David R. Longnecker

Most of us don’t struggle with knowing whether we like our jobs. We struggle with what to do about the answer.

I wrote about the self-assessment question a few months back. Do you dread Sunday nights? Does the work energize or drain you? Those questions matter. But they’re the easy part.

The hard part comes after. When the answer is clearly “no” and you’re still showing up every morning anyway.

The Gap Between Knowing and Acting

Somewhere out there, someone took that weekend energy audit and scored themselves honestly. They know the job isn’t right. The fit isn’t there. The motivation they once felt has evaporated, replaced by something between resignation and quiet frustration.

They haven’t quit. They probably won’t quit this quarter, maybe not even this year.

This gap between knowing and acting isn’t laziness or cowardice. It’s complicated by mortgages, health insurance, family obligations, and the very real possibility that the next thing won’t be better. We tell ourselves we’re being prudent. Sometimes we are. Sometimes we’re just afraid.

I’ve stayed in roles too long more than once. The rationalization machinery is impressive. “Maybe next quarter will be different.” “The project ending will change things.” “I should give the new leadership a chance.” Every one of these bought me another six months of declining engagement and empathy. As someone who’s intrinsically motivated, I found that excruciating.

What Staying Actually Costs

The research on disengagement is sobering. Gallup’s 2024 workplace data shows about 31% of employees are genuinely engaged in their work right now, the lowest in a decade. Nearly half of Gen Z workers describe themselves as “coasting.” The economic cost runs into trillions, but the personal cost is harder to quantify.

When high performers quietly disengage, something peculiar happens. Their output starts to look like average performance. They’re still meeting expectations and hitting deadlines. But the initiative fades. The creative problem-solving gets replaced with adequate problem-solving. The work gets done without the spark that used to make it interesting.

This is what makes disengaged high performers so hard to spot. They’re not failing. They’re just not thriving. The difference often only becomes clear when they finally leave and the team realizes how much invisible load they’d been carrying.

The Two Fits

There’s another layer worth examining. You can love the work and loathe the team. Or respect your colleagues while finding the actual tasks mind-numbing.

Research on person-environment fit distinguishes between person-job fit (do your skills match the work?) and person-organization fit (do your values match the culture?). They’re separate constructs, and both predict whether you’ll stay or go. A 2005 meta-analysis found that perceived culture misfit correlated with turnover intention at -.58, meaning culture mismatch was a stronger predictor of leaving than many people realize.

I’ve seen this play out repeatedly. Someone thriving in their actual role starts dreading meetings because of how decisions get made. Or they’re energized by the mission but exhausted by the politics required to accomplish anything. The work itself isn’t the problem. The environment is.

The Privilege of Choice

I need to acknowledge something uncomfortable. The ability to leave a job that doesn’t fit is a privilege not everyone has. Some people are trapped by circumstances that make “just find something better” offensively naive advice. Immigration status, specialized skills in declining fields, geographic limitations, or family responsibilities, the list of legitimate constraints is long.

If you’re reading this and thinking “must be nice to have options,” you’re not wrong. For some people, the goal isn’t finding intrinsic motivation in work but surviving well enough to find it elsewhere. That’s a valid path and one that doesn’t get enough respect.

But for those who do have options? The privilege comes with a responsibility to use it. Staying in a role that doesn’t fit when you have alternatives isn’t noble endurance. It’s borrowed time that costs more the longer you wait.

What Actually Moves People

The pattern I’ve observed is that people rarely leave for perfectly rational reasons. They leave when staying finally becomes more uncomfortable than the uncertainty of going.

Sometimes that’s a single clarifying moment. A meeting where you realize you fundamentally disagree with the direction. A reorg that strips away the one part of the role you actually enjoyed.

More often, it’s gradual accumulation. Enough small disappointments that the rationalization machinery finally breaks down. The Sunday dread becomes Monday dread becomes every-day dread. The energy to pretend enthusiasm depletes.

I left my public education role not because anything catastrophic happened but because I woke up one morning and realized I’d been telling myself “just one more semester” for two years. The gap between who I was becoming and who I wanted to be had grown too wide to ignore.

Making the Decision Real

If you’ve done the self-assessment and the answer is clearly no, the question becomes what you’re waiting for. Not in a judgmental way. Genuinely: what would need to change for you to act?

Some possibilities worth examining:

You’re waiting for permission. From a spouse, from a mentor, from yourself. Nobody’s coming to tell you it’s okay to leave. You already know it’s okay.

You’re waiting for the “right” opportunity. Perfect opportunities rarely announce themselves. More often, you have to create them by being available when something interesting appears.

You’re waiting for certainty. It won’t come. The next role might be worse. It might be better. You won’t know until you’re in it. Uncertainty is the cost of change.

You’re waiting for courage. This one’s harder. Courage isn’t the absence of fear. It’s acting despite fear because staying still is no longer acceptable.

The Path Forward

I’m not going to tell anyone to quit their job. But I will say this: if you already know the answer, the only thing prolonging the gap is you.

The research on person-job fit is clear. When the fit is right, people adapt better, perform better, and develop genuine intrinsic motivation over time. When the fit is wrong, no amount of effort will manufacture what isn’t there. We can fake engagement for a while, but we can’t fake authentic interest in work that doesn’t matter to us.

Some questions worth sitting with:

If nothing at your current job changed, how long would you stay? Be honest.

What would you need to see to believe things could get better? Is that realistic?

What’s the actual worst case if you leave? Not the anxiety-spiral worst case, the realistic one.

What’s the cost of waiting another year? Not just financially, but to your energy, your growth, your sense of self.

The gap between knowing and acting shrinks when we stop asking “should I leave?” and start asking “what am I waiting for?” You already know the answer. What happens next is up to you.