When to walk away

Most people don’t want to be cowards. Generally, we want to stand our ground, not give up what we have, and hang in there until things get better. For example, we don’t want to be quitters, so we keep working at our jobs, even though the environment is toxic.

Or, we keep bad friends around and stay in harmful relationships, although we may have attempted many times to change how they treat us. But sometimes, we could ask ourselves whether or not the situation we’re in is worth maintaining. Sometimes, our best option is to walk away and mean it.

Walking away can be freeing. Although some see it as giving up or failing. But when should we walk away?

The decision to leave seems easy, but it’s quite complex, influenced by our fears and attachments. At its heart, it’s about asking ourselves a fundamental question: Is this situation good for me, or should I move on? It’s a simple question, but, for many, extremely difficult to answer.

This video explores the idea of ‘walking away’ using philosophy and (possibly surprisingly) economics, which could help us decide when to stay and when to walk away. Some people consider the act of walking away an act of weakness. Funnily enough, the people who do often benefit from us sticking around.

Why is that? It’s because the act of walking away is often the only action that makes them lose power over us. Walking away in itself is an act of power; it signals our capacity to thrive independently of what the other party provides.

Hence, walking away is an excellent negotiating position: if we walk away, we show our independence of the outcome and thus strengthen our positions. However, many people experience difficulties with walking away. We find it challenging to let go of what we walk away from.

So, why is this the case? A reason why we find it difficult is attachment. We dread walking away because we’re attached to the thing we intend to walk away from.

This thing could even be something not yet in our possession. For example, we really want to have a particular car; we’ve been ogling it on the internet for a couple of months already, discussed it with friends and spouses, grew fonder of the idea of having it for ourselves, and considered purchasing it every day. So, before even buying it, we’ve established an attachment to that car.

When we’re attached, whether it’s to an idea for the future, something in the present, or memories of the past, it’s difficult to let go; it’s difficult to walk away from the things we’re attached to. This mechanism applies to objects, people, animals, ideas… almost anything we grow fond of. But through these attachments, these things have power over us.

And thus, those who provide us with these “things” can leverage this power. So, if a car salesman knows you’re dying to have what he’s selling, he knows his negotiating position is strong. Because you’re so attached to the idea of having this car, he expects you’ll find it difficult to walk away from a bad deal and will likely overlook defects.

‘Attachment’ also causes difficulties in walking away from toxic relationships. If a friend, business partner, or spouse mistreats us, but we’re deeply attached to these people (or what they provide us), then it’s pretty challenging to walk away from them because by doing so, we lose the pain, but also lose someone we’re deeply entangled with; we escape something we’re averse to but also lose something we desire. And these people shaming or guilt-tripping us for leaving makes it even more difficult to walk out that door.

Another reason it’s so difficult to walk away is the fear of the unknown. We fear what could happen if we abandon a familiar situation. What will be on the other side?

Will it be better or worse? We might loathe our jobs, but what terror awaits us when we leave them? We might be in a toxic marriage and wish to get out, but won’t our worlds fall apart if we do?

The uncertainty of the future can be so frightening that it prevents us from making that leap of faith. We’re walking away from the known into the unknown, from the familiar and foreseeable into the dark and unpredictable. So, how do we decide when it’s time to walk away?

Of course, whether or not walking away is the best option is mainly subjective: it’s complex, based on many factors. So, again, how do we decide when to walk away? Stoic philosopher Epictetus presented a simple simile that could help make this decision.

I’ve talked about this simile before, but here’s it again: imagine there’s a fire in the house producing smoke. As long as the smoke is moderate and there’s enough ventilation to let it escape, it’s fine to stay. But if the amount of smoke gets out of hand and becomes harmful, it’s probably best to leave the house.

This simile is a strong metaphor for understanding when it’s time to walk away from situations that harm us. But it’s still pretty vague when it comes to practice. Like, what constitutes too much smoke?

In some cases, the harmful effects are clear, for example, in cases of physical abuse. But many times, the complexity of situations makes it difficult to decide whether or not to walk away from them. The smoke, therefore, surrounds us more subtly and may even, paradoxically, blind us for its own presence, as in, we can’t see the smoke because of, well, the smoke.

So, how do we identify this tangible concept of ‘smoke’ Epictetus talked about? Let’s move away from philosophy for a while and explore some concepts from economics to expand on Epictetus’ analogy and help our decision-making process in smoky situations. The first one is the… Have you ever listed the pros and cons of staying in a particular situation, be it a job, a relationship, or perhaps a living environment?

In that case, you’ve engaged in a cost-benefit analysis. The ‘benefits’ may include reasons why we entered the situation in the first place or what we hoped to gain by staying in it. Take Epictetus’ house, for example.

