moderation
When I was young, I did whatever I wanted to. I had no religion or legitimate authority figure holding me back, and so I pursued a life of pure hedonism, pure Freudian id. Instead of choosing alcohol or drugs or meaningless sex for my short term happiness, I made a pretty strange choice: video games. You know how it's fun to win games? Basically, I sat around and won an online game all day. The really strange thing, though, was that I never got tired of it.
The game was incredibly interesting because intelligent planning and fast thinking pretty much solely determined who won. I eventually achieved a great deal of success in the game -- but it came at a huge cost to the rest of my life. Before the game, I was on the basketball team and the regional soccer team; I dropped both for more time to play. Over the course of three years of playing I went from being fairly athletic to being pale and legitimately overweight. Before the game I was actually somewhat popular, but by junior year of high school I was pretty much entirely alone -- unless you count online friends. Still I was "happy": I got to win all the time. Winning the game was the ultimate high for me, and I was addicted.
Eventually, something in me snapped. I just didn't care about winning anymore. It was more than that though -- I didn't care about short term happiness at all! I saw that pure hedonism didn't work, and I overreacted: I pulled a complete 180. I decided to focus exclusively on what I called "long term happiness". I did some pretty remarkable things during this time. For one thing, I managed to lose 50 lbs in the course of a year. I did not eat a single dessert, not one bite of chocolate. I ran every single day until I got shin splints. I went from talking to no one to talking to everyone, and I got my academic act together. Looking back, though, the most impressive thing to me is that I never removed the game from my computer. I could have sat down and played any day, but I never did.
I came to MIT fully in "rigid discipline" mode, confident that the secret to success was to ignore short-term pleasure. A strange thing started happening though: I began rebelling against myself! I was like someone on a diet who, after having starved himself for weeks, goes on a binge and eats an entire plate of cookies. I would lose control of myself for entire days and gorge myself on short term pleasure. I had a very hard time understanding these binges. After all, hadn't I learned firsthand that hedonism didn't work? Why, then, did I keep relapsing? At this point, "rigid discipline" seemed like the only legitimate strategy to me, and so I fought to enforce discipline on myself. I would uninstall the game, box my computer up in the closest, give my keyboard to my friends for safe keeping -- anything to prevent binges.
This internal struggle marked much of my time at MIT. Sometimes my superego would be in control, and I would consistently make it to the gym and develop lasting relationships and do well in my classes; other times my id would dominate, and my weight would creep up, and I would "waste" obscene amounts of time online enjoying myself. What I'm very slowly coming to realize, though, is the true importance of balance. I've always been told the importance of moderation without really understanding or appreciating it. That's very slowly starting to change. I'm starting to realize that life is not necessarily a choice between hedonism and rigid-discipline -- that balance between the two is another choice, and most likely the best one.
It sure took me a long time to get this far -- especially considering that most people seem to instinctively understand the importance of balance and moderation -- but it's been an interesting journey.
The game was incredibly interesting because intelligent planning and fast thinking pretty much solely determined who won. I eventually achieved a great deal of success in the game -- but it came at a huge cost to the rest of my life. Before the game, I was on the basketball team and the regional soccer team; I dropped both for more time to play. Over the course of three years of playing I went from being fairly athletic to being pale and legitimately overweight. Before the game I was actually somewhat popular, but by junior year of high school I was pretty much entirely alone -- unless you count online friends. Still I was "happy": I got to win all the time. Winning the game was the ultimate high for me, and I was addicted.
Eventually, something in me snapped. I just didn't care about winning anymore. It was more than that though -- I didn't care about short term happiness at all! I saw that pure hedonism didn't work, and I overreacted: I pulled a complete 180. I decided to focus exclusively on what I called "long term happiness". I did some pretty remarkable things during this time. For one thing, I managed to lose 50 lbs in the course of a year. I did not eat a single dessert, not one bite of chocolate. I ran every single day until I got shin splints. I went from talking to no one to talking to everyone, and I got my academic act together. Looking back, though, the most impressive thing to me is that I never removed the game from my computer. I could have sat down and played any day, but I never did.
I came to MIT fully in "rigid discipline" mode, confident that the secret to success was to ignore short-term pleasure. A strange thing started happening though: I began rebelling against myself! I was like someone on a diet who, after having starved himself for weeks, goes on a binge and eats an entire plate of cookies. I would lose control of myself for entire days and gorge myself on short term pleasure. I had a very hard time understanding these binges. After all, hadn't I learned firsthand that hedonism didn't work? Why, then, did I keep relapsing? At this point, "rigid discipline" seemed like the only legitimate strategy to me, and so I fought to enforce discipline on myself. I would uninstall the game, box my computer up in the closest, give my keyboard to my friends for safe keeping -- anything to prevent binges.
This internal struggle marked much of my time at MIT. Sometimes my superego would be in control, and I would consistently make it to the gym and develop lasting relationships and do well in my classes; other times my id would dominate, and my weight would creep up, and I would "waste" obscene amounts of time online enjoying myself. What I'm very slowly coming to realize, though, is the true importance of balance. I've always been told the importance of moderation without really understanding or appreciating it. That's very slowly starting to change. I'm starting to realize that life is not necessarily a choice between hedonism and rigid-discipline -- that balance between the two is another choice, and most likely the best one.
It sure took me a long time to get this far -- especially considering that most people seem to instinctively understand the importance of balance and moderation -- but it's been an interesting journey.