There is something uncomfortable about admitting that you no longer want something you once spoke about with such certainty.

You wanted the job. You applied for it, hoped you’d get it and told people how happy you were when you did. Now you’re considering leaving, and somewhere in the back of your mind is the inevitable question: What changed?

Perhaps the work wasn’t what you expected. Perhaps your circumstances changed. Or perhaps experiencing something you once wanted taught you things about yourself that wanting it never could.

Changing your mind doesn’t mean you were wrong to want it in the first place.

And yet, it’s often easier to accept that truth in principle than to give ourselves the same freedom, especially when other people remember how certain we once were.

We decide before we know everything

Living with a decision provides information we did not have when we made it.

You can research a city without knowing how it will feel to live there. You can understand a job description without knowing the daily experience of working in that organisation.

We can prepare carefully and still be surprised.

Looking back, it is tempting to give our earlier selves access to everything we now know. We wonder why we did not recognise something sooner, forgetting that some things only became visible afterwards.

If we overlooked a concern, it is worth asking why. That is something we can learn from, without expecting ourselves to have predicted the outcome.

I would rather ask, “What do I understand now?” than spend the entire conversation insisting that I should have understood it then.

Was it wrong, or has something changed?

There are several reasons to reconsider a choice, and they deserve different responses.

Sometimes we discover that an assumption was false. We need to correct it.

Sometimes the facts remain the same, but our priorities change. A demanding role that once suited us may become difficult alongside caring responsibilities. Something we genuinely wanted may no longer fit the life we are living.

Sometimes the decision is still right for us, but the early excitement has worn off and the difficult work has begun.

That last possibility matters. Discomfort alone does not tell us to change direction. Starting again can feel appealing partly because the alternative has not yet acquired the ordinary frustrations of reality.

Before abandoning a plan, I would want to understand whether I had stopped wanting the outcome or was struggling with the process of getting there.

Those are different problems. One may require a new direction. The other may need a more workable routine, support or a little patience.

What research can tell us about letting go

We’re often encouraged to see things through when they become difficult. Sometimes that is exactly what we need to do. But what happens when the goal itself is no longer possible? Research on how people adjust their goals offers a useful perspective.

In their 2003 paper, Adaptive Self-Regulation of Unattainable Goals, Carsten Wrosch and colleagues reported three studies examining goal disengagement, reengagement and subjective well-being. Their findings linked the ability to withdraw from unattainable goals and engage with other goals to aspects of better well-being. This was research about patterns of goal adjustment, not a test that can tell an individual when to quit. Read the study in Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin.

The distinction is useful. Continuing indefinitely is not automatically the more disciplined choice.

It is also important not to stretch the finding. An unattainable goal is not simply a goal that has become inconvenient, and an association with well-being does not guarantee that changing course will make someone happier.

For me, the practical question is whether the effort still has a reasonable purpose. Is there a route forward? What would need to change? Is that change possible, and am I willing to do what it requires?

Taking other people seriously

Changing your mind can affect someone besides you.

A colleague may have organised work around a commitment. A partner may have made plans based on a shared decision. You can have good reasons to reconsider and still owe someone a clear conversation.

“I’m allowed to change my mind” may be true. On its own, it does little to help the person managing the consequences.

Where it is possible and safe, I think the responsibility is to explain what has changed, acknowledge the impact and discuss what happens next. That does not require asking everyone’s permission. It does require recognising that our choices do not always stop at our own lives.

Being honest sooner can also give others more room to respond. Waiting until we have an explanation nobody could possibly question may mean waiting far too long.

A way to reconsider without deciding everything today

When you’re caught between continuing and changing direction, it can help to get a little more specific about what’s keeping you there. Three questions are worth considering:

What has changed? Identify new information or circumstances. Be specific enough to distinguish a continuing problem from a difficult afternoon.

What am I trying to protect? It might be something valuable, such as financial security or a commitment that still matters. It might also be the embarrassment of telling people you want something different.

What can I test before making a larger decision? Depending on the situation, you might ask for a change in responsibilities, revise a timetable or explore an alternative without committing to it immediately.

Give the experiment a review date. Otherwise, “I’m thinking about it” can become a place to remain for months.

This connects with Before making another New Year’s resolution, make a plan. Reviewing a goal monthly or quarterly gives you a chance to adjust while you are still pursuing it. You do not have to wait for a crisis, or another January, to notice that something needs changing.

If the question involves a relationship or workplace where you feel unsafe, the priorities are different. A personal experiment or another attempt to make things work may not be appropriate. The discussion in Is the grass really greener on the other side? makes that distinction.

Explaining what comes next

You do not have to describe every previous decision as a mistake to justify making a new one.

“I wanted that then. I have learned more, and this is what I want to do now” can be an honest explanation.

Sometimes there will also be regret, an apology or consequences to manage. A different choice does not erase those things.

But the version of you who made the original decision does not need to be put on trial every time you reconsider. You can take that person’s hopes seriously and still decide where to go from here.

Further reading

Think Again by Adam Grant examines the value of reconsidering beliefs and remaining open to information that challenges them. It is a relevant companion when certainty has become something we feel obliged to defend. Publisher information.

Being Wrong by Kathryn Schulz explores how we experience error and why discovering a mistake can feel so unsettling. It offers room to consider being wrong as part of human experience rather than a complete account of someone’s intelligence or worth. Publisher information.

For a related personal reflection, my review of The Mountain Is You considers the difficulty of recognising familiar patterns and then doing something differently.

Editorial note: This article combines personal reflection with research on goal adjustment. Examples are illustrative. Research findings describe patterns across studied groups and cannot determine the right decision for an individual. This is not professional mental-health, financial or relationship advice.

Featured image: AI-generated for Whimsical Connotations.