Such a bleak title! Thankfully the concept is not all grimness, although that kind of depends on your own self-image, I expect, and whether you have disproportionate emotional baggage attached to reductive concepts such as "being a quitter". They're things we teach children but rarely get around to teaching the extra layers that help provide nuance, context, and the tools we need as adults.

In fact, the more I think about it, the more I reflect on how so much of this chapter is going to be related to personal identity. Unless you're working on a project for someone else, or being paid upon completion, etc. then it's basically all going to come down to your thoughts on yourself.

Let's first start with a quote from my old friend, Ross (Graham): "There's a finite amount of later."

What we're getting at here is that you might well tell yourself that you're going to do a project "later". This can be meant entirely sincerely but still be untrue, particularly if we pause to contemplate our own mortality. It's a little bleak, certainly, but let's say you want to work on a big project, how long is it going to take? Five years? Ten? It won't be a constant grind, but if you're working on something when you have time it can easily take five years to make meaningful progress. How many five year projects do you have time for in your life? Depending on how your health is whilst you're reading this, you might also need to consider that you're unlikely to be as hale and hearty forever!

How you choose to use your available laters (see the chapter on "When is later?") is up to you, but perhaps consider this before committing to another sprawling vortex of a project!

Now that we've dealt with the practical level, let's examine a more psychological aspect. Ross has another term here that I'd like to lean on - time capsules.

A project that ends up a time capsule is one where working on it has become an important part of one's identity, especially if it's ended up a stalled project. Being able to tell yourself you're the kind of persona that works on that type of project can be quite an important source of self-esteem.

To give you a more concrete example of this that I can rather relate to myself - if you've written five chapters of a book but the most recent significant milestone was years ago, do you still think of yourself as someone writing a book? Does that label have a time limit to it?

Ultimately the only person you're answerable to on this is yourself, but it's probably sensible to consider the reason for the project stalling. You've probably had time to work on it in the intervening years, but you haven't. Why is that? Why did you work on other things?

Have you allowed yourself to consider whether you still find this a satisyfing pursuit? If the answer isn't a positive one, why are you still letting it hang over you?

The answer, as per the time capsule concept, is that giving up on the project will mean you can no longer describe yourself (whether to yourself or also to others) as someone that undertakes a project of that nature. Maybe you've not considered the implication, or allowed yourself to explore that route, but ultimately it means you're being held hostage by your younger self. That person no longer exists in reality and you don't owe them anything. If you're no longer enjoying yourself, see if you can find a way to make peace with that.

Personally I've found myself beholden to promises to my past self on many occasions. I generally keep projects alive for many years at a time, rarely giving up. I tell myself that I get there eventually, but I don't think this is actually a sensible trade-off, and I have been working on overcoming this desire to finish everything. It's not quite a irresistable compulsion, but it's certainly a significant psychological pressure. Hopefully by talking about it I can help both me and you, reader, to do better on this front - it's okay to give up!

On another front we have the concept of Kevin's Rollerblades, a pop culture reference from 1992's Home Alone 2. Kevin had a pair of rollerblades that he valued so highly that he barely ever used them - then one day he found he'd outgrown them.

For projects I consider that to be important to consider when it comes to projects I tell myself I'll do "one day". They end up on some sort of mental pedestal and I rarely take the time to actually examine the reason I put them up there in the first place. Past me felt they were a cool thing to do but that person isn't here any more - how do I feel about the idea?

Much of the time the answer is "fairly indifferent" but that compulsive impulse still lingers. As with many things this is simply a case of having to fight the battle over and over again until my brain gets the message and decides that neurological connection isn't worth keeping around anymore (rewiring your own brain is a hassle, but can be worth it if you can stick it out).

Kevin's Rollerblades also have a version of the psychological aspect I spoke of earlier in this chapter. Being able to tell yourself that you're going to do a project has significant emotional value to it too. That value can be a positive thing, keeping you going through a period of your life that is a slog, but it can very easily become toxic. You've not actually done anything but you're still bigging yourself up about it - doesn't sound very healthy to me. It can most definitely make walking away from it very difficult, but hopefully you can recognise the behaviour in yourself and be honest. Do you still want to do that project, or is it just some misguided ego thing?

For my own part that kind of thing can end up being a bit of a millstone. I don't like the feeling of being someone that's one day going to do a thing. It smacks of the old trope of the person who's one day going to make something of themselves - but ultimately never leaves their home town.

There's another angle that I'd like to explore too - fear and despair. Such uplifting stuff - but hear me out. I like to be optimistic, even if I am a bit cynical about it, and so various projects hold a certain level of psychological promise when they're in the abstract stage. For example I want to build a wargaming table based on an archipelago - with a clear resin base, islands, jungles, overgrown wrecks, etc.. In my mind this will be a wonderful thing for gaming on, creating stories with friends, and so on.

If I look at it through the sober lens of reality - how much time will it take to create (if it can even be done to my satisfaction)? Will I actually be able to enjoy the end result? Will I be able to find people to play with that will have a similar level of engagement? Maybe, but also maybe not.

Keeping the project in the "one day" category means I can keep the hope that there are positive experiences related to it in my future. As I've grown older and experienced more, I'm inclined to say it won't live up to the idea I've built in my mind and it'll instead be a source of despair. That's what I'm afraid of.

I haven't yet decided whether the positive from the hope outweighs the fear of the despair, but it's an ongoing discussion in my mind. Recently I've started experimenting with creating some things for the board to determine whether I enjoy the process of creating it - so that I can use the making angle as the enjoyment metric, not fixate on the end result. Hopefully that's doing me a bit more good!

Let's get into the more positive side before we finish up as that's important to explore too. Giving up has a positive side? Of course!

Every project has costs associated with it - the space they take up, the time, and most importantly the opportunity cost (in space, time, and motivation). As enjoyable as a project can be, if a project has reached the point where you're considering giving up, it's probably worth weighing what you stand to gain.

For me that can involve things like no longer needing to hold onto the materials associated with the project, freeing up precious storage space, being able to get rid of the equipment I've bought (or borrowed), and creating a space that practically screams to be used for whatever currently excites me.

I'm sure I don't need to tell you not to quit at the first hurdle, but after you've given it a fair go, it's okay, I give you permission. You can use your time to do something else! You're free now! Now could I interest you in this shiny idea? Look, it sparkles...