Chapter 6: Why We Keep Going When We Should Stop

Two Hours Into a Bad Film

Dmitri is thirty-three. On a rainy Friday evening, he buys a ticket for a film that a colleague praised. The cinema is warm, the seats are comfortable and he has a bag of sweets on his lap. Within twenty minutes he knows the film is not for him. The story is slow, the characters bore him and the loud music is giving him a headache. Within an hour, he is checking the time. After an hour and a half, he is very nearly asleep.

And yet Dmitri stays to the end. As he walks home in the rain, he asks himself why. The answer he gives is the answer most of us would give: "I paid for the ticket. I did not want to waste it." But when he thinks about it a little longer, the answer starts to look strange. The money for the ticket was gone the moment he paid it. Staying did not bring it back. Leaving would not have lost it again. The only real choice he had, after twenty minutes, was how to spend the next ninety. He could have spent them on a walk, a phone call to a friend or an early night. Instead he spent them being bored, in order not to "waste" money that was already spent.

Dmitri's evening is a small example of one of the most common patterns in human decisions. Once we have put time, money or effort into something, we tend to keep going with it, even when the evidence says we should stop. The amount already spent becomes a reason to spend more. This chapter is about why that happens, when it leads us wrong and how to make cleaner decisions about the things we have already started.

Most of us have our own version of Dmitri's film. It might be a book we keep reading long after we stopped enjoying it, a meal we finish although we are full, a course we keep paying for although we never attend, or a hobby we continue only because we bought the equipment. On its own, each of these is minor. But the same pull also operates on large and costly choices, and that is where it matters most.

What a Sunk Cost Is

Economists use the term sunk cost for any time, money or effort that has already been spent and cannot be recovered. The image is of something that has sunk to the bottom of the sea. Whatever you do now, you will not get it back.

According to the rational chooser described in the first chapter, sunk costs should play no part in a decision about the future. The only question that matters is this: from now on, which option gives the best results for the time, money and effort still to be spent? What has already been spent is the same whichever option you choose, so it cannot help you decide between them.

Put like that, the idea sounds almost too simple. Of course the past cannot be changed. Of course only the future matters. Yet in practice, people of every age and background find it extremely hard to ignore sunk costs. The more we have invested in something, the harder it becomes to walk away from it. This pattern is called the sunk cost effect, and when people continue putting more resources into a failing plan because of what they have already put in, it is sometimes called escalation of commitment.

In one well-known kind of study, people who had paid full price for a season of theatre tickets went to more performances in the early part of the season than people who had received the same tickets at a discount. The plays were the same, and so was the enjoyment they could offer. The difference was how much the person had paid. Having paid more, people seemed to feel more pressure to "get their money's worth". Many other studies, using imagined and real choices, have found similar patterns.

It is worth noticing what "getting your money's worth" really means in such cases. The money is spent either way. What changes is whether you also spend your evening at a play you do not feel like seeing. If you go because you want to see the play, wonderful. If you go only because you paid, you are adding a second cost to the first one.

Why Stopping Feels So Hard

If sunk costs should not matter, why do they pull on us so strongly? Several reasons work together, and each of them makes sense on its own.

The first reason is loss aversion, which we met in the third chapter. While we keep going, the money and effort we have spent still feel as if they might be "used". The moment we stop, they become a clear and final loss. Since losses feel so painful, keeping going can feel like a way of avoiding that loss, even though it does not really change it.

The second reason is the wish not to waste. Many of us were taught from childhood that wasting food, money or effort is wrong, and that lesson is often a good one. But the lesson can be applied in the wrong direction. Finishing a meal when you are already full does not save the food. Continuing a course you hate does not save the fees. The feeling of "not wasting" can push us to waste more.

The third reason is our wish to be consistent and to see ourselves as good decision makers. If I stop now, it may feel as if I am admitting that the original decision was a mistake. Continuing allows me to keep believing that I chose well. This is especially strong when other people know about our choice. A person who has told everyone about their new business, their big renovation or their ambitious plan may find it very hard to say, "This is not working."

