"When do we call it quits?" featuring Dan Stewart

 This episode features Dan Stewart, one of Campfire’s Fellows. Dan Stewart as he provides his answer to the Season 28 question, "When do we call it quits?". A Fellow’s Campfire can best be described as TED without the data, The Moth but interactive, and a sermon but without the religion. You can learn more about Dan Stewart on the Campfire website, https://cmpfr.com/events/dan-stewart/. 

The Campfire Fellows go through rigorous training and coaching provided by Campfire Faculty so they can share their wisdom through story for you. Our Fellows are the people next to you at stoplights or walking by on the street. These Fellows apply or are nominated by people like you, who know interesting and introspective people with some wisdom to share. The Fellows go through a unique process with our team to discover a wealth of wisdom inside themselves and then are trained on how to share the origin stories of their wisdom. 

This episode was originally performed on October 2019, produced by Jeff Allen, and recorded live at The Stage at KDHX. 

Please be advised, some adult language is used.

Transcript

Steven Harowitz:   0:12
Hello, Internet. I'm Steven Harowitz, and I will be your host for this episode of Campfire At Home, recorded here in St. Louis, Missouri. Almost every month we gather at the Campfire to hear stories about life and how we live it. Campfire At Home is how we bring that live storytelling experience to you wherever you are. Before we get too deep into Campfire At Home, I do want to share a few opportunities for you to get involved beyond listening to this podcast. We obviously have our live show, but we also offer classes and workshops on public speaking and story construction. If you or an organization you're part of are interested, you can visit cmpfr.com that c m p f r dot com. Each Campfire Season poses a life question that is explored by our students and Campfire Fellows together with our audience. Let's go to the Gaslight Warehouse to listen to Dan's answer to the Season 10 question, "When do we call it quits?".

