Today I was teaching my younger sister volleyball. She played last year, but she quit. She felt as if she wasn't good enough. "I'm not an athletic person, Anna," she told me. I reassured her that no one is born an athlete; they work towards it. But she didn't listen. She just quit. She doesn't have a great role-model though. I quit too much.

I quit piano. I regret it so much. I wish I were one of those people who can just sit down at a piano and have her fingers fly across the keys and some magically beautiful melody will come from the piano. But I quit. It takes much effort to get one song down and even harder effort to get it memorized.

I quit ballet. I quit reading "Gone With the Wind." I quit planting a garden last summer. I quit trying on a lot of things. I'm a quitter. I don't quit everything I start, but I do quit most things.

Quitting is also called giving up. I'm giving up on him. Screw it. I'm done trying. At some point, it's healthy to give up and now's my time. I'm done.

"Driving away from the wreck of the day, and I'm thinking 'bout calling on Jesus,
'Cuz love doesnt hurt, so I know I'm not falling in love, I'm just falling to pieces. And if this is giving up, then I'm giving up, giving up. If this is giving up, then I'm giving up, giving up on love, on love."

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