You know the friend who won't leave a relationship because they've already invested three years, or because breaking up would mean admitting the first two years were a mistake, or because the couch is really comfortable and moving would be a whole thing? That friend has a job. Sunk cost isn't just a dating problem — it's the reason half of LinkedIn is quietly miserable at 2 p.m. on a Tuesday. We stay for the tenure we've built, the title on the business card, the fact that leaving would mean admitting the last four years weren't leading anywhere. None of that is a reason. It's just inertia wearing a blazer.
The parallels don't stop at sunk cost. Jobs, like partners, run on the same short list of legitimate reasons to stay: you're growing, you're respected, you actually like who you're becoming around them. And they run on the same short list of illegitimate ones: you're comfortable, you're scared of starting over, everyone else seems to think it's fine so maybe you're the problem. The tell is usually the same too — when you catch yourself explaining the relationship to other people more than you're enjoying it yourself. If you've rehearsed the "it's actually not that bad" speech more than once this year, that's not reassurance. That's a red flag with good PR.
Where the analogy breaks — and it's worth sitting with — is that a job is never going to love you back. A partner can change, can meet you halfway, can decide you're worth the growth. A company can't. It will always optimize for itself, and mistaking loyalty for a two-way street is how good people end up giving five extra years to something that was never going to propose. Staying because you're building something real is different from staying because leaving feels like failure. Know which one you're doing.
Sincerely, The Watercooler
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