person, he nodded with understanding.

In contrasting hypocrisy, I’m on social media executing a marketing plan like a boss babe. It’s like I’m a reverse troll. Dang, if it isn’t much easier to shine when the light isn’t reflected back into your eyes.

I’ve had a word of the year for almost as long as I’ve had a manuscript. There always ends up being a reason for the word that’s bigger than I first imagined. I’m a little scared, but I’m shining, even when quitting would feel safer.