Hi, it’s Brilliant.
How do you know when it’s time to leave? A job. A relationship. A community. A lovely evening with old friends.
We all face that question, sometimes in small ways and sometimes in ways that change everything. Maybe you’re asking it in some area of your life right now. It’s rarely easy, especially when the head says one thing and the heart says another.
For a few years, I faced it every September.
I organized a walk, and I walked it myself. Fifty miles in twenty hours. We started at five on a Saturday morning, the week after Labor Day, and most of those who finished came in around one in the morning on Sunday. Something like a hundred thousand steps. You can fly from Salt Lake to Sydney in less time.
It wasn’t a race, but it was a test. I’ve come to think of it as a beautiful test of the human spirit. You learn a lot about yourself in twenty hours of walking.
Almost as soon as we started, the group that started together would come apart. Everyone found their own pace.
I did this walk for the first time at sixteen, and it changed my life. So as the host, I wanted as many people as possible to finish, because I knew what finishing could do.
I’d hang back and walk with the people at the end of the line. How are you feeling? What’s it been like so far? What are you learning? Sometimes I’d ask them to imagine what finishing might mean to them, not that night but years later.
Underneath those conversations, I was always doing math. What pace did I need to hold to finish myself? How much room did I have?
Eventually the math would say go, and I’d tell them the truth: at this pace, you’re not going to finish in the allotted time. I’ll make sure the support crew knows you’re back here. Try to catch the next group if you can. Then I’d pick up my pace, catch the next group, and have the same conversation, and the next, until I was with the last group that still had a chance.
Every year there were moments I found myself beside someone I didn’t think would make it without a companion walking beside them, lending them strength. I’d done this long enough to usually be right. And every year the same decision came around. Do I stay and be that companion, and give up my own chance to finish in time, or do I go?
I learned that staying with someone can help, but it’s no guarantee. I also learned that one other person walking beside you can be the difference. I saw it over and over. I also saw people quit with me standing right there.
I never found a rule that made the decision easy. What I had was a set of things to weigh. What shape were they in? Blisters, cramps, rashes, toenails, and beneath the physical, how strong were they emotionally, and spiritually? What did the math say? What did my gut say? That was all I had to go on.
What I did develop was a way of leaving. Tell the truth about the pace. Make sure they aren’t alone, and that the support crew will come pick them up if they need it. Remind them how far they’ve already come, and that there’s no shame in stopping; some people learn more from the fifty miles they don’t finish than from the ones they do.
And remind them what it might mean for the rest of their life if they finish. Ask what they need: a battery, food, bandages. Point them toward the next person. Then go.
If there’s a place in your life where you’re wondering whether it’s time to go, it’s possible your head and your heart won’t agree. Mine seldom did. What helped wasn’t knowing when to go but having a way to go that I could live with: tell the truth, do what I could to make sure the people affected by my decision would be okay, and then keep walking toward my own goal.
From the Commonplace Book
“We’re all just walking each other home.”
— Ram Dass
Further Down the Rabbit Hole
After the last walk, the finishers all signed a fifty-dollar bill. I keep it in a frame. Which is as good an excuse as any for this: a John Oliver short on why there are now more $100 bills in circulation than any other denomination. Surprisingly, even more than ones. Most of them aren’t in anyone’s wallet. Two minutes, and you’ll wonder where they all are.
Wishing you every good thing,
Brilliant