knowing when to leave

Go while the going is good

Knowing when to leave may be the smartest thing anyone can learn.

Go!

I'm afraid my heart isn't very smart.

Fly while your still have your wings

Knowing when to leave will never let you reach the point of no return.

Fly!

A few weeks ago I had the absolute honor of performing at Lincoln Center in Transport Group’s concert of “Promises, Promises.” The whole night was way too much fun — singing with a lush, full orchestra alongside so many incredible performers (some of whom were original company members!) made my heart soar. One of my favorite songs from the night is quoted above — Knowing When to Leave. The orchestration is super fun, and the song itself really stuck with me. I found myself thinking about the lyrics in the last week or so as a few loved ones have embarked on some major transitions.

Knowing when to leave very well may be the smartest thing that anyone can learn. Funny enough — the actress singing this song in the concert kept changing the lyric in rehearsal, often singing, “Knowing when to leave may be the hardest thing anyone can learn.” I’m not surprised that was her instinct. I think knowing when to leave may also be just about the hardest thing that one can learn.

Why is it so hard to go? How can it be possible that every fiber of your brain says, “Time to move on,” while your heart feels so securely planted? I think it can work in reverse as well — your heart yearns for something more, while your brain persuades you to stay put where it’s safe.

The only constant we can depend on in this life is change. It took me a long time to accept that fact, but time and again it’s proven to be true. If we all know that change is inevitable, why are we often so afraid of it? Haven’t we gotten used to it by now?

A dear loved one went through a breakup this past week. He confided in me about it as he was weighing his options. He’s about to make a big move and a bit of a career change. In addition to feeling hesitant about doing long distance, he also is feeling inspired by all the movement in his life. He’s about to turn over a new leaf. Although the notion absolutely terrified him, his instinct was to lean into this fear of change, and wipe the slate clean across the board.

It made a lot of sense to me, as I found myself in a similar position when I was a bit younger. Quickly approaching four years with my boyfriend at the time, I found myself in quite the predicament. Everything about the relationship was perfectly fine on paper. More than fine — there was every reason to believe we were on the track towards forever. But I had graduated and was about to spend the next year on tour. I had never done anything like that in my life, and it felt like a big step in my career and in my young adult life. I felt a new sense of empowerment knowing what was next for me. That anything was possible. I walked around with a shininess I hadn’t possessed maybe ever. So shiny, that people started taking notice. I had been in this four year bubble of school, and college life, and this one relationship that I knew like the back of my hand. Suddenly, life was presenting me with more. My heart ached for what it knew so well, and lusted after the possibility of so much unknown ahead of me.

How can you possibly know in that moment what to do? How does one know when it’s time to leave?

As I spoke with my friend going through his breakup, I was remembering something I’d learned from the incredible company Scare Your Soul — I’m an ambassador for them, and do some really cool work for them on occasion. It’s an amazing movement worth checking out (little plug for ya: https://www.scareyoursoul.com) It’s a simple notion: Fear is a Bridge. Often we think of fear as something more like a roadblock — something blocking us, or preventing us from getting what we want. It’s much more helpful and empowering to think of fear as a bridge. Think about it — everything we want in this life is always on the other side of fear. So now, whenever I find myself in negative feelings of fear, doubt, anger, jealousy… I try to remind myself that those feelings are my guiding lights. They’re pointing me in the direction of where I want and need to go.

So when my friend said he felt compelled to lean into what scares him, I knew he was making the right decision, albeit an incredibly hard one. For him, starting this majorly new chapter with a blank slate sounded terrifyingly thrilling. So that’s what was right for him in this moment.

And I told him there was a world in which staying with this young woman and trying to navigate the waters of a complicated, long distance relationship may have sounded like the scarier choice. The harder choice. The path worth taking. They’re both extremely viable options that would bring his life differing forms of richness. This is what makes knowing when to leave so devastatingly impossible.

Our minds and our hearts are constantly at war in the relatively small battleground of our sweet, soft bodies. How do we know when to listen to one or the other? Our hearts are amazingly resilient little fuckers. Time and again we put ourselves through heartbreak, but the heart somehow always manages to forget that. It’s always ready for another round. It’s our brain that remembers it all. It tries to reason with that warm, beating organ to the South. You’ve been here before. You’ve done too much work. You see the warning signs.

My favorite acting teacher likes to think of characters as three types, lead by body centers: Head, Heart, and Groin. They’re useful archetypes, but I struggled with the idea initially because I’m a unique blend of the three. I tend to be cast in groiny-er roles, and I feel like that’s where I live most easily on stage. My process (in acting and frankly, in life) is almost always quite heady, as I like to intellectualize, and discuss, and question everything. But at my core, I, Alison, am a heart person. It’s the dominant force in everything I do. I’m deeply passionate, overly invested, highly emotional, and exceedingly empathetic.

This makes knowing when to leave next to impossible for me. Truthfully, I never know when to leave because I’m rarely consulting my thoughts at all. My heart beats too loud, drowning out the sound of any reason or logic my mind may be trying to communicate. If I leave, it’s because my heart is whisking me away. It’s not necessarily the wisest way to live, but it can be hopelessly romantic.

So I’m leaning into the tools I have at my disposal this week. I’m assessing my fears and seeing where they point me. I’m blindly (unwisely?) following my heart. And I’m doing my best to hear what my mind has to offer. Because knowing when to leave may be the smartest thing anyone can learn.

"Promises, Promises" in concert with Transport Group!