We parked at the end of the lot, where the sand spilled over the low wood retaining wall right onto the pavement. Some people were packing up after a day at the beach, and others, like us, were just arriving for the sunset. We backtracked to the fish market that sold only fresh, raw fish and plastic-wrapped, pre-made lobster rolls.Luke bought us two rolls and guided me back out the door with a soft nudge of his fingers on my lower back that sent shivers up my spine.
We set up beach chairs near the rocky jetty, right above the line of seaweed left behind from high tide. Luke poured me a glass of wine into a red Solo cup. “Sorry, no fancy beach-worthy wine glasses.”
“It’s perfect.”
He took out a can of beer for himself, cracking it open with asnap.
Warm wind blew in off the waves. A few children still swam in the water, their parents watching from the sand. A sailboat and a motorboat were anchored a hundred yards out from the frothy shore. It was much quieter here than in Edgartown Harbor, which boasted hundreds of boats on moorings and stakes, shuttles constantly traveling out and back, and fifty-foot yachts regularly docked near the yacht club. Despite the quaint beach’s popularity with locals and tourists alike, Menemsha had maintained its fishing village vibes—like nothing had changed since the filming ofJaws. At the end of the jetty, the silhouettes of a few evening fishermen held their lines in the water.
I sipped the wine, the slight citrus notes bursting on my tongue, the tartness cleansing the back of my throat. It was impossible not to let the peacefulness of this place sink into my chest. My next breath came out as a shudder. Water filled my eyes.
I cried because I was relieved, and sad, and because I didn’t have a concrete goal for the first time in my life and the uncertainty of it overwhelmed me. As much as I tried to talk myself out of it, I felt like I’d failed.
Luke squeezed my knee briefly but didn’t look at me, somehow giving me both comfort and privacy while I had this moment.Please leave it there,I wanted to say when his fingers released. My body craved the warmth and the weight and the tethering effect of his hand on my skin. A minute later he silently handed me a napkin.
“Thank you.” I laughed through the tears.
He peered over at me. “Wanna talk about it? We don’t have to, if you want to just process. I’m content with silence.”
He meant it. Our conversations were always easy, but he never spoke just to fill the air.
I watched the calm waves ebb and flow. “Part of me feels like there’s something wrong with me, and that’s why I couldn’t do it anymore. I wasn’t smart enough or hardworking enough to hack it. Other people could, but I couldn’t, so they must be smarter or better or tougher than I am. That’s what one of the partners said: ‘The work is just too grueling for some people.’” I lifted my fingers to make air quotes. “I feel like it’s a waste that I spent ten years of my life—more if you count college and high school—learning this skill and attaining this earning potential and now I might not use it.”
I turned to face him when I finished speaking, and Luke’s gaze pierced through me. His jaw flexed. “I don’t think that’s true at all,” he said, adamant. “I have no doubt that if you decided your purpose and joy in life was to make partner at that firm, then you would have done it. I don’t think it’s that you can’t, or that people who can are somehow better than you are. You just decided you want to do something different, something you seem to love more.”
I closed my eyes and pictured it: making partner, the announcement, the fancy celebration dinner, the congratulations from colleagues. How would I feel? Proud of myself, sure. But would I be happy? Would it feel worth it to have spent a decade of my early adulthood crunched behind a computer screen, running on little sleep, barely being present for important events with family and friends?
No, I wouldn’t all of a sudden be happy.
And no, it wouldn’t feel worth it.
Maybe it was okay to want something different.
“You’re right,” I said. This time I felt like I believed it.
“And in terms of feeling like you’re wasting those hard-won skills… Have you heard of the sunk cost fallacy?”
I chewed the inside of my cheek and shook my head.
“It’s this economic psychological principle. Almost all people feel that if they’ve sunk a lot of resources into an endeavor, then the right thing to do next is to continue sinking resources into it, even if that’s not rational and leads to a worse outcome.”
I nodded. That was exactly how I felt.
“So that little devil on your shoulder telling you that you have to keep doing it because you already put so much time and effort and money into it might be totally wrong,” he added.
His eyes searched my face.
My mouth curved up as the tightness in my chest loosened. “You’re so right,” I said again, the image of a little red animated devil on my shoulder making me smile.
My gaze swung back to the horizon. The sun was still high in the sky, reflecting off the gentle waves. I tipped my cup, swallowing a gulp of wine. I believed him, but that same uneasiness I’d been feeling all day slipped back in. Even if I wasn’t a failure, even if it wasn’t a waste, I’d still never felt this much uncertainty about who I was and what I was working toward.
“What else is on your mind?”
I turned my head to find Luke still looking at me, reading my face.How can he always tell?
“I feel like…like I don’t know who I am without the job. It was such a big part of my identity—my whole identity, really—for so long. Now I have to redefine myself.” I shrugged.
His brown eyes narrowed, dark eyelashes almost touching. “You haven’t been a law firm associate the entire time I’ve known you, Val. So you may think that job was who you are, but I don’t. Other than being impressed with your education, intellect, and drive, I’ve never thought about the fact that you’re a fancy lawyer from some fancy law firm. No offense.” He glanced at me.
