She met a quitter today.
She didn't realize it at first: sweat dripped off the quitter's face, and her panting breath showed she'd been out running for some time, so she didn't look like any kind of quitter she had ever seen before.
She looked like the sort of person who wanted things, who worked hard for things, who really thought she knew what she was doing.
But she was a quitter nonetheless.
She watched her cross the street to avoid a steep hill, saw the flicker of defeat in her eyes, caught in her glimpse of happy patrons sipping tall, cool beers not pride in her own efforts but envy at their easy celebrations.
The quitter told her things like, "it's very hot outside if you didn't notice," "I stayed up too late last night and I must surely try to catch up on sleep," "there are allergies to consider," "too many things need to be done today so one of them has to go."
She said, "I am satisfied, isn't that enough?"
She said, "Everything is comfortable and fine."
She looked at the quitter and thought, you cannot be comfortable and be brave. You cannot be strong and be satisfied. There are things to give up in this world and being brave, being strong, being extraordinary-- these are not the things.
She thought, how can you know what you can do if you only do what you think you can?
She met a quitter today, and she waved goodbye.

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