Should You Let Go or Hold On? This Might Be Your Answer.

They say that if you realise you're on the wrong train, it’s better to get off at the very next station. Because the longer you stay on, the further you’ll drift from where you actually want to be  - and the longer, harder, and more expensive the journey back will become.

But that logic doesn’t just apply to trains.

Have you ever felt like you’ve stayed too long? In a relationship that no longer lifts you? In a job that slowly drains you? In a friendship that takes more than it gives?

This video is created with the help of AI so I can share this in languages I don’t speak natively.

Two business partners came to me with that exact feeling. They just didn’t know whether the problem was their professional relationship… or the business itself. Years ago, they’d boarded that symbolic train together  - full of ideas, energy, hope. But now, they didn’t know what the destination was anymore. And that’s when it gets really difficult.

Because if you don’t know where you’re going together…

how do you know when to get off?

Or whether to stay on at all?

Sometimes  - or rather, quite often  - I see people come together out of mutual benefit. It’s rare to hear someone say, “I simply like you. So let me offer you everything I have - my love, my knowledge, my wisdom, my money - and let’s be together because of that.”

In romantic relationships, of course, sexuality and intimacy are part of that offering too. But the heart of it should be something else. Real connection. Deep connection. The kind where you know you help each other move forward in life - not just for convenience, not for personal gain, but because something inside you aligns.

And that applies to business relationships as well. The trouble starts when, over time, the balance shifts. When one person begins to feel they’re giving more than the other. At that point, the issue isn’t the train or the destination - it’s the mistaken belief that you’re still travelling together.

I didn’t yet know whether their struggle was about the destination - or the illusion of travelling together.

But the truth surfaced faster than I expected.

After their intake conversation, where they laid out the business challenges they were facing, one thing was immediately clear: financial pressure. And that - more than almost anything else  - has a way of turning every minor issue into something crystal sharp. When money’s tight, truth tends to surface fast.

But I wanted to understand more. So I asked to speak with each of them separately.

Hubert - let’s call him that - came in first. His frustration was clear. His partner, Rob, just didn’t seem to grasp the urgency of their situation. There was no vision, no clear direction, and Rob’s casual attitude was driving him up the wall. Everything felt too relaxed, too undefined  - and dangerously so.

When I spoke with Rob, the story flipped. Hubert, in his eyes, took everything far too seriously. He was constantly stressed, always intense. Their interaction had become more and more difficult. More tense. Less enjoyable. (And let’s be honest - if you’ve ever had a partner like that, business or personal, it probably sounds familiar.)

On the surface, their answers sounded hopeful. Even poetic. But none of it actually meant anything. Success. Adventure. Connection. The world. Big words  - but empty when left undefined. Because unless you know what success looks like on a Tuesday morning… unless you’ve agreed on what connection feels like when you’re both tired and under pressure… you’re not really talking about the same thing. You’re just using beautiful language to avoid a difficult conversation. And if neither of you dares to ask, “What do you really mean by that?” - then chances are, you’re still on the same train… but heading nowhere together.

Now I had something to work with. I brought them back together and gave each of them a few sheets of paper. I asked them to answer two questions  - in writing, separately, without consulting each other.

The first question was simple, but not easy: What does your business look like five years from now? I asked them to be specific. No vague terms like “growth” or “success.” Instead: how many people are on your team? What kind of clients do you serve? What’s your revenue? How do you spend your time? What does a Tuesday look like? What are you proud of?

(And yes  - you can ask these questions in a romantic relationship too. What does your home look like in five years? Your family? Your lifestyle? Where have you travelled together? What kind of days do you live?)

The second question was where the truth usually lives: What role has your partner played in making that vision possible? What exactly have they contributed? What strengths have they brought?

Their five-year visions were roughly aligned - at least on paper. But when they described each other’s role in that vision, the answers drifted. One offered general praise, the other gave a list of unmet expectations. One imagined collaboration, the other imagined quiet support. It was subtle - but it was there.

And this is the moment where the metaphor becomes real.

You sit on the train together. You talk, you work, you build. And after a while, you assume: we must be going in the same direction  - we’ve come this far, haven’t we? But you haven’t looked at the map in a long time. You haven’t stopped to check if the destination is still shared  - or if it ever was.

That’s the danger. Not conflict. Not differences. But silence.

Because when expectations aren’t spoken out loud - when they’re not tied to behaviour, values, reality  - then you’re not building together. You’re building near each other. And over time, that gap grows.

This exercise was their station. Their pause. A moment to look out the window and ask: Are we still heading somewhere we both want to go? And if the answer is no - or even “I don’t know” - then the most honest thing you can do is decide whether to adjust course together, or step off now, before the journey costs more than it’s worth.

And do you know what always happens when people are willing to have conversations this honest? They stop pretending. They stop assuming the other person will somehow grow into the role they need them to play. And they begin to see the situation for what it actually is - not what they hoped it would be, not what it once was, but what it has become.

Because if you're in a relationship - professional or personal - where deep down you no longer believe the other can support you in the way you need, then the most courageous thing you can do is to acknowledge it. Not from blame. Not from disappointment. But from clarity. Because clarity offers choice. And that’s where real integrity begins.

You can continue the journey and try to adjust the course together. Or, if the alignment isn’t there and hasn’t been for some time, you can choose to step off the train. Not because you're giving up, but because staying would mean drifting even further from the life you’re meant to build. You get to map your own path  - honestly, intentionally  - and sometimes that starts with letting go of a shared direction that no longer exists.

Because yes, better late than never. But the longer you stay on the wrong train, the more expensive the journey back becomes  - not just in time or money, but in energy, identity, and the years you can’t get back.

When they first came to me, they believed they had a business problem. Something that could be fixed. A communication issue, a strategic misalignment, maybe a clash of work styles. Like many people, they assumed that with the right insight, enough effort, or a few difficult conversations, things could be brought back on track. They weren’t wrong for hoping that. Most people do.

But what we discovered wasn’t just a problem to be solved - it was a misalignment that had quietly been growing for years. A difference in destination. A different way of travelling. And the more honest they became, the clearer it was that the real solution wasn’t in working harder, or compromising more, or pushing through the tension.

The real solution was stepping off the train.

And that’s exactly what they did.

The business they once built together no longer exists today. And that might sound like a loss - until you see what came next. Rob, with his love for people and experience and lightness, became a sought-after consultant. He built something fluid, relational, and true to how he works best. And Hubert? He started a new company - more focused, structured, and aligned with his vision - and it turned into one of the most successful chapters of his career.

So yes, they came to me to fix something. But by stepping off at the right station, they may have gained far more than what they originally set out to save.

And maybe that’s the real win: not staying on a path just because it once made sense - but having the courage to choose again when it doesn’t.