Acorn: Is It Okay to Give Up?

There are acorn trees at the bottom of my parents’ garden. My mother grew them from seeds, which seems rather remarkable because the trees are tall and spread their shade wide. As we walk under them, we imagine we’re in a damp, earthy, cool English forest and not close to the hot, dry Australian bush. We pretend there are squirrels in the trees. Or maybe Winnie the Pooh is climbing the Big-Oak searching for honey.

Sometimes in the autumn, when we lived in the city and not in the bush, my kids and I would walk through our neighbourhood collecting seeds from exotic, deciduous trees. We had grand plans to grow a whole forest, but we weren’t successful. Maybe we didn’t nurture our seeds well enough, losing interest before they grew very big. 

As we collected the seeds, we placed them in brown paper bags that bore the trees’ names. I was good at identifying trees because I’d done most of a horticulture course before I had children.

Years ago, I completed a science degree, majoring in botany, which turned out to be almost useless: I couldn’t get a job after graduating. Thinking I needed some practical skills to complement all the theory I’d learnt at university, I enrolled in a horticulture course. I completed about two-thirds of the course when one of my job applications was unexpectedly successful. I was offered a job at the University of Sydney.

I told my horticulture tutor that I was leaving. I’d only enrolled in the course to increase my chances of getting a job, and now I had one. The tutor said it would be a waste not to complete the course. Perhaps I could finish it by taking evening classes after work.

So, twice a week after work, when I was tired, I travelled on multiple trains and buses to the college to continue the course that I didn’t want to do because “It might be useful one day” and “It’s a shame to come so far and not finish.”

Each minute that I sat in those classes felt like an hour. I was fighting time. It pushed against me, refusing to move. My head pounding, I finally escaped into the night, free to go home. One evening, I escaped forever. I didn’t show up for the class. I’d given up.

So, did I ever regret not getting that horticulture qualification? No. I did other things. And if I ever acquire an overwhelming desire to become a horticulturist, I can always finish the course. 

Often, we want our kids to keep doing things even when they’re ready to give them up. We say, “You’ve come this far. It would be a shame to give up. You might find it useful in the future.” Or we say, “You should stick to things you start until you reach the end.” We think giving up is a sign of weakness.

But for me, giving up that horticulture course was a relief. It was mentally painful trying to do something that I knew wasn’t right for me. Also, leaving one thing opened up space for something else. Sometimes it’s difficult to do multiple things at once.

So, I haven’t got a horticulture qualification, but I can identify lots of trees, including oaks. I didn’t finish what I started, but I didn’t waste my time. I took something from the experience forward to the next stage of my life.

What Do You Think?

Have you ever given up on something that you started? What was the trigger for letting go? An unbearable feeling of pressure? A desire to do something else? 

Do you have any regrets about giving something up? 

And what about your kids? Are you happy to let them move on to something else when they’re ready? Or do you find yourself saying, “You’ve come so far, it’s a shame not to finish”?

Does persisting through a task, particularly one that a child or we hate, make us stronger? Or could it cause mental pain?

Why not share your thoughts and stories?