I'm not much of a TV-watcher, more content to spend my waking hours getting lost in though or in the pages of a good book. But I remember The Mandalorian as one of the most enthralling series I had ever watched in my entire life.

Even my wife, who has never been into science fiction, was captivated. It also provided us the rare experience of being a show that we could both watch at the same time, since I could partake of it at my leisure - one episode being released every week - instead of the bingeing she's so fond of doing.

I found The Mandalorian to be an example of exciting, crisp storytelling that evoked the childhood nostalgia I felt when I watched Star Wars for the first time. Finally, I was thrilled to have a viewing experience to look forward to.

I eagerly awaited the next seasons ...

... and was promptly let down.

It was for the same reason I never watch K-dramas (Squid Game being a rare exception). These shows will start off good enough until midpoint where there is a clear drop in quality, the stage at which you'll pull out your smartphone until the scenes get interesting again.

It made me wonder if that episode where Luke Skywalker appeared in messiah-like glory was actually the final one and if the producers just wanted to keep the show going afterwards because of a greedy cash grab.

So I put an end to my watching immediately, while my wife soldiered on despite complaining about every episode.

Why is it that so many people have trouble with this? Why was I able to stop cold turkey whereas my wife continued to subject herself to disappointment?

Two words - sunk costs.

It's the phenomenon that describes the feeling where you've invested so much into something that you're compelled to carry on, even when the results are bad.

Especially when the results are bad.

You'll keep telling yourself, "it'll get better," while you continue pulling the lever of a negative-repercussion-slot-machine.

So when the stakes are high - like a bad relationship or a failing business - it can be impossible to stop until your life gets practically ruined in some drastic way.

It's also why I avoid movie theaters, because even if the film ends up being terrible I know I won't walk out since doing so would deem it a waste of money (whereas at home I can just turn off the screen and read a book or play with my dogs).

But it goes deeper than this. What compounds the difficulty of escaping this existential Chinese finger trap is that our identity gets wrapped up in it. We're told that giving up makes you irresponsible, a loser.

You're not allowed to abandon that god-awful book, you must keep reading each mind-numbing chapter lest you become a complete and utter disgrace.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

Of course, this assertion will be challenged by people who say, "the successful ones made it because they didn't give up on that one thing!"

What they fail to comprehend is everything else that was given up in order to pursue that one thing.

Now there are certain things that you should never abandon, such as exercise, eating vegetables or brushing your teeth ...

... as well as teaching your 3-month old corgi that the entire world is not, in fact, his personal chewtoy.

What it really comes down to is tradeoffs. It's less about quitting (feels like such a loaded word, doesn't it?) and more about how you choose to spend your time:

Saying yes to something means you're saying no to something else.

In this sense, retreat is not the hallmark of a coward but a strategic way to move forward in life.

Take it from me, someone who was taught to finish every bite on his plate as a child. All this did was give me huge problems with weight control later on in life (thanks mom).

Nowadays, I have no problem leaving a meal unfinished if it doesn't satisfy my taste buds.

There are just way better things out there to fill your stomach with.

Cheers.