Sunk Cost — Don't Let Yesterday Hold Tomorrow Hostage

You know that feeling, right?

You're in something—a job, a relationship, a business, a course you signed up for—and deep down, you know it's not working. Something is off. Has been off for a while now.

But every time you think about walking away, a voice stops you.

"But I've already put in three years." "I've spent so much money on this." "After everything I've sacrificed..." "If I quit now, it was all for nothing."

That voice feels wise. It feels responsible. It feels like it's protecting you.

It's not.

That voice is keeping you stuck. And the longer you listen to it, the more of your life you'll spend chasing something that's already gone.

Here's the strange part: this trap isn't a bug in human thinking. It's a feature. One that used to serve us well—and now doesn't.

The Loss Aversion Problem

In the 1970s, two psychologists—Daniel Kahneman and Amos Tversky—discovered something surprising about human decision-making. They found that losses hurt us about twice as much as equivalent gains feel good.

Lose ₹1,000? That pain is roughly equal to the pleasure of gaining ₹2,000.

This isn't weakness. For most of human history, it was smart. When resources were scarce, avoiding losses (don't lose your food, your shelter, your tribe's trust) mattered more than chasing gains. The person who held onto what they had survived longer than the one who kept gambling.

But here's where it goes wrong: we experience "cutting our losses" as a loss itself.

When you've invested three years in something that isn't working, walking away feels like losing those three years. Your brain screams: Don't lose! Hold on! Maybe it'll turn around!

Even though those three years are already gone. Even though staying means losing more.

The Commitment Trap

There's another layer. Psychologists call it "commitment escalation" or sometimes the "too much invested to quit" syndrome.

The more you've put into something, the harder it becomes to walk away—regardless of whether continuing makes sense. This is why:

• Investors pour more money into failing startups ("We've already invested ₹50 lakhs, we can't stop now")
• Countries continue losing wars they know they can't win ("So many soldiers have died, we must honor their sacrifice")
• People stay in bad relationships for years after they knew it was over ("After everything we've been through...")

The investment becomes the justification for more investment. It's circular logic, but it feels like wisdom.

The Identity Problem

And there's one more trap—perhaps the deepest one.

We don't just invest time, money, and effort. We invest our identity.

"I'm the person who committed to this." "I'm not a quitter." "This is my thing."

When you've built your identity around something, walking away isn't just a practical decision. It feels like losing part of yourself. Like admitting you were wrong about who you are.

This is why the sunk cost trap is so hard to escape. It's not about math. It's about meaning.

Vibhishana's Choice

Let me tell you about someone who faced all three traps—loss aversion, commitment, and identity—and broke free anyway.

Vibhishana was Ravana's younger brother. Not just his brother—his trusted advisor, his minister, part of his inner circle. Everything Vibhishana had—his position, his reputation, his identity—was tied to Lanka.

Then Ravana kidnapped Sita.

Vibhishana watched his brother make a terrible mistake. He tried to reason with him. He warned him. He begged him to return Sita. But Ravana, drunk on pride, refused to listen.

Now Vibhishana had a choice.

The sunk cost voice whispered: You've invested your whole life here. Walking away means losing everything—your home, your family, your status. It means admitting you were wrong to support Ravana all these years.

And it wasn't wrong. Walking away did cost him all those things.

But Vibhishana understood something about sunk costs that Ravana never did: the past doesn't give you permission to continue a mistake. It only explains how you got here.

He crossed the ocean. Joined Rama's army. And was eventually crowned king of Lanka after Ravana's defeat.

The Shiva Principle

There's a reason we worship Shiva not just as creator, but as Mahakaal—the great destroyer.

Because destruction isn't always bad. Sometimes it's necessary.

Shiva embodies this truth: some things need to end. Not because they were worthless. Not because they were mistakes from the start. But because they've completed their purpose. Holding onto them past their time doesn't preserve them—it prevents what comes next.

This is the antidote to sunk cost thinking.