It provides shelter and storage, the surrounding neighborhood may be good, and the location is convenient. After a while, the house may hold sentimental value: it harbors memories and familiarity; it’s a place to call home. On the other hand, the ‘costs’ involve the harmful effects of the smoke: discomfort, lack of sight, health risks, and even psychological issues that may arise from the continual disturbance.

When the scales tip towards the costs, meaning that the costs outweigh the benefits, we could argue that there’s too much smoke in the house. Therefore, the amount of smoke in the house becomes relative, as it correlates to the benefits of the house. In the same way, we could use the cost-benefit analysis to assess relationships, jobs, and personal endeavors to decide if they’re too smokey and, thus, it’s time to walk away.

The second one is the… Often, we remain in the smoky house, even when it’s evident that we shouldn’t. The costs clearly outweigh the benefits and have been for a long time. But why do we stay?

The sunk cost fallacy suggests that people remain in such situations because of what they’ve already invested. These investments could be time, effort, emotional dedication, or resources that we poured into that thing that’s now harming us more than it benefits us. An excellent example of this is marriage.

Often, and justly so, people invest a lot in their marriages – take time alone: the years of our lives we’ve spent dedicated to our spouses. So, when the marriage goes south, and it’s clearly not working anymore and beyond repair, it may still be difficult to leave without feeling like we’ve lost something irreplaceable. But this is the sunk cost fallacy at play.

It’s the misconception that we should continue on a detrimental path simply because we’ve already committed so much to it. But our past investments don’t generate the yields we hoped for. They’re ‘sunk.

’ And we’re unlikely to recover them by staying in the smoke. Acknowledging the sunk cost fallacy can help us make decisions based on the present and future without our judgment being clouded by attachment to futile past investments. The next concept is… Let’s face it.

Every moment we spend coughing in a house full of smoke is a moment not spent in fresher air. Every moment we spend in a broken marriage, a toxic workspace, or a dirty hotel full of cockroaches, rats, and bad service is a moment we could spend in greener pastures. The opportunity cost is that when we choose one option over another, we automatically miss out on what could be.

Staying in a harmful situation comes with a significant cost: not just the harm but also the benefits we miss out on. Perhaps there’s a house beside us with clean air, decent ventilation, and air conditioning. Maybe there’s an opportunity for new experiences, new relationships, and personal growth outside these suffocating walls.

By not walking away, we sacrifice these potential benefits. So, acknowledging the opportunity cost helps us consider other paths if we decide to leave the smoke. Instead of asking ourselves what the risks are of walking away, we could also ask: “What are the risks of not walking away?

” What are the dangers of not leaving the smoking house, aside from the possibility of suffocation? Before we move on, it has to be said that the concepts we’ve just explored heavily rely on logic and reason, which may not jive with the emotional complexity of humans. That doesn’t mean these concepts cannot be helpful.

But I think it’s important to remember that humans are very complex beings and that more profound, underlying forces could propel us to do as we do. Sometimes, our choices defy logic, driven by desires or fears we might not fully understand ourselves. Now that’s out of the way, let’s get back into ‘rational mode.

’ I think that the concept of ‘opportunity cost’ lends itself to further exploration. In the context of ‘walking away,’ it focuses not so much on the situation at hand but on the potential that lies outside of it, the thing we could acquire after cutting our losses. It reminds us that when we’re walking from something, we’re also walking toward something.

Thus, it’s not that when we leave, we walk into a great, dark abyss of nothingness, and our lives are pretty much over, even though it might feel that way before we take the step. There’s something we move toward, even though we might not be aware of it at first. Hence, walking away is often a leap of faith, believing that when one door closes, another will open.

Yes, we don’t know where this door leads, but should ‘not knowing’ stop us from entering? Didn’t Alan Watts once say that no worthwhile life can be lived without risks? However, when contemplating the vastness of our planet and the multitude of people living on it, this leap of faith isn’t much of a leap.

The world is full of opportunities and resources. There are plenty of possibilities if we choose to seek them out; there are billions of houses with clean air on this planet; why the hell should we stay in one full of dirty, suffocating smoke? What we walk away from may seem like the whole universe, but in reality, it’s just a tiny fraction of the grand scheme of things.

So, why the fear of loss? Why is there this reluctance to walk out that door into a world with so much more to offer? Yet, most of us struggle to walk away from what we’re attached to.

It’s hard to leave what became such an intricate part of our lives, of our identities. And, as said before, humans are complex. Sometimes, we struggle to walk away without even knowing why.

To conclude this video, I guess what may help is to remind ourselves that we never walk away empty-handed. We keep the memories. We always learn things from what we leave behind: seeds we could sow in more fertile soil, building blocks of a new, better house that hopefully keeps the smoke at bay.

Thank you for watching.