Here is the basic idea of “sunk costs:” money, time, effort that you have already put into a project, regardless of the status or relative completeness of a project, are the “sunk costs.” You’ve spent them, it’s over. Don’t get too attached is the theory. 

The reason for the theory is sound; if you get attached to what you have already put into something then you don’t want to walk away if it is not going well, if you are behind, if you think there is still a chance you’ll get value out of what you put in. It’s a bad cycle of gambling: you spend $100 and lose it all, cards, dice, wheel, whatever is not going your way. But you think well if I just play one more round, then I can win back my $100. Before you know if you are in for $200, then $300 and so on. Way back when it was just a $100 that was your sunk cost; whatever you do moving forward that $100 is gone so don’t make decisions about the future based on your initial attachment. 

The theory is sound, but the reality of emotions is hard. You don’t want to walk away after however much money, however much time and say ‘well that didn’t go well, time to move on.’ We are taught to not be quitters, to not give up, we love the story of the person who persevered against all the odds and countless setbacks. We think that the difference between success and failure is stubborn determination. But economists would say no, and I would say no because I have succeeded at some things and failed at others and stubborn determination usually has a lot less to do with it than say paying attention to reality, learning from your mistakes, and letting go of what needs to be let go of before it defines your life. In other words, sure it would be great if you lost $100 then won $100 on that one last bet, but it would also be great to walk away having only lost $100 and reflecting that you just paid $100 for an evening of entertainment – unattached to the outcome performance. 

Yesterday I dug out the asparagus bed and was reflecting on this theory as I did so because while I was not hundreds or thousands of dollars in, I was four years, and hours of hopeful imagining, and not entirely without success. So there was much contemplation, some sadness, and a little self-doubt. 

I planted the asparagus bed in 2019, in the late spring when I was putting the tomato starts in. The nursery had a six pack of asparagus crowns and I thought, ‘well won’t it be lovely to have our own fresh asparagus,’ knowing full-well that it would be years before I would harvest anything. But I planted the bed and even though it was probably too small I was only planning to feed two people and it seemed like a nice spot. And I tended the bed for the next three years. I even planted more in the fury of covid gardening and the panic of an emotional apocalypse. 

Spears came up, I did not harvest as told, but not many, and not much spread happened, and then it was too hot and dry, then too cold and wet, and who knows what it was but the bed just did not take off. My garden does peas, beans, tomatoes, potatoes, herbs, berries, all very well. My garden does not do squash or melon, or root vegetables. I keep trying different things in an apparent refusal to accept the reality of the growing climate of my little spot. The asparagus were not dead, but after four years neither did they give any indication of moving toward a thriving life. Something else could use that space and would do well. 

I felt like I was giving up too soon, that perhaps I wasn’t patient enough (often true for me in the garden), that I wasn’t determined enough, or that I didn’t try hard enough. I felt like a failure. And then I thought about sunk costs and the need to let go of a project that just wasn’t working so that I could make literal room for something else. 

That’s the real lesson of sunk costs I think; sure it’s an economic argument, but it’s really a spiritual argument at its core. Because if you are holding on so tight to what you have been, what you have wanted something to be, you can’t make the room needed to allow for what really is, for what wants to be in the space, for what will thrive. I probably could have struggled and forced and worked harder and seen something of a positive result. Or I could allow that asparagus was not the best choice for this space, at this time, and make room for something that would grow.