Get Off at the Next Stop

A Japanese saying about small course-corrections—and why delay always costs more

There’s a Japanese saying that goes something like this:

“If you get on the wrong train, get off at the next stop. The longer you stay on, the more expensive it becomes.”

You don’t need to speak Japanese to feel the truth in it.

Most of us have been there—literally or metaphorically. You realise, uh-oh… this isn’t heading where I thought it was. And yet you stay put. You sit down. You look out the window. You tell yourself it’ll probably work out. Or you don’t want the awkwardness of getting up, changing platforms, asking for help, admitting you made a mistake.

So you keep riding.

And every station you pass quietly adds interest to the bill.

Why we don’t get off

The brutal part isn’t that we got on the wrong train. That happens to everyone. The brutal part is what keeps us seated:

• Sunk cost: “I’ve already paid for this ticket / invested time / committed.”

• Ego: “I don’t want to look silly.”

• Fear of uncertainty: “At least this is familiar. Getting off means I’m not sure what happens next.”

• Hope as a strategy: “Maybe it’ll turn around. Maybe it’ll connect back.”

• Comfort: “It’s easier to stay moving than stop and reassess.”

But trains don’t care about your optimism. They go where they go.

The hidden cost of “just a bit longer”

Every stop you don’t take to correct course increases the price in a few predictable ways:

1) Time cost

The longer you ride, the farther you are from where you meant to be. The return trip gets longer and messier.

2) Energy cost

Course-correction early is a simple pivot. Course-correction late becomes a full recovery mission.

3) Opportunity cost

While you’re headed the wrong direction, you’re not building what matters in the right one.

4) Relationship cost

Delays compound in families, friendships, teams, and work. A small issue left unresolved becomes a story people carry.

5) Identity cost

The longer you stay on the wrong train, the more you begin to justify it. Eventually you’re not just on the wrong train—you’re defending it.

That’s the expensive part. Not money. The slow erosion of clarity.

The next stop is the power move

The saying isn’t about perfection. It’s about speed of correction.

It’s recognising that being wrong isn’t fatal. Staying wrong is.

Getting off at the next stop means you act the moment you have enough information to know you’re off course. You don’t demand certainty. You don’t wait for a dramatic failure. You don’t require permission.

You simply make a clean decision:

“This isn’t right. I’m getting off.”

That might look like:

• Ending a habit that’s costing you health, confidence, or peace

• Changing a plan that was reasonable… but is now clearly wrong

• Having the hard conversation before resentment hardens

• Apologising early instead of building a case for why you’re justified

• Leaving a role, a routine, a relationship dynamic, or a commitment that no longer aligns

• Admitting, “I thought this would work. It doesn’t.”

Early exits feel embarrassing—late exits feel catastrophic

Here’s a pattern worth noticing:

• Early corrections bruise the ego.

• Late corrections break things.

Most people avoid the early bruising and end up paying with something far worse.

The next stop is usually close. It’s a small action. A simple sentence. A minor change. A short pause to reset direction.

But it requires a particular kind of courage: the courage to interrupt momentum.

A practical “next stop” drill

If you want to use this idea as a life skill (not just a quote), run this quick check whenever something feels off:

1) Name the train

What am I currently doing / pursuing / tolerating?

2) Name the destination

Where is this actually taking me—if nothing changes?

3) Identify the next stop

What is the smallest correction available right now?

4) Buy the ticket

What will it cost to get off—today? (Time, pride, discomfort.)

5) Compare prices

What will it cost if I stay on for another month?

Then decide like a grown-up: pay the small price now, or the bigger one later.

This is leadership, not regret management

The strongest people aren’t the ones who never get it wrong.

They’re the ones who notice early and correct fast.

That’s true in the bush. That’s true in business. That’s true in family life.

In navigation, the longer you walk on the wrong bearing, the farther you drift—and the harder it is to get home before dark.

In relationships, the longer you avoid a hard truth, the more distance grows between two people.

In health, the longer you ignore warning signs, the more severe the intervention becomes.

In work, the longer a failing project runs, the more politics, money, and reputation get tangled into it.

Same rule. Different track.

A closing thought

If you’re reading this and something comes to mind immediately—some train you’ve been sitting on while quietly knowing it’s wrong—take that as your signal.

You don’t need a dramatic crash to justify getting off.

You only need honesty.

Get off at the next stop.

Your future self will thank you for paying the cheaper fare.