Update

 Once upon a time , someone asked me if I would be happy working a job that was not at the university. Since my position at the university closed in 2020, I found myself doing exactly that— working in jobs not at the university. It has been a very difficult transition.  Recently, things shifted quickly and in unexpected ways. The short version is that I am leaving the hotel which I am currently working, having taken a position at another.  The longer version of the story is that I stopped by to see my good friend and former GM at his new hotel. While I was visiting with him, one of the owners came out and introduced himself and we got to talking. After a few minutes, he said he wanted me to meet his brother. Our conversation turned into a job interview and 48 hours later I accepted a new position as front desk, manager and assistant operations manager. After some negotiating, we reached an agreement and I start my new position on April 9. It’s a much nicer hotel and these...

"The Quitter" by Robert W. Service

Yesterday we considered Robert W. Service's poem, "The Men Who Don't Fit In." Today's meditation focuses on another of Service's poem that harmonizes well with "the rolling stone" of a man who has his own place in the world, the man who is not like the rest.

What separates the Quitter from the Winner? It's not motivation. Motivation is external, it is easy. Quitting is easy. Finishing is hard. One person may feel moved by this or that but the very same sentiment may not even touch another person. Motivation comes and goes. No, what keeps a man moving forward is discipline. Discipline is like a blade and every choice a man makes either dulls the blade or keeps it sharp. Discipline and strength go hand-in-hand.

Think about how this truth surfaces in Service's poem, "The Quitter."

When you're lost in the Wild, and you're scared as a child,
And Death looks you bang in the eye,
And you're sore as a boil, it's according to Hoyle
To cock your revolver and . . . die.
But the Code of a Man says: "Fight all you can,"
And self-dissolution is barred.
In hunger and woe, oh, it's easy to blow . . .
It's the hell-served-for-breakfast that's hard.

"You're sick of the game!" Well, now, that's a shame.
You're young and you're brave and you're bright.
"You've had a raw deal!" I know — but don't squeal,
Buck up, do your damnedest, and fight.
It's the plugging away that will win you the day,
So don't be a piker, old pard!
Just draw on your grit; it's so easy to quit:
It's the keeping-your-chin-up that's hard.

It's easy to cry that you're beaten — and die;
It's easy to crawfish and crawl;
But to fight and to fight when hope's out of sight —
Why, that's the best game of them all!
And though you come out of each gruelling bout,
All broken and beaten and scarred,
Just have one more try — it's dead easy to die,
It's the keeping-on-living that's hard.


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