Beginnings are exciting! Just like how I am very excited to start writing blog posts but do not know how it will end. Looking back at my illustrious quarter century of existence, I see a trail of hobbies that could’ve made me more interesting on paper had I decided to continue pursuing them. Maybe writing this is an after effect of recently reading “Atomic Habits” but there has definitely been a deeper trend of quitting that I’ve never stopped to notice in my life.
Experiments and exits
Meet the Middle School Me. I was the greatest connoiseur of shortcuts. Captivated by the payoff, I used to think of pursuing hobbies like picking up free samples at the supermarket. After tracing a picture by holding an A4 sheet against the laptop screen and producing an exact replica of deadpool, I became convinced that the natural artist in me needed some fine tuning. So I joined Art classes on the weekends where I got to try out various kinds of art from canvas paintings of the Dubai skyline to creepy looking masks made from painted newspapers stuck onto inflated baloons. I ended up accumulating lot of cool looking wall décor for our apartment but soon I would find myself giving excuses to skip class: “Not feeling well this weekend”, “Got an important exam next week that I need to study for”. As you probably guessed by now, I eventually stopped going. The final fake excuse? “I needed to focus more on academics” (For the record: I was doing just fine).
As a slightly older teenager, fueled by my friends’ shiny yellow karate belts, I decided that it was time to unleash the martial arts prodigy in me. Blame it on peer pressure or too many evenings spent watching dubbed reruns of the Karate Kid, but I joined the same karate class as them. After performing the same katas over and over again almost like choreographed dance, I quickly progressed to earn a green belt. Then our instructor decided to take a break, my friends stopped showing up, and karate stopped being fun under the new temporary instructor. This time the reason was “The new instructor’s teaching style doesn’t fit mine”. Time to let my Karate Gi gather dust.
As I went into high school, It was time for some new goals - make some nameless college reviewer fall in love with my application. I wanted to go full thanos and collect all the extracurricular infinity stones just so that the admissions officer can look at my application and snap away half the applicant pool in awe of how stacked my skills were. Volunteering? Check. Model United Nations? Check. Apparently cool kids played the guitar and since I was obviously cool, I should be playing the guitar as well. My instructor’s methods were quite casual and unstructured: Start with the standard open chords, talk about a song that I’ve been meaning to play recently and then try pieces of it on the spot. Not the ideal approach for someone who could barely hold on to a couple of metal strings but it atleast kept the classes fun. Instead of patiently working on my Gs and Cs, I went in one day with the video of Sungha Jung’s cover of the Pirates of the Caribbean theme and said “That’s what I want to play”. Looking back it was like trying to run a marathon when I’d only just learned to walk. You might be wondering that the classes were fun, instructor’s style suited me, so what was the reason this time? As I moved on to the dreaded barre chords, I found the perfect excuse for someone who didn’t put in the hours. Adiós, guitar!
As I started college in the US at a very large public university with clubs for just about everything, I had the freedom to get into anything I fancied. I decided to try out something completely new. I’ve enjoyed watching a handful of olympic sports and fencing was one of them. It was quite fascinating to see the lightning fast reaction times that fencing athletes have. The university fencing club was perfect. New members could pick a weapon category to train in :
- Foil - lightweight option where you can only score by touching your opponent’s torso, no head and no arms
- Épée - sturdier blade where the entire body is fair game
- Sabre - slashing weapon where you score anywhere on the upper body above the waist excluding the arms
I picked the sabre. This time it was as fun fencing as it was watching it on TV. The whole equipment setup is unlike anything I had seen before. The weapon is wired up like part of a circuit. My sabre connected through my jacket to a reel of wire behind me which plugged into the scoring system. When the blade makes contact with the opponent’s conductive gear, the board registers a point. But after a few weeks, reality set in. Having never stepped foot in a gym before, I was mostly outmatched in stamina and strength. I would be gasping for air after a few lunges and ripostes. Instead of working on my fitness, I looked deep into my excuses card pack and came up with - “The shared gear was not very comfortable, I should probably get my own kit first but I don’t want to commit too early to this sport”, “I’m just adjusting to the academic system in the US so can’t spend too much time here”. And that was how I executed the perfect parry.. against myself and successfully blocked further attempts from showing up.
Did I ever not quit?
Short answer: Yes!
Long answer:
Like most people, I do find speaking in the public to be nerve wracking. But I also enjoy sharing what I know with others. I used to spend hours watching technical talks from conferences, imagining myself in such sitations even when I didn’t fully understand the topics discussed. I took up a leadership role at the local ACM chapter at my university hoping that I would come out as a technically stronger and slightly more confident person when speaking to bigger crowds (more than 2 people). If you had seen my first few sessions, you’d probably wonder how I didn’t give up immediately. Shaky voice, slides with too much info, and the visual of a nervous guy trying to structure his thoughts into coherent sentences was more of a comedy than an educational session. Yet I somehow kept going.
Later, I tried being a Teaching Assistant partly because I thought it would be a decent part-time job. But once I got into it, I realised I actually enjoyed seeing the other side of the classroom. I wanted to understand how students approached problems, where they got stuck, and how I could help things click for them. I liked finding different ways to explain the same concept so that it made sense to different kinds of learners. There were plenty of moments where it felt like I wasn’t doing a good job and was just guiding them toward a working solution they didn’t fully understand. Even then, I kept showing up. The doors to exit were always open. I could have skipped sessions or done the bare minimum, but I didn’t. Something about this work felt like me, not just a task to tick off for some extra pocket money.
Working out was another habit that somehow stayed with me. It first started because of my sophomore year roommate. Watching him effortlessly L-sit on the rings and then pat down his pizza with tissues to remove every last drop of oil somehow ignited the spark. He already had a routine, so tagging along made things easier in the beginning. Having someone who expected me to show up kept me from skipping on the days I really wanted to. After a while, even when he was busy, it felt strange not to go. When you spend time with people who treat the habit like a normal part of the day, you naturally start doing the same. By the time I had to go alone, the habit was already strong enough that it didn’t feel like a big deal.
Why some stuck and others didn’t
When I look back at the things I actually stuck with, none of them had some dramatic turning point. It was mostly small, forgettable days that made the difference. The early excitement always fades, and what you do after that is what really builds the habit. Most of the improvement came from showing up even when nothing interesting was happening. I used to think progress needed some big burst of motivation, but it turns out it usually comes from very plain days where you just repeat the same thing again. That’s the part I had skipped with most hobbies before, and maybe that’s why they didn’t last. Accountability mattered more than I thought atleast in the initial stages. Having some around to keep me from going off track, or even being put in an environment where you simply are required to do it whether you like it or not, really helped.
So this isn’t a vow to become someone who continues to finish the journey for every path that they take. It’s just a reminder to myself to stay a little longer with the things I care about and to see what happens if I let stuff breathe past their first burst of excitement. Maybe the point isn’t to stop quitting entirely but to choose my exits consciously by only quitting those that don’t align with who I want to be.
Congrats, if you made it this far without quitting. And if you’re reading this 20 years from now, I really hope I’m still writing blog posts and didn’t quit halfway 🤞.