Dan Stewart:   1:18
All right, we're here. We're doing this. Hi, y'all. I love quitting. Or rather, I love the idea of quitting, and typically, I fantasize about it in some sort of over-dramatic way. Mic drop, a hair flip, some sort of turn-your-back, never-look-back-again sort of quitting. Now what am I actually quitting in these scenarios? Who even knows? But I do know what I'm feeling. And in those situations I'm feeling scared, overworked, overwhelmed, doubtful of my ability, hurt, unheard. But the Season's question isn't, "When do you want to call it quits?",  because if that were the case, it would be all the time. But the Season's question is, rather, "When do we actually call it quits? When do we take that step?". While I fantasize about it pretty often, I've actually only called it quits a handful of times, and I'm gonna be honest. I'm not very good at it. Um, most of the time I still do tasks for jobs I've quit years ago. I've had many experiences with exes going back and forth and back and forth. Um, and I have given up a vice or two just to pick it up a few weeks later. You know what I'm talking about. And the reality is, though, is the times that I called it quits and it's stuck are the times that I called it quits for me, when I had to choose me over something else or someone else. I called it quits for the sake of myself and that I'm incredibly proud of, although it's been incredibly difficult. I first learned to call it quits at a pretty young age, but I had to work for it. I was six years old the first time I was put into karate, and this may be a surprise to you, but, um, I am far from butch and, uh, while I can bro it up at the gym with the best of them, put me in an overly competitive environment and I am done. But you don't really have much of a choice when you're young, kid, do you? So on a Fall crisp day like today, my mom put me in a starchy white uniform, took a nice, crisp white belt, pull it taut against my belly and sent me into my first karate class. You know, despite the Karate Kid franchise being a hit at the time, I never once, once, showed any interest in being punched or kicked ever. And to put it in in this term as a young kid, I was so, so risk adverse that the only sport I showed any interest in with softball, and the reality is because I thought the ball was literally soft. Okay, so again, far from butch. But as a little kid, you really don't have much of a say, even though you're trying to say you want to stay protected. Because as kids, we kind of listen to what our parents say and put us in, right? Um, how many of you have ever been put in a sport or activity by a parent that you wanted to quit? Yes, unless we have, like a series of soccer superstars and they're on like a national team. What are some of those? The sports, thee activities? Girl Scouts, softball, little league, lot of little Leaguers. Ice skating. Oh, someone's fancy. But as kids, we really don't have much of a say when it when it comes to what we do. And so I continued on to what was expected of me. My first day of karate consisted of a lot of running and punching and kicking and a good dose of anxiety, and as days turned into weeks of karate, stomachaches and pleas to stay home, to quit, to not go became the norm. But every single time I was met with "No, you made a commitment. You stick it out. Quitters never win. Don't be a quitter." So I continued on my karate path. And months, and it was finally time for us to actually test our skills out on one another and spar. Which again, from an outsider's perspective, I bet looked adorable, right? You got six- and seven-year-olds covered up in foam padding. White foam helmets. Chest padding that basically grazed the floor because we're so short. But  little Dan, I was terrified. I felt like I was going into battle. And again, I pleaded, "Please don't let me go, Please let me stay home." One thing I forgot to mention, um is that not only was there expectation to do karate, is that my dad was actually the head instructor. Yeah, I was actually an heir to a dynasty, and it was actually saying no to that. Um, but again, at the door being told, "No, you made a commitment to stick it out. Quitters never win. Don't be a quitter." And so I accepted my fate, walked on the sticky mat up to my partner, did a customary bow, got ready to fight. And that's the last thing I remember until, bam, seven-year-old foot went straight into my stomach, and all the air went out of me, and I leaned in hard to it. I fell. I cried and I cried as my dad picked me up and walk me to the bench, and I cried as I sat the rest of the class out. But as I caught my breath and relaxed a little, I also saw an opportunity. You see, not many parents would consider it a good idea after they see their kid get its butt kicked in front of everyone that maybe this isn't the sport for him. And sure enough, I was right, and I never had to go to karate again. And I got to quit karate, and it was a godsend. And it was triumphant. Yep, quitting karate was my my first step into the world of quitting, and I haven't stopped quitting since, and even now as I as I stand here, you know, I think of a lot of things in my life that I've wanted to quit. Um, some easy, some hard, some big, some small. And so now I like to invite you to your packet. There should be a notecard in there, and you should have something to write with. We're gonna take some time, about 30 seconds, and I'll keep track. Don't worry. And I want you to write all the things that you want to quit, right? Easier said than done. But it could be small things. It could be quit speeding, be quitting a relationship. So I'm gonna give you 30 seconds. You go ahead and start. I just want you to bullet point them. All right, let's go ahead and go. 

