Have you ever watched the Fox Reality Show, Solitary? My friend, Bea, was on season 4. She is a badass woman (no other way to put it – she even applied to live on Mars). The show pit contestants against each other, but also against themselves. For weeks contestants were isolated in pods, assigned grueling mental and physical challenges, and asked to outperform their peers. The catch – contestants were not informed whether the others had completed the task or not. Check it out on Youtube. It’s crazy.

My life feels like that show, except it’s the Big Brother version where I’m isolated with 8 other people, all of us competing for the next contract or deployment to the most recent level 3 disaster. The task – to maintain sanity while implementing impossible projects with poor logistics, zero privacy, and never knowing whether your project made a difference.

My personal and profession strategy has always been simply to outlast the others. Live in a tent for two years? No problem. Give up summer vacation to write the final report? You can count on me. Blog for 31 days straight? Sure I can!

As the longest standing international member of the DRC Iraq team, I think I’ve succeeded on this point. And yet I’m still here, competing against myself. Even the runners up are dropping like flies (apologies to any colleagues reading this – I do not mean to compare you to such a dirty insect, it’s just a saying) – moving to new posts, having babies, and being with family.

Last month a new colleague quit after just a week. We joked that we’d been abandoned, divorced, all of us, like the Henricksons in HBO’s Big Love. She didn’t even leave us a Dear John letter. Just went on holiday, asked us what we wanted her to bring, then never returned. AND, she took all her stuff with her (so she knew she wasn’t coming back!). I don’t blame her though. Really. She had the balls to do what I have never done – quit (I even read Quitter by Jon Acuff!). My colleague was able to assess the situation, decide it wasn’t the right fit, and leave.

For the rest of us it seems, deciding to quit is like torture. Should I, or shouldn’t? Have I put in enough time to earn the street cred? Will I be able to find a job when I’m ready? Are people judging me? Do they think I’m weak?

The amazing thing about contract work is that you rarely have to commit more than a year. Most likely you sign on for 6 months and reevaluate depending on how you and your supervisor think it’s working out. And even with this awesome system, I still struggle to say enough is enough. My bosses have figured this out, too. On paper, I’m afraid of commitment so they give me three month contracts. But in practice, I’m as loyal as they come. All I need in order to extend is a little sweet talking. Even with an end of contract date, I never know what to tell my family when they ask when I’m coming home. That date means nothing to me. It’s like I’m swimming laps, head in the water, counting every stroke, looking forward to the end, only to keep going when I’ve reached the target. Unless a double cheeseburger is waiting for me, why get out of the pool?

But I’m getting there. I really am.

I’m working on an exit strategy. Well, I’m thinking about one anyway. My theory is that it’s easier for aid workers with romantic relationships to leave a post. They have someone telling them Come Home! We’ll cook dinner together every night, walk in the park, visit Rome.

The single aid worker, however, has none of that. Especially if she is an introvert. Or quirky. Which I am. And unless I want to move back in with dad at age 34, it’s the field or bust.

So basically, I’m looking for love on Match.com.

Just kidding. Been there, done that, didn’t work (can someone please tell me why Humanitariandating.com never took off??).

My real exit strategy involves finding a place where I would want to live next, visiting that place on R&R, viewing apartments, picking out my new favorite café, and signing up for language classes. Until I have some place to go, I’ll never leave.

The question is – where shall I go? Give me your suggestions and you could be the grand winner of a blog dedicated just to you!

Just kidding. There is no prize. Unless you want a blog?

I’d also love to hear from you if you have a great quitting story! Tell it to me in the comments. And if you’re the guy that quit JetBlue by sliding down the emergency slide, I’ll pay you for a coaching session.