Doing things because they are hard
Word Count: 1000
In another instance of joyous self-therapizing, and because I am too busy to properly nerd out about a paper review or a fun, bite-sized project or topic, today I will be talking about doing things because they are hard.
(I think I started the last foray into my psyche in medias res, but sometimes it’s fun to switch it up; maybe one day I’ll write creatively, and you’ll see my propensity for it..)
Anyway, it all started in 2019, when I really started playing video games.
(Anyway is correct, anyone who says “anyways“ should be taken out back for a stern talking to; colloquialisms are for the weak and imperiled, which you will be if you say “anyways”.)
Technically, one could argue it really started when I began playing Phantom Forces on Roblox in middle school, but for sake of image, I’m going to ask you, dear reader, to ignore that particular fact. Here, we take a brief detour into a fun segment I call
Why do people play video games?
For some (including me, at times), it can feel like an escape from reality, a way to space out and enjoy mindless activity. You can rest other parts of your brain and relax, truly let go with the right game, whether that be clicking heads in the latest CoD, wandering an unfamiliar wilderness in Firewatch, or grinding through levels in Celeste. It gives you something to occupy the hands and the mind.
Another great reason to play games is to stay connected with friends who are far away; multiplayer games are released by the hundreds each year, and provide a space to spend time doing the above mindless (or, in some cases, intense) activities with a cadre of capable cadets (that was fun alliteration)!
But really, even though these reasons are true enough, I find myself enjoying games for one particular reason more than the rest; mechanical mastery. Sometimes this may translate into winning games, sometimes not, but the truth of it all is that getting a combo in, or mentally outplaying an opponent, or out-duelling someone, is the peak of fun. The natural addendum to this, then, is to prove to myself that by mastering the most mechanically challenging characters in a game, I’m sick as hell. In Overwatch, this meant learning Genji one-shot combos, ghost dashes, etc., blink pulse’s with Tracer, how to juggle properly with Winston, in addition to all the regular gamesense considerations that make the game even more fun. In THE FINALS, it meant learning how to master sword dash combos on the Light class. In Marvel Rivals, it means getting pummeled while I try to learn Spiderman and Black Panther. It’s brutal, but an exhilarating experience when it works!
Aside: I think I use the rule of three too much. Note to self: revisit writing style.
And thus ends the fun segment
For whatever reason, learning hard things has been enjoyable in some ways. Another good example from my personal life has been learning Vim, which I started because I thought it would be tough and cool, and now has turned into a sort of immutable mainstay in my life, mostly because now my muscle memory tends towards my Vim binds and it is highly embarrassing when I “hjkl” in textboxes. I have additionally read “Your problem with Vim is that you don’t grok vi” several times, which if you haven’t, you seriously should. It’s a fantastic read about the depth and breadth of stuff that stock Vim supports, and it inspired me to try stock Vim for a while.
But like, why? Do you have problems?
Yes. Probably. Next question.
Care to elaborate?
No. If you insist! There’s a sense of pride and accomplishment that comes with doing the hard thing; with going the distance to reach a height most people don’t get to. To separate yourself. A part of it likely stems from one’s self worth; I, for one, recognize that I measure my self worth frequently relative to those I deem similar to myself in demographic and intellectual capabilities. This is also where it goes wrong. Obviously. I once tried reading “War and Peace” just to say I’d read it – to be clear, probably a great book, but so incredibly dense and just not for me. It was something I’d deemed “hard”, something that I thought would make me seem cultured and cool, saying I’d read Tolstoy’s work. Phooey.
(Is that how you spell that? I’m not sure how much I care about its phoneticization.)
“Comparison is the thief of joy” is something that gets thrown around a lot. I’d argue that based on personal experience, it’s largely true, but not without its nuance. I find myself particularly motivated at times when I see others succeeding, as I’d imagine many others are. Toeing that line is probably the most challenging thing I do on a regular basis, because it forms the foundation for the rest of my day. But really, in its most pure form, I think I have just approached it wrong.
If we strive to do things because they are hard, don’t do it for the destination, do it for the journey. The struggle of learning, the grit and sweat spent in the process, is what makes it worth your while. If you do the hard thing to say you did it, what did you gain except another item on a list, at least in your mind? The recontextualization is tough, but I think it is a valuable journey in and of itself. Hopefully.
Where do we go from here?
When I was doing things because they were hard for the achievement, I felt as though I’d lost the part of myself that enjoyed learning. It was performative. Assuming this ends up on my website, clearly that hasn’t changed too much, but I’m finally more cognizant of my approaches to self motivation, and I hope to continue learning new things not for others, but for myself. Take care, dear reader, and I’ll see you on Marvel Rivals playing Spiderman.