"I pulled the plug on it at a time that I thought was right for me to exit"
About this Quote
Julius Erving speaks to the power of departing on ones own terms. The phrase pulled the plug suggests a decisive, irreversible act, the moment when a machine is switched off and the hum stops. He frames retirement as an act of agency rather than surrender, a choice grounded in private calculus rather than public demand. Right for me anchors the decision in personal timing: the feel of a body that has carried a thousand leaps, the shifting balance between joy and grind, the pull of family, the curiosity of what might come next.
For a star who spanned the ABA and NBA, collected MVPs, and won a championship with the 76ers, the temptation to keep chasing the high was strong. Many legends linger until the game evicts them, leaving images of diminished speed and fading accuracy to compete with the highlights. Erving curated a different ending. His 1986-87 farewell season became a league-wide tribute, but it was also a boundary line he drew himself, a way of controlling the narrative of exit rather than letting injury, critics, or front offices write it for him.
There is a stagecraft to the word exit. Erving was a performer as much as a competitor, and he understood the value of timing. Leaving too late risks eroding what made the performance luminous; leaving too early risks the ache of unfinished business. Courage lies in accepting that no exit eradicates uncertainty. He chose a moment that matched his standards and protected his legacy, not the endless appetite of audiences.
The line resonates beyond sports. Careers, projects, even identities can overstay their peak. Knowing when to stop requires self-knowledge, a resistance to sunk-cost thinking, and a willingness to disappoint those who want one more encore. Ervings choice points to dignity as a form of mastery: the rare skill of closing a chapter with intention, grace, and a clear sense of self.
For a star who spanned the ABA and NBA, collected MVPs, and won a championship with the 76ers, the temptation to keep chasing the high was strong. Many legends linger until the game evicts them, leaving images of diminished speed and fading accuracy to compete with the highlights. Erving curated a different ending. His 1986-87 farewell season became a league-wide tribute, but it was also a boundary line he drew himself, a way of controlling the narrative of exit rather than letting injury, critics, or front offices write it for him.
There is a stagecraft to the word exit. Erving was a performer as much as a competitor, and he understood the value of timing. Leaving too late risks eroding what made the performance luminous; leaving too early risks the ache of unfinished business. Courage lies in accepting that no exit eradicates uncertainty. He chose a moment that matched his standards and protected his legacy, not the endless appetite of audiences.
The line resonates beyond sports. Careers, projects, even identities can overstay their peak. Knowing when to stop requires self-knowledge, a resistance to sunk-cost thinking, and a willingness to disappoint those who want one more encore. Ervings choice points to dignity as a form of mastery: the rare skill of closing a chapter with intention, grace, and a clear sense of self.
Quote Details
| Topic | Quitting Job |
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