Death of Novelty or The Fortnight of Frustration

I’ve entered the next phase: the fortnight of frustration. The first fortnight of everything new is my absolute favorite part of any project. I love to jump in with both feet to scratch the surface of things.

I’ve probably dipped my toes into between 40 and 50 various pastimes over my 25 SCI years.

The first fortnight is filled with the warm fuzzies of novelty and network congratulations. After two weeks of anything, you run into the real work.

Most of the time, figuring out how much actual work it will take to achieve proficiency leads to my losing interest. “10,000 hours!?! No, thank you.” That’s probably 95% of the time.

The other 5% of the time—5% is probably generous—there is an exceeding factor that drives me past the initial friction into true frustration of figuring it out.

Here are four factors from my past that helped tip the balance in the direction of continuing over quitting:

I signed up for a class. Photography jumps to mind. I didn’t finish that class, but I did take pictures for more than two weeks. I may still have my Pentax A100 somewhere, but it was most likely sold off in a cross-country preparatory purging.

I also used committing to classes as a way to study the Bible and get started in comedy.

Connection to the community this is another factor that kept me plugged in past two weeks. When I had my “Rockabilly Lite” phase, I was tight with a bunch of dudes who were lifelong greasers.

I ran around with them for a couple of years. I got a 1964 Dodge Dart, which I was often told was a girl’s car—rockabilly lite.

It ran great most of the time, but I was the one doing all the work on it. At one point, I rebuilt the carburetor so that it would flood and stall on overly aggressive left turns.

On the last occasion I made a left turn in Mary (I named it for the original owner—she was dead), the car died as we were crossing traffic, and I found fresh appreciation for the term death trap.

I drove all right turns to our rental house on Malibu Lane in Tempe, parked it, and put a "For Sale" sign in the window. I sold it to a guy driving by as we were leaving for our first trip to Legoland. I got $750 cash for mostly metal and turned it into mostly plastic.

Roping a friend into co-tackling a project is the most basic and easiest commitment device to employ.

That’s how I/we started home brewing. I wanted to enter a beer in an annual home-brew contest hosted by my pal. I had another friend who was into trying the next new beer.

We started brewing beer together. It worked out great! He was able to do all the heavy lifting, and the project lived at his place. That hobby lasted at least four batches and ended with no accolades at the party.

The gratification from the initial experience was so great, I just had to go again. In this category the first experience is just the setup. If it hits just right, then you have to chase it down. My first trip last year to snow ski for the first time was a combo horror-adventure-thriller.

I was jarred by all the idiots scattered or hurling their bodies down the mountain. I was very afraid for their safety. I joked with my hero and ski-handler, “I bet seeing this every lift ride makes you think, ‘Well, at least my job is safe.’”

After getting a taste of the potential fun sliding on snow could unlock for me, I felt compelled to go again. I quickly found a wide availability of adaptive ski programs to ride with at mountains all across the country.

After reflecting on hobbies I’ve stuck with over the years, these four situations have extended my interest: taking classes, having community, securing a partner, and mind-blowing astonishment.

In each case, my commitment to follow through came before I ran into any friction. Each commitment device contains the external expectations I need to sustain motivation.

It’s the third week for this writing project, and the novelty has worn off. I took a short trip to start the week, which gave me a good enough excuse to skip today’s workout. I nipped the shame spiral by calling Mom to ask about her day.

She was up, makeup on, and going strong. I caught her on her way out the door to visit Gram. She has a great spirit, which is helped along by the steroids she takes in the days leading up to each chemo infusion.

She is in for a real battle over the next two weeks. She will get chemo on Friday. Then Monday, she will start a course of 10 consecutive radiation treatments, with days off on Christmas and New Year’s.

She has assured me that she is ready to stand up to cancer. I thanked her because I know she is trying to stand tall. But I thought, What a weight being pushed on you by a fundraising campaign. Maybe I’m doing the same thing: “Be AAWSome!”

I’m hoping she will tolerate the potential double side effects from simultaneous chemo and radiation. Last time, she did great with the radiation. This time, the intended effect is pain relief by shrinking the tumors fracturing her bones.

If these treatments are effective, we could be in a much better place one month from now.
That is what I am hoping for.

During our talk, I told her I was feeling down again. She asked what had helped kick it last time, and I told her the writing. She encouraged me to do that again if it helped the first time.

Well, here it is, and it was helpful. I’m in the slog now. This project did start with an external commitment, but social media is the weakest external commitment anyone can make.

Thankfully, the initial feeling of catharsis and the interesting connections I found from my initial endeavors have proved to be profound enough to get me one step past the death of novelty and into the fortnight of frustration.

Now we’ll see if this project can grow legs