Growing up playing hockey, calling someone the Q-Word was akin to insulting their mother, stealing their Gatorade, and throwing in a breezer wedgie to boot. In my hyper-competitive and melodramatic adolescent mind there was nothing lower than giving up, literally the last step before death. Needless to say, I never imagined I would become exactly that.

In the past year I’ve quit four major occupations, three of them jobs and one a labor of love organization I co-founded with two close friends. While I didn’t exactly set out to become a quitter and none of my decisions to quit were easy—some were much harder than others—I don’t regret it.