The fourth reason is hope. Many projects really do get better if we keep going, and it is often hard to tell the difference between a difficult middle stage that will pass and a real failure. When we have already put a lot into something, we tend to give more weight to the hopeful possibility. "Just a little more and it will turn around" is sometimes true, which is exactly why it is so tempting to believe.

None of these reasons is foolish. Each comes from something valuable: caution about losses, care about waste, a wish for self-respect and the courage to keep trying. The difficulty is that, together, they can keep us walking down a road that leads nowhere good.

When Keeping Going Is Wise

I want to be careful here, because this chapter could easily be misread as advice to give up whenever things get hard. That would be a different mistake, and an equally common one.

Many worthwhile things are difficult in the middle. Learning a language, an instrument or a trade usually involves long periods when progress feels slow. Raising a child, caring for a garden, building a friendship or recovering from an illness all include stretches when it is hard to see any reward. If we stopped everything that felt unrewarding at some moment, we would rarely achieve anything that takes time.

The key question is not "Is this hard?" but "Looking forward from today, is continuing the best use of what I still have?" Sometimes the honest answer is yes. You have learned that the project is hard, but you have also learned that it is working, slowly. Your past effort may have given you skills and knowledge that make the future easier. In that case, the past is not a sunk cost in the usual sense. It is an investment that is still paying back, because it has changed what the future can bring.

There can also be good reasons to finish things that have nothing to do with the money already spent. A promise made to another person, the respect of colleagues who rely on you or the value of being someone who finishes what they start can all be real benefits of continuing. These are future benefits, not past costs, so they belong in the decision. The sunk cost effect is about something narrower: continuing only because of what is already gone.

It can help to imagine two people in exactly the same situation today, with exactly the same future ahead of them, except that one of them has spent a great deal to get here and the other has spent nothing. Should they make different choices? If the answer is yes, ask why. Sometimes there is a good reason, such as skills that only the first person has gained. But often the only difference is the feeling of what was spent, and that feeling, however strong, does not change what the future holds.

So the aim is not to become someone who quits easily. It is to become someone who can ask a clean question about the future, without the weight of the past pressing on the answer.

Three Lives, Three Decisions

Lucía is forty-one and in the third year of an evening course in accounting. She started it because a friend said it would lead to better jobs. She has paid a great deal in fees and given up many evenings with her family. But she has discovered that she dislikes the work, and in the meantime she has become fascinated by the small garden centre where she works part-time. Every time she thinks of leaving the course, she thinks, "Three years for nothing." One evening, she sits down and writes two questions. First, if I were starting today, knowing what I know now, would I sign up for this course? The answer is a clear no. Second, what have the three years given me that I will keep, whatever I decide? The answer surprises her: she now understands budgets, stock and costs, which are exactly what she would need to run a garden centre one day. She leaves the course, not as a failure, but carrying what she learned into a new plan.

Pieter is sixty-three and has spent five years restoring an old wooden boat in his garage. He has spent much more money than he planned, and the boat still needs a new engine and a great deal of work. His wife worries about the cost. Pieter feels that he cannot stop now, after so much. But when he looks honestly at the future, he notices something important: he loves the work itself. The evenings in the garage, the smell of wood and the slow progress are some of the best hours of his week. The question for him is not whether to keep adding money to a failing plan. It is how much he is willing to spend on a hobby that brings him joy. He and his wife agree on a fixed amount per year. Pieter keeps going, not because of the past, but because of what the work gives him now.

