by CJ Quines • on
Finding reasons-for
more writing about not-writing
Content warning: depression.
I’ve been thinking about motivation and executive dysfunction and such these past few weeks. I’ve been thinking about working on Galactic Puzzle Hunt, or working on various abandoned code projects, or writing for my blog, or studying math, or writing math. I’ve been thinking about how these are all things I want to want to do—
i like writing, maybe. i like having a blog. i like that my blog gets posts frequently. i don’t like the feeling of not blogging for too long. i don’t want to write, sometimes. i want to want to write, in those times. i don’t want to want to want to write, most of the time. i like how these sentences mean different things and how they can all be true. i don’t like the fact that these sentences are, in fact, all true.
—and I’ve been thinking about how none of these are things that I want to do. In practice, I spend my time playing lots of video games and sleeping too much. Not that it’s bad1 that I’ve played lots of video games, or slept more than usual for a few days. So why do I feel like I should be doing more?
My theory of getting things done had been about comparing the reasons for doing and reasons against doing something; we do things when reasons-for weigh more than the reasons-against. Equivalently, we can think of each task as having some activation energy (reasons-against), and we do a task when our energy for it (reasons-for) exceeds this threshold. Point being, we can either add reasons-for, or subtract reasons-against.
There’d be a lot of times where I’d think about working on a task and think: how could I make this easier for myself? When I try sitting down to write a blog post, I close my browser, play some music, and stare at an open text editor until drops of blood form on my forehead. Perhaps the task of writing is too big, so I’d go to writing my bullet-points outline, and expanding every detail until it’s in prose. Then that, too, would feel too hard, and I might try lying down and recording myself talking. Which doesn’t lead to anything I’m happy with. Then I wonder about how much I want to write said blog post anyway, and realize I kinda don’t feel like doing it. I kinda don’t feel like doing anything, at least anything creative or productive. Then I play a video game, or read whatever’s pulled up in my browser, or watch something on my watchlist.
I guess I’m learning that making things easier isn’t enough. And I feel like a broken record, since I wrote about anhedonia but two months ago:
You scoop the bad feelings out of your life. […] You break down all the sharp things, hoping to find that the only things left behind are sunshine and substance. Instead, everything left is light and hollow. […] You hoped to find happiness amidst the remnants of your depression. All you find is emptiness.
The absence of negative emotions isn’t positive. In the same way, the absence of reasons-against doesn’t mean having reasons-for. I can listen to my aversion for doing things, but I’m neglecting my attraction toward doing things. I’ve even told people “don’t do things you don’t want to do, especially if you don’t need to do them,”2 but I’ve never been good at following my own advice.
And yet, I am doing creative and productive things. Often unsuccessfully, but at least right now, I’m writing a blog post. Therefore, my reasons-for writing must be greater than my reasons-against. And if wanting isn’t my reason-for, what is?
I think I’m hoping that I’d finish writing this, and then I’d look back and say, well, this was fun in retrospect. Maybe I’m hoping I’d write something I’m proud of writing, something I could line up with among my favorites. Maybe someone’s gonna say this was a good post, and I’d somehow metabolize that into feeling good.
Sure, an expected reward is a reason-for.3 Perhaps that’s what fun in retrospect means, that we may not have enjoyed doing something, but got some sort of reward in exchange. I’d even argue that my want to do things like gaming, reading, or watching, is because I expect to enjoy doing these things, which is a kind of reward.
The trouble is, to feel good from positive feedback, I’d have to accept appreciation. And it’s the same thing about being proud of my writing, where the appreciation comes from myself. And I struggle with accepting appreciation, even my own appreciation. If not enjoyment, or feeling appreciated, then what?
- 1
I certainly don’t think it’s a moral wrong to play lots of video games or sleep too much. And it’s not like I need to do any other things. I haven’t broken any commitments I’ve made, nor do I feel like in danger of doing so. Well, I think not, at least.
- 2
I, in fact, believe in the stronger version “if you need to do something, you’ll want to do it,” though that one comes with more caveats.
- 3
Shard theory makes an even stronger claim, that all wants are ultimately shaped by our reward systems. I’m not sure if I fully accept it, though, because I think it’s possible for RL systems to optimize the reward.