Dan Stewart:   9:43
Thanks for doing that. No. How many of you? It seemed like there were a lot of things that were being written. Anyone write more than one thing? More than two? More than five? All right, future quitters. I see you. I respect you. For me, writing it out, saying it out loud is the first step of calling it, the first step that holds myself accountable into, what are we talking about here? Is this something that I want to quit? Why is it something that I want to quit? And so in my recent life, there's been a lot of things that I've had a think through and sift through. Part of that process is calling it. And when I did fairly recently, after four years of reading and writing and researching and writing and reading and casually working on a doctorate and reading and writing and a dissertation, Um, after four years, I finally called it quits on my PhD program, and it is a point, yes, is a point of celebration. Yes, that is a point of celebration. Yes, point of celebration. But that wasn't always the case. I started my PhD at 25 after I had finished my master's in gerontology at UMSL and deciding to get my doctor, it wasn't something that had come to me when I was in my master's program or in my undergrad, or even as an adult. You see, while most kids my age were reading Harry Potter and going on group dates to the mall, I was staying at home reading nonfiction book after nonfiction book on the brain, on psychology and neurology and philosophy and sociology and all the -logies. And what I recognize in these books that I like to read, other than that they made me feel smart, is that the authors all had three letters after their name, PhD, doctor of philosophy. And they were experts. They wrote books. They taught classes. They had things with their names on them. And I wanted that. I wanted to be smart. I wanted to be an expert. And so, at 12 years old, I decided that I was gonna get a doctorate. despite any family precedent. I grew up in a first generation American home, where education is incredibly valuable. My mom grew up in a rural, impoverished part of Mexico and was sent to the U.S. when she was 14 so that she could work and make money and send it back home. She settled in the U.S., did well for herself, had children, but she never had the opportunity to go to college. So that's something that she wanted for her children. I was taught that regardless of whether you're rich or pretty or the right pedigree, education is the great equalizer. It's a way that you can have a fair playing field and in my culture and my family. When you do something, it's not just for you, but it's for the whole family. And so this idea of getting education as an opportunity was for all of us. So for me, getting a doctorate was more than a nerdy 12-year-old kid's dream. It was away to lift up my family. It meant more to me as a child of an immigrant. It meant more to me, as a grandson of a migrant orange picker. It was more than just a degree that you get at the end of five or six years. An education was incredibly important to me and to my family. And so in 2015, when I started my program, I just dove right in. I did the reading, the writing, the tests, the statistics. It was incredibly hard and frustrating, but rewarding. I mean, the whole point of getting a doctorate is that it pushes you to ask a question, to learn all you can about a topic, and keep asking questions until literally there is no answer. And then you spend the entire rest of your career trying to figure out that answer. It's meant to challenge who you are. Cement the challenger skill set. Historically, school's come easy to me. It's something that I knew how to do, that I was good at. Researching, writing, things of that sort. But school also had a power over me. It is where I got a lot of my sense of self worth. And so as things became harder, and being in a program that is intentional to push you past your comfort zone, I started to doubt and question my own sense of my skill set, my ability. I started to question whether I deserved to be there. I questioned if I was smart enough, if I had the skills to do it. Then maybe I should quit because I don't want to embarrass myself. Maybe I should quit before we get too further into this and people notice that I just can't do it. Have any of you ever found yourself in that place where you want to quit something because you don't think you could do it? You're not good enough for it. So this is where, ironically, that messaging that I got as a kid did come in handy, right? "You made a commitment, You stick it out. Quitters never win. Don't be a quitter." So I didn't, and I stuck it out. And then 2016 happened, and the election changed the trajectory of my life, my career, my focus, my sense of safety. And for the first time, the idea of researching and writing on a topic that was interesting to me just didn't seem as important as it once did. I remember the day after the election results came out, my classmate and Anne I stayed after our survival analysis class, ironically named, um, to just sit and talk, and we just sat and talked and cried for an hour of "What's gonna happen?". We were fearful for the future. We were scared for her children. I was scared for our family members, many of them undocumented, scared for my career and trans family, what that meant for us. And it was heavy because our future felt really vulnerable and up in the air. But the PhD program does not care if you have a mental health break down or an emotional breakdown, so you just keep going. You just keep writing. You just keep reading. So I did, but I was changed. I couldn't ignore that. So what do you do instead of quitting? You just add more on right? That's what you do. So, in addition to working on my doctorate, I decided to why not just out on a job, too? And so I started working for PROMO working towards LGBT equality in our state, because I needed to do something now. Because our country, our government was policing and politicizing, is policing, is politicizing, people of color and trans folks. The Latinx community is being put in cages. And so though my focus had changed, I still had made my commitment. I still needed to stick it out. It's been all this time and effort and being Dr. Dan. So who was I to let that go? So I continue to push on and push forward because you just can't quit something that you've spent years dedicating yourself to. Because remember, this was a degree that was more than just a degree. This was for me, for my family, for my future. It was this bigger sense and purpose. So the question really became then, who would I be if I wasn't Dan the PhD student? What would be my worth and value if I quit on something that I had said that I would do for decades? Who would I be? Would people listen to me if my bio didn't say "is currently working on his doctorate at St. Louis University?". And the reality is is where I was in that place, I thought so little of myself that I felt that it really had a lot of backing on who I was, whether I got that degree or not. And so I had to rely heavily on my people. I had asked them for that support, to remind me of my strengths, to support me and love on me when I was having such a hard time doing it myself. Earlier today, when you came in, ok, like 30 minutes ago, you all were given a piece of paper that asked you to text three people. No, I'll explain later. Can you tell me what some of my strengths are? So I'd like to invite you now to take out your phones, and I want you to look and see what those responses are. There's not many times in our lives where we can actually reach out and get the pocket full of messages like this. I did it and ended up with, like, 16 text messages from someone that loves me a whole lot. So thank you for that. Now again we're a challenge-by-choice sort of crowd here, but now you have a pocket full of these wonderful things about you. So what I'd like to invite you to do is turn to someone and share what one of your strengths is.

