Here it comes: that blast of advice that’s surely guaranteed to brighten your Thursday.

DO: Be a quitter.

DOO-DOO: Try to do everything.

I’ve been working at a clothing store at the Stanford Shopping Mall for the last three weeks. (I won’t say which one, because that would start us down a path that inevitably leads to “Sorry, I can’t get you a discount.”) I’ve loved working with the staff and managers there, but the job definitely has its difficulties. I’ve had to learn colors. While I’ve mastered the standard Crayola eight pack, most of the female customers are operating with the deluxe 256 pack. (Them: “Excuse me, this dress is violet, and we were looking for it in periwinkle.” Me: “Uh…it looks purple. But I’ll go look for…a different purple.”)

Women’s clothing in general is confusing. A tunic is a girl dress-shirt-combo-thingy, but, despite the name, it looks nothing like what Link wears in The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time. (Confusing, I know.) And I still don’t know what a “camisole” is, but I do know that I don’t know how to fold them correctly.

The hours are difficult. If you asked me to make a list of my ideal ways to spend a Tuesday morning, it would be multiple sentences with the words “bed” and “sleep” rearranged. What would not make the cut is “biking in the rain at 6:05 in the morning to the Stanford Shopping Mall to fold and re-fold shirts in a back room for eight dollars an hour and ultimately getting in trouble for being late.” (I showed up to work at 6:15 in the morning, and I was late. I didn’t even know that was possible.)

But the hardest thing about working in retail so far has been quitting.

And I don’t say this in the endearing, “I can’t quit, I just love it so much!” way, but more in the “quitting cigarettes” sort of way. Like, I can’t. The job was clearly eating away at me. I had eight hours between my Monday night and Tuesday morning shift to do all of my homework and try to fit in a (Stanford) night’s sleep. I spent most of my Saturday “looking busy” on the sales floor rather than catching up on school or being a regular college kid. But something in me would not let me quit the job.

Every time I thought about quitting (which is a gazillion times while folding shirts for eight hours), all of these voices appeared in my head to talk me out of it. “You’re just being weak. Plenty of other college kids are working while going to school.” “Tough it out. You just need to prioritize your time better.” “You need to make money. Don’t be a quitter.” I kept buying into these voices.

The majority of students on campus are overcommitted, and we come to view it as a good thing. “Overwhelmed” is synonymous with “ambitious” or “hard working,” and taking time to rest is treated as barely a step up from failure and defeat. Due to technological advances and an increasingly competitive job market, our generation is working longer hours than most others in history; and we at Stanford are right smack in the middle of it. We work as if we have no human limitations, pushing through the exhaustion and anxiety with sheer willpower. And rather than telling each other to slow down and take care of ourselves, we praise each other with awe-filled “how-do-you-do-it” faces.

I am horrible about this, and consequently, I burn out or spread myself too thin far too often. Sometimes I try to do everything to ensure I don’t miss out on anything: the Fear Of Missing Out (someone somewhere called it “FOMO,” which makes it sound legit.) Sometimes it is out of pride. I see others doing everything, and I need to prove to myself that I am just as capable (or more). Sometimes it is just a simple case of overachieving and people-pleasing. No matter the reason, I burn myself out and end up too exhausted or too anxious about the future to live in and enjoy the present.

It’s impossible for me to do and be everything to everyone all the time, so I need to stop pretending like I can. We are all people with physical, mental and emotional limitations. We need to stop telling ourselves that this is a bad thing. Say no every once in a while (break the golden rule of improv). Take some time to restore your body and soul. Sometimes, it’s okay to be a quitter.

Before you decide to relax, you should email Chase at ninjaish “at” stanford “dot” edu.