Closing Doors: My Two Most Difficult Career Decisions Thus Far

According to research by behavioral economics professor Dan Ariely of MIT, people are notoriously bad at closing off opportunities, even when it’s in their best interest. Dr. Ariely designed an experiment which asked participants try and earn as much money as they could by clicking on different doors to earn money. While the smartest strategy was to stick with one door, since each door had the same expected payoff, the players consistently sacrificed in order to keep their options open—especially when the unused doors started shrinking—to the detriment of their overall payoff. (John Tierney wrote a great post about this research, which includes a link to the original paper in Management Science).

This research definitely rings true in my own life: it feels nice to know you have options, even if they are options you don’t really want, or that wouldn’t be good for you. Being a person who is in love with blank pages and the idea of endless possibilities, I have always struggled with closing doors, but I have happily succeeded at least twice. In the hope of inspiring you to close some doors of your own, here they are:

Decision #1: Deciding not to go to law school

People have been telling me for a long time to be a lawyer. Maybe it’s because I can be opinionated. Maybe it’s because I’m good at arguing, writing persuasively, and public speaking. Maybe it’s because of al the crazy things I’ve discussed doing, it was the one that seemed the sanest. I, for one, always felt like being a lawyer is something I could be really, really good at. I also thought it could make me useful in social movements, or defending those who have little access to the protection of the law. And, being the kind of person who thrives on a challenge, I had always secretly wanted to go to law school—much like I’ve always secretly wanted to go to Boot Camp—just to prove I could do it.

Then I realized that I would be miserable. And that while being a lawyer would use some of my talents, it wouldn’t be fulfilling to me. So, after almost killing myself to study for that annoying LSAT while trying to finish my thesis, as well as shelling out a sizable chunk of the little money I had to take the stupid thing, I threw away my law school brochures with the satisfaction and finality of knowing that I would never go to law school. 

Decision #2: Quitting my first “real” job after just two and a half weeks

I am not a “quitter.” In fact, I’m a pretty tough girl. When I was about 11, I stepped on a stray sewing needle, and as I hopped up and down, I broke it in half. Unbeknownst to me, the other half of the needle that I couldn’t find hidden in the carpet was lodged in my toe. I played soccer on it the entire week, just ignoring the pain, or taking an aspirin when it got too bad. It wasn’t until my mom thought it was a good idea to go get it x-rayed—just in case—that they discovered a nice chunk was still hanging out in my toe. They had to operate to get it out.

So if you’re thinking this decision was about toughness, it was not. Rather, it was about the following things:

1. I did not feel like I was having a significant impact on the lives of my clients, and after asking questions of many different people I worked with, realized that that was unlikely to change.
2. I was learning almost nothing, and, once again, after asking questions, learned that that was unlikely to change.
3. I had interviewed for a different position, but they offered me this one instead, saying that I would “transition” to the higher, potentially more fulfilling one after some months. After learning that several people I was working with were hired on the same pretense, this started to seem less than genuine, and felt more like a “bait and switch.” Not to mention that in the entire month I worked there, I never met the person who would be evaluating me.
4. A normally optimistic and “find the silver lining” type person, I was miserable and unhappy after only a week and a half, when under normal circumstances I would still be in the honeymoon phase.
5. None of my greatest skills were being used, nor was there any foreseeable opportunity to use them.
6. I began to realize that I had convinced myself to take this case manager job, rationalizing away the doubts I had, and that my decision was motivated more by fear of unemployment than passion for the work.
7. Going to and from work in the middle of the night (when my shifts would start or end) was dangerous. One night I just barely escaped from a man who came after me in a subway station.
   

I am actually grateful for number seven, because I knew long before that my commute was an unsafe situation and that this job was just a terrible fit for me, but continued to rationalize those feelings away. After all, I wasn’t a quitter—I could stick it out. In truth, the Q word terrified me almost as much as narrowly escaping an attack. I hadn’t quit anything in my entire life. Not to mention, even after just two and a half weeks, I cared a lot about the kids I was working with, and felt guilty about leaving my coworkers without another person to cover shifts. (Penelope Trunk wrote a great post about this “quitting guilt,” which is apparently common among Millennials—although she uses the term “Gen Y”—that helped me feel better about my decision).

While struggling with whether or not to quit, I read a blog post by another recent grad with a shockingly similar situation, called, “Why it’s smart to quit your job after just two weeks of work.” I both admired her courage and was intimidated by some of the scathing comments people had left in response. But in the end I found the courage to quit—because I know that I won’t change the world by not learning, by not using my best skills, and by being perpetually stressed about getting home safe at night.

So why do these two decision stick out to me out of all the decisions that have in some way shaped my life and career thus far? Easy. They are the most liberating decisions I’ve ever made. Before making them, it seemed like the world would end and I would be trapped in regret if I closed those doors—I agonized and agonized for hours about them—but the opposite happened: I was free to chase what really mattered.