On the Depth of Commitment
Five years ago, the summer after high school, I committed to studying at a prestigious college in the US. This decision surprised me. Since age 14, I had dreamed of Oxford University, but due to Brexit, financial aid prospects seemed better in the US.
In my final year of high school, I committed deeply to school. I canceled The Economist, cut parties, and stayed home. My efforts earned a perfect GPA. Months later, I received rejections from all six colleges.
Why did I complete language stays in France and England, but not my first startup idea, Apprentice? Why did I emigrate three years ago, but fail to settle? Why did I commit to my first partner until it became harmful? And why did I drop the community café project and web design?
The café was tied to my past relationship, and web design was a quick income fix, lacking appreciation for the craft. The answers are highly contextual—yet one pattern seems clear: When faced with setbacks, I easily quit. In those failed instances, my commitment was shallow, contrary to when I stayed abroad or lived without a permanent home since leaving Germany.
When I aced the Abitur or stayed in that dysfunctional relationship, I had deep commitment. What differentiated it from shallow commitment?
In my past partnership, I burned the ships. I held onto an irrational belief in the bond’s success, sacrificing myself for years—the dark side of deep commitment. When challenges arose, I had no choice but to face them. It was a success in that sense.
I had one foot out the door in my failed commitments. I questioned the purpose of web design, building a startup, or getting a degree from Harvard, Yale, and co. Rejections reinforced those doubts; eventually, I gave up.
I want to practice deep commitment, not just with long-term projects, but shorter ones like finishing books. In September, I’ll go to the Network School. I booked a one-way flight and three months, but I can afford only one.