This past Monday, I closed my laptop as the sun was on its way down, zipped up my puffer, and headed down to JG Melon for “Mandatory Melon’s Mondays.” Mandatory in name only, it’s a standing date for no other occasion than friends getting together over some of the city’s best burgers. The Monday before that, I decided to meet a friend last minute for Monday night jazz, complete with $1 oysters and prohibition-inspired libations. And this Monday, with no pencil markings on the calendar, I’ll probably cook a wintery meal and pretend to watch Monday night football with my boyfriend. 

“We rehearsed every Monday, and when I first joined, I really needed that structure.”

What’s my obsession with Mondays, you ask? A couple of years ago, I decided to join a community choir in Chelsea. We rehearsed every Monday, and when I first joined, I really needed that structure. I was clouded by depression (which I later found out was due to an acne medication I was taking), and my remote job only made me feel more isolated. 

Music has always been intertwined with my DNA, as tangled up in it as corded headphones at the bottom of your bag (a lost art, right?). My dad plays Chopin on the piano like it’s as easy as Hot Cross Buns; my mom’s voice rivals an angel’s. So as soon as I could sit on the piano bench without sliding off, I was taking lessons. Then I married the keyboard to the vocal chord, taking voice lessons, singing in select choirs, and even sometimes playing out with my dad. 

So when I needed something to lift me out of my melancholy, community choir seemed like just the thing. And it was. For a while. 

But then I started to get burnt out by the whole “every Monday” thing. I couldn’t say yes to other plans, or even have the option of doing nothing on what is famously the most draining day of the week. The commute to choir was lengthy, almost an hour each way, made more hectic by rush hour, near-certain train delays, and the anarchic bedlam that is the Times Square subway transfer. I spent most of the rehearsal not focusing on the music, but impatiently checking my phone to see how close we were to the end. 

“I started to get burnt out by the whole ‘every Monday’ thing. I couldn’t say yes to other plans, or even have the option of doing nothing.”

So, I thought about quitting. And then not quitting. Over, and over, and over again. I imagined how calm I’d feel having a Monday evening with no obligations. But that fantasy would be swiftly shattered, or at least fractured, when I would think about Betty, the older woman in the tenor section who always smiled when I walked in. Or the two women I sat next to in the soprano section, and how we’d snicker between measures, the adult version of passing notes in class. And Dusty the golden doodle, who was adamant that belly rubs were far more important than the SATB arrangement of “Smooth Operator.” 

Because, of course, choir was about singing. But I can sing in the shower. The people (and dogs) made the choir worth it, and I felt as if quitting meant I didn’t appreciate them the way I should have. Despite that guilt, I couldn’t hide that I just wasn’t looking forward to choir anymore. And once I was able to admit that, it seemed like it should’ve been easy to leave the choir behind. So why was I having such a hard time making this decision? 

“I felt as if quitting meant I didn’t appreciate them the way I should have.”

Rebecca Hendrix, LMFT, helped me unpack that. As I described my dilemma, Hendrix noticed that this was more than a mild case of indecisiveness. I was judging myself, terming myself a “quitter” and allowing that declaration to color how I thought about myself. 

She suggested a reframing of my decision from one that condemns change to one that celebrates my ability to listen to my needs, both now and in the past. When I started choir, I was listening to my needs at the time: More social interaction, a new routine to soften my depression, a return to more musical roots. Now, I have different needs: More downtime during the week, and space for more spontaneity, should I want it. 

While quitting felt so negative to me at the time, I now realize that the ability to let go of a hobby is just as vital as taking the leap to start one. But acknowledging that is one thing. How do you actually do it? 

Accept that you won’t be 100% certain 

We’d all like to be unflinchingly sure of the decisions we make, but that’s not the reality. That tug in the other direction, that gray area that never seems to settle into black or white, can cause us not to act on very real feelings. But as it turns out, being uncertain about something and doing it anyway, that is where progress is made. 

“We’d all like to be unflinchingly sure of the decisions we make, but that’s not the reality.”

Being a marriage and family therapist, Hendrix remarked on her experience with couples, saying, “I can’t tell you how many couples walk down the aisle, feeling like they should be 100% like, ‘This is the best day of my life, I’m absolutely certain this is the best person for me.’ They’re not. But they walk down the aisle anyway, and they have a very healthy, long-term, successful relationship.” 

Certainty can be comforting, but it can also make us more rigid than we need to be. Uncertainty just means that thing you’re quitting is nuanced — not all good, not all bad. 

Listen to your gut, but don’t judge it

If you’re feeling like you might want to quit something, there’s probably a reason. Whether it’s dread, boredom, burnout, or some cocktail of the three, those are flags worth paying attention to. Your job is to give those signs a nod, without slipping into judgment. 

“If you’re feeling like you might want to quit something, there’s probably a reason.”

Hendrix gives the example of choosing to end a friendship. “Someone might ask, what does it mean about me that I don’t want to be friends with this person anymore? Well, I make it mean that I’m not kind. Can I forgive myself and say that just because I’m not going to be friends with that person doesn’t mean I’m not kind?”

She calls this a self-honoring choice, one where you resolve not to draw conclusions about your character based on a single decision. We can apply this to everything, including the hobbies we choose to step away from. 

“She calls this a self-honoring choice, one where you resolve not to draw conclusions about your character based on a single decision.”

Okay, so what if it’s something more important than a hobby? What if you’re volunteering for a cause where people depend on you? Isn’t it selfish to quit in that case? 

Hendrix says no. “It’s not selfish, it’s self-honoring to take care of myself first. Because if I do, I’m going to have more to give.” 

It all comes back to the ever-evolving nature of our needs. Just because you commit to volunteering in one period of your life doesn’t mean you have to do that forever. And it also doesn’t mean that the time you did show up is worth less because you didn’t stick with it. 

Your hesitancy to quit might be exactly why you should

If you’re reading this, you’re probably someone who makes decisions methodically. That doesn’t mean you break out a pros and cons list to buy a new pair of jeans (though if you do, I would not judge it). But you’re less impulsive when it comes to the way you distribute money, time, and energy. 

“We’re hard-wired to persevere, to follow through, even when it’s inconvenient.”

That’s a good thing! We’re hard-wired to persevere, to follow through, even when it’s inconvenient.

Your hesitancy to quit means that you’re a thoughtful person who makes grounded decisions. And sometimes the best decision is to grant yourself the fluidity to let go of a hobby, rather than digging your heels in as if to say, “I planned to like this, so I have to like it.” 

Just because you quit something doesn’t mean you can’t come back to it

Viewing my decision as permanent is what made it stressful for me. I felt like I was operating within some kind of “The Little Mermaid” logic: You can trade your tail for legs, but you have to give up your voice forever. 

Again, it comes back to self-judgment, or even the judgment you imagine others are casting on you. Those people stuck with choir, those people aren’t quitters, those people are better at balancing life than I am… the list goes on. 

“It comes back to self-judgment, or even the judgment you imagine others are casting on you.”

Chances are: No one is analyzing your decision that deeply. If you take some time off from a hobby and decide to go back to it, no one is going to think that you’re lesser for it. 

You shouldn’t either.

Olivia Macdonald is a NYC-based writer. Her advertising work for clients like the Harris-Walz campaign and the state of Connecticut have been featured in AdWeek and AdAge, but more importantly, have been a big hit in the family group chat. You can read more of her writing in her newsletter, om nom, and on her website.