“Never, never, never give in, except to convictions of honour and good sense.”

- Winston Churchill

Curiously, the second half of that Churchill quote is often left out.

John Steinbeck is one of the towering figures of twentieth-century literature. He won both the Pulitzer Prize and the Nobel Prize. In the early 1930s, with the Depression at its nadir, California became a mecca for migrant workers seeking farm work. Steinbeck began to gain attention as an essayist documenting the plight of those workers.

In 1936, he witnessed a clash between striking migrant workers and lettuce growers. From that experience, he began working on a book titled L’Affaire Lettuceberg. He struggled with it for over two years. The book turned into a bitter satire. He was not happy with it. Still, he kept pushing. He finished the manuscript.

And then he burned it.

In a truly courageous letter to his editor, he wrote: “This is going to be a hard letter to write... this book is finished, it’s a bad book and I must get rid of it... it’s bad because it isn’t honest.”

He went on to explain that he was sure the book would be successful. People would like it. He had even convinced himself that he liked it. But something was wrong.

“Not once in the writing of it have I felt the curious pleasure that comes with work that is going well.”

Then came the deeper confession. “My whole work drive has been aimed at making people understand each other and then I deliberately write this book, the aim of which is to cause hatred through partial understanding.”

That Churchill quote again:

“Never, never, never give in, except to convictions of honour and good sense.”

So when do you give in, and when do you persevere?

Seth Godin makes a useful distinction in The Dip. You need to know the difference between a dip and a cul-de-sac. A cul-de-sac is a dead end. It is a situation where you are not learning, not growing, not being tested in any meaningful way. Things might even be comfortable. But when you look into the distance, there is nothing there. There is no aliveness. No deep pull. No sense of becoming. I would add one more thing. A cul-de-sac often involves a conflict of values. You are doing the thing for the wrong reasons, usually money, status, approval, or prestige. Sunday night arrives, and you push down the moral anguish.

That is a vicious cul-de-sac.

A dip is different. A dip is a setback, or a series of setbacks, that can be overcome with grit and persistence. But in a dip, you are still moving towards something that belongs to you. It is in concert with your identity. There may be frustration, exhaustion, and doubt, but somewhere in the work there is still what Steinbeck called “the curious pleasure.”

Grit has become one of the great modern virtues. We admire the person who keeps going. We praise resilience. We tell people not to quit. And of course, grit matters.

But what if we sometimes use grit to avoid telling the truth?

As Seth Godin writes, “we fail when we stick with things we don’t have the guts to quit.”

Behavioural economists call this the sunk cost fallacy. We keep investing in a job, project, task, or relationship because we have already invested so much time, money, effort, or identity into it. The past starts making decisions for us. And so we stay. Not because the future is calling us forward, but because the past has us by the throat.

Gallup’s 2026 State of the Global Workplace report found that only 20% of employees worldwide were engaged at work in 2025. That means the vast majority of people are either not engaged or actively disengaged. In that condition, quitting may take more courage than staying.

Everything we do has an opportunity cost. When we decide to stay with something unrewarding, dishonest, or dead, we are also deciding not to give ourselves to something else. Something more honest. Something closer to the life that is asking to be lived.

After Steinbeck wrote that letter to his editor, he freed his mind and his soul. He began work on a novel that would shine the same light on the Depression, but in a way that dignified and ennobled its characters. A book that would spotlight hope rather than depravity. A book that would, in his words, “make people understand each other.”

The book poured out of him in 100 days.

It was The Grapes of Wrath.

It went on to win the Pulitzer Prize, capture the soul of the Depression, and play a part in Steinbeck winning the Nobel Prize a couple of decades later.

Grit matters. But grit is not a virtue when it keeps you loyal to the wrong thing. Sometimes the braver act is not to keep going. It is to stop, tell the truth, and begin again.

Where are you calling it perseverance when it is really time for courageous change?

It’s for people who can feel that something in their working life needs closer attention.

Maybe the work is going well enough, but no longer feels fully yours. Maybe you’ve become competent at something without stopping to ask what it is all in service of. Maybe you just need time, structure, and a room that helps you think properly.

This is not a talk. It’s an active workshop with guided prompts, writing exercises, reflection, and discussion. You’ll leave with a workbook, a personal manifesto, and clearer bearings on who you are, what matters to you, and how to move toward work that fits.

When: Saturday 23 May 2026, 11am–3pm
Where: Sanders Place, Richmond
Lunch: Included

If you’re unsure whether it’s a fit, just reply with a line about where you’re at with work right now and I’ll tell you honestly.

If you’d like to join, you can book below. Use DBN2026 at checkout.