Dan Stewart:   21:44
Thanks for doing that, y'all. So I personally asked folks to share with me the strength that they saw in me because being reminded of my strengths was a game changer. It changed the narrative as to why I wanted to call it quits. Because for the longest time, I didn't see a reason, other than bearing myself deep into the ground in my work, because my worth was so much put into what degree I got at the end of it. And so it's important that we're reminded of these strengths that we have, and for me being reminded of messages of being smart and kind and caring and being able to reframe those four years that I had spent in my doctorate, I was able to be reminded that in those four years I came out as trans. I got married. I bought a house. I had multiple surgeries and recoveries. I re-united with my family that I was estranged with for five years and handled a multitude of other things, including doing a cool Campfire. Full circle. But it's so easy to get narrow vision on what is considered a success and what is considered of value. And so for me, having that story change was so important because it taught me that just because school was hard, it didn't mean that I was dumb and incapable. As I sat further into deciphering why I was calling it quits, I was reminded of a quote from one of my favorite shows, Parks and Rec, by my beautiful wife, Hana, of a quote by Ron Swanson, who's this very pragmatic, mustachioed man, who tells Leslie Knope, the protagonist, "Never half ass two things. Whole ass one thing." It's very important. And so I had to ask myself, "What do I want to whole ass?" And the reality is post-2016 my priorities changed. And Dan at 12 didn't know what life would look like at 30. He didn't know that there would be opportunities. He didn't know that you didn't need a degree to prove that you had something to say and that was worth listening to. And so this past summer, after writing a carefully, um, crafted letter to my faculty dissertation committee, my program head as well as the head of my department with a click of "Send," I quit my program. Thank you, thank you. Long time coming. Long time coming. And though that decision is hard sometimes still  I 100% know was the right one for me. There's so much more balance in my life. I can really focus in on my career of advocating for queer and trans folks and really reshape what is important to me. As difficult as it was, I called it. I called it quits for me. Take a chance on me, on my future, on my career. And that was not an easy feat to do. But calling it was that key step in getting that ball rolling, open up the door for opportunity. So earlier, again not that long ago, you all took some time to write out all the things you want to quit. So right now I'm gonna invite the Campfire staff to come around, and I'm not gonna leave you hanging with this list of things that you want to quit. Um, we're actually gonna be passing around a "Calling It Quits" Zine. So what I want you to do is on that list I just want you to choose one thing. One thing that you want to call it quits with, and coming around is a little scene that you can carry in your pocket. You open up to the first page, and it says, "Call it." We're actually gonna call it tonight. We want you to write down what it is that you want to call. It's not making a commitment to call it quits tonight or tomorrow. Although I would love the drama of that. Let's be clear. I love it, but it's a matter of just again holding ourselves accountable. So you go and do that, and I'm gonna go ahead and do that too. 