Hyun-woo is twenty-two and has spent hundreds of hours on an online game. His character is strong, his collection of items is large and his team depends on him. But the game now takes most of his evenings, and his studies are suffering. When friends suggest he play less, he says, "I cannot just throw all that away." A cousin who went through something similar asks him a question: "If someone offered you a brand-new account today, with nothing in it, would you start this game from the beginning?" Hyun-woo thinks about it and realizes he would not. He decides to step back slowly, telling his team in advance, and to keep one evening a week for playing with them. The hours already spent remain a pleasant memory. They no longer decide his future.

Notice that the three people made three different choices. Lucía stopped, Pieter continued and Hyun-woo reduced. What they had in common was not the decision, but the way they reached it. Each of them separated the past from the future and asked what the future, on its own, was worth.

When Groups Cannot Stop

The sunk cost effect is not only a pattern in individuals. It can be even stronger in groups, organizations and communities.

Imagine a neighbourhood committee that decided two years ago to build a small community garden on an empty piece of land. They raised money, held meetings and cleared part of the ground. Then they discovered that the soil was poor and the land would need expensive work. Some members now think the money would be better spent on a different project. Others say, "We have come so far. We cannot give up now." Several people who led the original plan feel that stopping would make them look foolish. And because nobody wants to be the first to say "Let us stop", the committee keeps spending.

Situations like this are common in clubs, schools, workplaces and public projects of all sizes. The people involved are rarely careless. Often they are committed, hard-working and sincere. But the group setting adds new pressures: the wish to protect the reputation of those who started the plan, the fear of disappointing others and the difficulty of changing direction when many people must agree.

Groups also face a problem that individuals do not. In a group, each person may privately doubt the plan, but believe that everyone else still supports it. So each person stays quiet, and the group continues with a plan that almost nobody really believes in. Sometimes a single person who asks, gently and openly, "Are we all still sure about this?" is enough to let the others admit their doubts. That simple question can save a group a great deal of time and money.

Groups can protect themselves in a few simple ways. They can agree in advance on the signs that would show a plan is not working, and on what they will do if those signs appear. They can ask someone who was not involved in the original decision to review the plan, since that person carries less of the weight of the past. And they can make it normal and even respected to say, "We tried, we learned and now we will change course." A group that praises honest changes of direction will waste far less than one that treats them as failure.

Practical Steps

First, ask the fresh-start question. When you are unsure whether to continue something, ask yourself: "If I were starting today, with everything I now know, would I choose this?" If the answer is yes, continue with a clear mind. If the answer is no, the main thing keeping you there may be what you have already spent.

Second, list what you keep. Write down what your past effort has given you that will stay with you whatever you decide: skills, knowledge, friendships, experience, memories. This makes it easier to see that stopping does not erase the past. It only changes what you do next.

Third, set stopping rules in advance. When you begin a project, a course, a purchase plan or a new hobby, decide at the start what signs would tell you it is not working, and when you will check. For example: "If I still dislike this course after one term, I will look at other options." A rule made calmly at the start is easier to follow than a decision made later, when the sunk costs are pressing on you.

Fourth, change the word "waste". When you feel you would be "wasting" what you spent, try using a different word. Instead of "wasted", say "paid for a lesson". The lesson might be about what you enjoy, what you are good at or what you should check next time. This is not just a nicer phrase. It is often more accurate.

Fifth, get an outside view. Describe the situation to someone who has nothing invested in it, and ask what they would do. People who did not make the original decision are free from much of its weight, and they often see the future more clearly.

Sixth, consider the middle path. Many decisions are not a simple choice between continuing fully and stopping completely. You may be able to reduce, pause, change direction or try a smaller version. As Hyun-woo found, a middle path can let you respect what you have built without letting it rule your future.

A Gentle Word About Regret

Many people stay with things too long because they are afraid of regret. They imagine looking back and thinking, "If only I had kept going a little longer." This fear is understandable. But regret works in both directions. People also look back and think, "If only I had stopped sooner and used those years differently."

There is no way to make decisions that guarantees no regret. What you can do is make decisions in a way you will respect later: by looking honestly at the future, by listening to people you trust and by being willing to change your mind when the facts change. If you decide in that way, then even a choice that does not turn out well will be one you can understand and forgive.

