On Sunk Costs, Starting Over, and Seeing Through a Long-Term Vision
A birthday reflection + photos from the weekend
My birthday was last week, and as each year passes, I always think about how I ended up wherever I am at that moment. Some of that results from big decisions I’ve made; marriage, career changes, and schooling come to mind. Others are a bit more mundane. For example, this year I committed to practicing yoga at least four to five times per week, and slowly but surely, I’ve noticed shifts in both body and mind.
It’s easy to look at the decisions that worked out well. But it’s more difficult to recognize when you’ve made a choice that no longer “fits” your present situation. It might be something big, like a career that’s burning you out, a relationship (romantic or platonic) you’ve outgrown, or a living situation that feels too small. Or it could also be something smaller, affecting your day-to-day.
The problem is that sometimes, once we’ve committed to following through on something, even if it no longer makes us happy, we stick with it to avoid feeling like we’re “wasting” all the time, effort, money, or other resources we’ve put into it up until that point.
These are what’s known as sunk costs — choices that we’re reluctant to let go of because we poured a lot of energy into them. But that doesn’t mean that we have to hold onto them forever. I like this suggestion from Seth Godin that we stop figuratively paying for these decisions by recontextualizing them:
“It’s not easy to say, ‘I was wrong.’ And so people live in stress, sticking with something that used to work longer than they’re comfortable with. Our challenges in shifting perspective keep us stuck in the past. These are sunk costs, decisions we can’t unmake, but they don’t have to be forever commitments.
“One way forward is to rename this moment and change the story. Instead of ‘I was wrong,’ perhaps it’s useful (if less satisfying to others seeking victory) to say, ‘It’s time to make a new decision based on new information.’”
Easier said than done, I know. Years ago, I earned my master’s in creative writing, with hopes to eventually earn a Ph.D and teach full-time. But then I spent a few years as an adjunct lecturer, meaning lots of part-time, inconsistent work that kept me in a cycle of feast or famine (and mostly famine). And I had colleagues who had doctorates and were in the same position I was in, with no full-time opportunities available to them. It was then that I realized I could end up back where I started, with no added salary or job security. Or, worse, I might get those things but have to move someplace far away from friends and family that I had no interest in moving to.
It’s not that I find college or earning a degree worthless, either. But the benefits weren’t outweighing the risks for me. And I had to consider the sunk costs of getting another degree in an uncertain job market. I didn’t want to go through another four or five years of graduate school (minimum!) only to feel like I’d have to come up with a backup plan.
Fortunately, I ended up finding a new career (or maybe it found me). In fact, just before my birthday this year, I was lucky enough to earn a long-awaited promotion from writer to content strategist. I’m doing work that feels like it comes naturally to me, without the constant fear of going an entire season without a paycheck.
Despite my gripes with the overall system — where university administrators earn several times more than the people actually teaching — it was difficult to leave higher ed. behind. I genuinely liked working with students and helping them to feel more confident as writers. But I realized over the years that the classroom isn’t the only place to do that. My work as an editor, team leader, and strategist has helped me support other content creators and sharpen my own skills, too.
Yet in order to get there, I had to make new decisions again and again, based on what I know now, to see those changes. I had to ask myself the tough questions about worst case scenarios and admit what would be a relief to give up if I could, even if it was something I had worked for.
Godin describes sunk costs as “a gift from your former self.” It sounds extreme, but you can always give these gifts up. You don’t have to hold onto them, even if it was something you worked hard to achieve. Whether it’s a degree, a career, or some other major investment of money, time, or emotional connection, you can give it up. You don’t have to accept those gifts. And think about what happens if you keep making the same decisions — how will you feel in one year, five years, or ten years?
This isn’t to say that the things you’ve opted for are all mistakes, or that if you no longer want something you should feel bad about it. It was something that the You of the past did. And it might have been the best decision you could have made at the time.
So now is the time to look forward into the future, and, if you need to, give yourself a clean slate to make new decisions.
A few years ago, I made a list of 40 things I want to do before I turn 40. I’m now less than a year away from that milestone. Some of the goals I set I completed easily. Others took longer or are still in progress. And still others, seven years later, are unfinished but no longer interest me.
I’ve considered making a 50 before 50 list. But I’m not sure if that’s the right move. I don’t want a carbon copy of the previous list, especially since the dozen or so items left are not as important to me anymore, if they ever were. And 10 years is a long time. Who knows? Five years down the line, I might not care about any of those 50 goals, whether I’ve achieved them or not. Why hold myself to that for a whole decade?
Over the next year, my intention is to wipe the slate as clean as it can get. It’s not to say that everything has to go (there’s plenty I want to keep). But, based on the new information of the past few years, what decisions will I make going forward? And how can I keep looking to the future as my perspective continues to change? That’s my challenge over the next year.
Tell me about your birthday rituals in the comments.
Also, from the weekend: A visit my husband and I took to the Niagara Falls Botanical Garden and Butterfly Conservatory. We ended up there by way of a wrong turn, but it was probably the highlight of the trip for us.
That seems to be the first lesson of this year for me — something that seems like a mistake (going to the wrong bridge into Canada) can end up being a happy accident. I had a blue morpho butterfly ride around on my shoulder! Tangible proof that wrong turns and changes in plans are not always such a bad thing.
Thanks Jen. Very wise and personally applicable too. I have also had some 'starting over' times, professionally and personally and they are big moments. There is a cost to pay but also life sometimes takes different turns, some you choose, some partially so, some just happen right? There's this feeling around control that I need to get in touch with honestly and ask myself, 'how much do i need?' I can only point to moments of change when it comes to arriving at the person I am now and I never really look back and wish those changes didn't happen, but there is a cost to pay, learning curves, uncomfortable new situations. They are big moments and they come at a kind of cost energetically. Decisions have consequences and control over those decisions is an adult experience. My birthday rituals have fallen to the wayside a bit in recent years, but up until around 2019 I had created a tradition of celebrating my birthday with different people over the course of a week. Birthday Week. I accepted the role of celebrant and also liked to use the tradition of it being an 'honor' to treat others on my birthday too. I haven't had much birthday time these last few years though. Perhaps this coming one!