Dan Stewart:   27:25
So in that zine, there's two more steps. The second one is strengths, which congratulations, you've already done, so you can fill that out. And then that third step is feelings. So after tonight, I just invite you to sit with whatever that may be, whether it's feelings about why you want to quit, what you feel like it would imagine if you were to quit. That's for you to take on your own. So for me, the calling piece has been really crucial because it's opened the door for opportunities. And, uh, as of recently, there has been an opportunity that's come before me, and I have taken it. And so there's one last big thing that I need to quit, and that's quitting you, St. Louis. Dear St. Louis, I love you, but it's time we called it quits. And before you say anything or respond, it's very much me. It's not you, it's not you. You would think it would be you, but it's not you. You see, we first met in 2008. I, um, ran to you sight unseen. I knew that you were cold, that you are in a state named Missouri, um, and that there was something about like a metal arch in the sky somewhere. It's all I had. But I grew up a queer trans Mexican kid in Texas. So I was looking to get out, and St. Louis seemed good enough. And you welcomed me, and you accepted me for who I was. And at the time I was a lost, awkward, traumatized, closeted, overweight, deeply religious young woman. And a lot has changed since then. Much for the better. But you welcomed me and you accepted me for who I was from the get go. Yeah, I remember our first night together. Um and I grew up in suburbia, so most nights you could hear the crickets and, you know, it was only really interrupted by the 11 p.m. and the 1:25 a.m. train. So my first night in my newly put together dorm room as I put my head on the pillow, I just heard siren after siren after siren after siren, and my eyes grew big and my anxiety shot up and I just thought, "Where in the world did I just move into? What have I done?". Granted,  a few weeks later, I realized how close I was in proximity to the major hospital systems. So that calm things down. And now, 12 years later, living in South St. Louis, I can sleep through pretty much anything. I ran to you, St. Louis, because things were not good at home. Um, I wasn't seen. I was hurt. I was lost. I was broken and I needed somewhere to go. I needed to quit the abusive relationships I was in, the chaotic home environment I was in. So I quit Texas to come to you. And one thing I didn't realize at the time is that even though you travel 799 miles away to somewhere, those problems and feelings still come with you. But you got me through it. You gave me resource. You showed me people, gave me possibility models. You helped me reestablish myself in home. You helped me reestablish home within myself. I ran away to quit Texas, but I'm not running away to quit you, St. Louis. In fact, there been many times that I've tried to run away, but your people just kept pulling me back. Every time I wanted to hide from myself, your people were there to love on me and care for me, and you gave me space to grow. You gave me space to quit and figure out how to quit. And you gave me space to quit one of the biggest things that I did while I was here, which was quit lying about who I was and to start being myself as messy as it is. And even though I lost a lot coming out as queer and trans, I lost my family. I lost my job. I lost friends. You stepped up. The trans community stepped up. St. Louis, you saved me. You saved me in a way that I did not expect when I decided to just move to the middle of nowhere. And you gave me that love and that support that I needed, that strength that I could grow into. So after nearly 12 years, it's time that we call it quits. Um, I leave in November. I've accepted a new job where I get to advocate for queer and trans older adults on a national level in D.C. It's pretty awesome. It's pretty awesome. Yeah, it's pretty cool. And I wouldn't have been able to do that if it wasn't for you all. You gave me strength. You gave me support. You showed me the strength and support that I had within. I'll still be coming back to visit for a little bit. My wife and my fur family won't join me until June. But then, I'll be setting up a new stage of life on the East Coast, which is probably a lot colder than here, which I'm not a fan of. But I'll be surrounded by new people and new possibilities, new communities, setting up a new home in a new state. But I want you to know that in quitting, that I would not be here on this stage, I would not be here doing my Campfire, I would not be here hitting 30, I would not be here as a human if it wasn't for you, St.  Louis, and the people that I love and care about that I've known here. And so with that strength and that support that you taught me, it's time that I let go. So thank you, St. Louis, for being there, for loving me,, for everything. Calling it quits can be hard. It can be messy. It can bring joy. It can bring rage. It can bring sadness. But regardless of the outcome, there is strength and calling it. There's strength in even thinking about calling it. Throughout the years I have had to sit with and decipher, why is it that I want to call it quits? Is it worth calling it quits? Ultimately getting to the point of am I worth calling it quits four? You know what St. Louis? I am, I am, and I'm calling it quits for the sake of me. And that's something that even a six-year-old karate kid would be proud of. Thank you.

Steven Harowitz:   36:38
And that's a wrap. I'd like to thank Dan for answering this Season's question, "When do we call it quits?". If you want to, you can see the answers to this Season's question, as written by our audience members from each Campfire if you visit our Facebook page at Facebook.com/campfirestl. You can scroll through all the great insights that our audience shared back with us and our fellows. A big thank you to the Campfire Team, our photographer Jenn Korman, and our videographer and podcast producer Jeff Allen, as well as the home of all of our classes and trainings  TechArtista. If you want to learn more about Campfire and the work we do, you can visit cmpfr.com that c m p f r dot com. And if you liked what you heard while you were listening to this episode, please leave a review on iTunes or wherever you find your podcasts. It really helps out. Thank you again for listening. Until next time.