And if you look back at some sunk cost in your own life and wish you had stopped sooner, be kind to yourself. The pull to keep going is one of the strongest forces in human decisions. Recognizing it now is already a step toward choosing differently next time.

A Short Exercise: The Two-Column Review

This exercise helps you look at one ongoing commitment with a fresh mind. It takes about twenty minutes and works best with a pen and paper.

Choose one thing in your life that you have been doing for a while and are not sure about. It might be a course, a project, a hobby, a membership, a role in a group or a long-term plan. Write its name at the top of the page. Then draw a line down the middle to make two columns.

In the left column, under the heading "Already spent", write down everything you have put into it so far: money, hours, effort, hopes, other things you gave up. Be honest and specific. Many people find it a relief simply to see these costs written down, because they have been carrying them in their heads.

In the right column, under the heading "From now on", write down what continuing would require in the future and what it would likely bring. Include costs such as time, money and energy, and benefits such as skills, enjoyment, income or the chance to keep a promise. Try to describe the future as realistically as you can, not as you wish it would be.

Now take a second sheet of paper and cover the left column completely. Read only the right column. Ask yourself the fresh-start question: "If I were starting today, with only this future ahead of me, would I choose it?" Write your answer at the bottom of the page in one sentence.

Then uncover the left column and add one more list beneath it, under the heading "What I keep anyway". Write the skills, knowledge, memories and friendships that the past has given you and that will stay with you whatever you decide.

Finally, choose one of three options: continue as you are, continue in a changed or smaller way, or stop. If you choose to continue, write down a date when you will look at the two columns again. If you choose to stop or change, write down the first small step you will take this week. Whatever you choose, you will have chosen it by looking forward rather than backward.

Questions People Often Ask

"How do I know whether I am being persistent or just stuck?" A helpful sign is whether you are still learning and improving. Persistence usually comes with progress, even slow progress: new skills, better results, clearer understanding. Being stuck usually comes with repetition: the same problems, the same disappointments and the same hope that things will somehow change without anything being done differently. Another sign is the reason you give yourself for continuing. If the reason is mainly about the future, such as "I am getting better and I enjoy it," you are probably persisting. If the reason is mainly about the past, such as "I cannot let all that go to waste," you may be stuck.

"Does the sunk cost effect apply to relationships?" Many people wonder about this, and it is a delicate question. Time spent together is not simply a cost; it creates shared history, trust and love, which are real and lasting. So the past matters in relationships in a way it does not matter for a cinema ticket. At the same time, some people stay in situations that harm them partly because they feel they have "invested too much to leave." If you are in a relationship where you feel unsafe or deeply unhappy, please talk to someone you trust or to a qualified professional. If you are ever in danger, contact your local emergency services right away. This book cannot give advice on personal situations of this kind, but you do not have to face them alone.

"Is it ever right to stop just before the end?" Yes, sometimes. If you discover near the end of a project that finishing would cost more than it is worth, stopping is still the better choice, even though it feels painful. But it is also true that many projects feel worst just before they are finished. It helps to check carefully how much remains, using real information rather than a feeling of exhaustion.

Chapter Summary

A sunk cost is time, money or effort already spent that cannot be recovered. Logically, it should not affect choices about the future, but in practice people often keep going with things because of what they have already put in. This is called the sunk cost effect, and continuing to add more to a failing plan is called escalation of commitment.

The pull comes from loss aversion, the wish not to waste, the wish to look consistent and real hope. Not every decision to continue is a mistake: hard things often improve with time, and promises and future benefits are good reasons to carry on. The question is always what the future, on its own, is worth.

The fresh-start question, a list of what you keep, stopping rules set in advance, an outside view and middle paths all help. In the next chapter, we turn to time itself, and to why the present moment so often wins against the future.