The investor holding onto a dying business isn't honoring their investment. They're preventing the next business from being born.

The person staying in an ended relationship isn't being loyal. They're blocking the relationship they actually need.

Shiva's destruction isn't cruel. It's making space. It's clearing ground for new growth.

Let's get specific. Where does this trap catch you?

At Work: You're in a job you've outgrown. Seven years. Promotions. Your identity is wrapped up in being "the person who's been here forever." Leaving feels like betraying that story. But the story is already over—you're just refusing to write the next chapter.

In Relationships: Five years together. Introduced to families. Planned futures that now feel wrong. The history is real—but history doesn't obligate you to a future that isn't working.

In Business: Two years and fifty lakhs into something that every signal says won't work. But those fifty lakhs are gone either way. The question isn't whether to "save" them—you can't. The question is whether you want to lose fifty lakhs more.

In Education: Two years into a three-year course you hate. One more year of misery to "honor" the two years of misery you've already had? That's not completion. That's compounding a mistake.

Remember Shah Rukh Khan in Swades?

Mohan has everything—NASA career, money, prestige. Years of work got him there. Then he visits his village and sees a different kind of life.

His sunk cost voice must have been screaming: You've worked your whole life for this position. Everyone will say you're crazy—a NASA job for a village?

But Mohan asked a different question:

"If I were starting today, knowing what I know now, would I choose this life?"

The answer was no. And he left.

Not because NASA was bad. Not because the years were wasted. But because the past doesn't get to decide the future.

Here's what connects all of this:

The past is a sunk cost for everyone, always.

Not just in dramatic moments like Vibhishana leaving Lanka. In every decision, every day. The past is always gone. What you did yesterday cannot be undone. What you spent last year cannot be unspent.

The only question that ever matters is: given where I am now, what should I do next?

This isn't cold. It isn't heartless. It's actually the opposite.

When you stop being held hostage by the past, you can finally honor it properly. You can say: "Those three years taught me things. They made me who I am. They brought me here. And now I'm choosing something different—not despite them, but because of them."

The investment isn't wasted when you walk away. The investment is wasted when you let it trap you.

Think of something you're holding onto right now. A job, a project, a relationship, a belief.

Ask yourself honestly:

1. If you had no history with this—if you were choosing fresh today—would you choose it?

2. Are you staying because it's right for the future? Or because leaving feels like losing the past?

3. What would it mean to honor the past by moving on, rather than honor it by staying stuck?

Kahneman and Tversky discovered why we fall into this trap. Loss aversion. Commitment escalation. Identity protection.

Vibhishana showed us how to escape it: by asking what's right now, not what was invested then.

Shiva embodies the solution: destruction isn't tragedy. Sometimes it's the only path to creation.

Your past isn't a prison—unless you make it one.

What you've invested brought you here. Now you can choose again.

Use these when you feel stuck:

The Core Question: → "If I were starting fresh today—no history, no investment—would I choose this?"

The Vibhishana Test: → "Am I staying because it's right? Or because leaving feels like betrayal?"

The Shiva Check: → "What needs to end so something new can begin?"

The Swades Question: → "Knowing what I know now, would I walk into this situation today?"

The Loss Aversion Flip: → "Am I avoiding a real loss? Or just avoiding the feeling of losing?"

| | | |---|---| | The Trap | We keep investing—not because it's working, but because we've already invested so much | | Why It Happens | Loss aversion (losses hurt 2x more), commitment escalation, identity protection | | Vibhishana's Lesson | He left Lanka after decades. The past doesn't give permission to continue a mistake | | Shiva's Lesson | Some things need to end. Destruction clears ground for creation | | The Tool | "Would I choose this again today?" — removes the past's power over the present | | The Truth | The investment isn't wasted when you walk away. It's wasted when it traps you |

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Ask yourself today:

What am I holding onto because of what I've invested—not because it's right?

And: What would happen if I let it go?