One of the standard maneuvers for new glider pilots is the Premature Termination To Tow (as the bureaucrats have it), more commonly known as the rope break. (I wrote a little about what a rush it is here.)
But when I'm not chasing towplanes, I chase metaphors, and I've been chasing nothing but metaphors for more than a year. The usual reasons can start the line-up over here on the left: increasing work responsibilities (with less reward, of course), family responsibilities (including helping with my father's care on the other side the country), money, other flying, and, most important, that lovely little witch-with-a-capital-B called rheumatoid arthritis. Everywhere that I have went, R.A. was sure to go.
So I decided to "cut the rope" and sell my share of the glider. The plan is to put the money aside and look for a suitable light sport airplane. When the time comes.
Not to get out of soaring, mind you, but the Jantar wasn't fitting my current predicament well. Soaring represents a tiny fraction of my flight time, maybe 2%, but a disproportionately large fraction of flight knowledge, psychology, and understanding. It's a good ride; I'll keep taking it.