Persevere
When I use the term “bump in the road”, I don’t mean a relapse into excessive gaming, but rather a difficulty along a new path, which if left undealt with, could lead to a relapse.
For example, a number of times when I was trying to focus more fully on studies at school, the work made me feel like I was just spinning my wheels and making no progress. Instead of continuing to push forward, or at least get some help, I would often just not face the problem. Then fall back into gaming.
Even after my studies were finished, and I’d levelled up into the workplace, a number of personal projects fell flat. I’d tell myself that it was OK to quit new projects because I was just in a phase of trying new things out (like learning a new language, or writing a novel), which is fine by the way (I had to try lots of different things before I found what I really wanted to do). However, I never experienced any real success until I made a commitment and saw a project all the way through.
There must be a million million stories out there about perseverance, but let me share a personal one with you now, somewhat off the topic of gaming. It happened in 2004:
It was late at night, and I’d just finished a quick food shop at a 24 hour supermarket. Now in my car, I was fiddling with the steering wheel lock. Suddenly the damn key snapped off inside it! I tried everything, but there was no way to get that lock off without some help, or at least some tools. Thankfully I had breakdown cover, made the call, and after a while a white van man parked up beside me with the word “Persevere” painted in small black letters near the driver’s door. I tell no lie, that word was painted on the side of his van. It was in a tribal style of font, like a tattoo.
He was a chap of few words, but had a kind smile. After seeing the problem, he went to rummage around in his van for the right tools for the job. Interestingly, he came back with a lump hammer and chisel.
“This is all I’ve got, my saw and the other tools are locked up at the garage.”
(The fastest way to remove the jammed steering wheel lock, would have been to saw through the steering wheel)
“Do you think the impacts will damage the steering wheel rack?” I asked.
“No, it will be fine. Ready?”
“OK, let’s do this.”
I shifted over to the passenger seat, and the white van man hopped into the driver’s seat. He made some gentle taps around the lock, and quickly decided where he would attempt to break it. Then that dude just started POUNDING.
About half an hour passed, and the lock barely had a dent.
“That lock is pretty damn tough,” I said.
He smiled.
“You know, we can call it quits. I’ll just get a taxi home, and bring a saw over in the morning. It’s really no bother.”
He smiled again, but the pounding continued.
OK then, I thought. This is his show, I’ll let him crack on.
Over the next hour he had to shift around a few times. It was a tricky position to be using a lump hammer and chisel, and he looked uncomfortable. It was approaching midnight, the car park was almost empty, and the lock barely had a few dents in it.
“Are you sure I can’t persuade you to call it quits? It’s getting late, and that lock barely has a few dents in it. It’s really OK. You’ve done way more than anyone would ask, and I really appreciate the effort. Not to mention, you look uncomfortable and you might hurt your back.”
Another smile, followed by even harder pounding.
OK, well I guess we’re in it for the long haul, I thought. Then barely a minute later:
“CLANG,” protested the protective metal surrounding the lock, as it broke away.
“Nice one!” I said.
“Not finished yet,” he replied with another smile.
We looked at the lock, and the mechanism was still securely fastened to the steering wheel. The metal surround had come away, but I could honestly see no way that a lump hammer and chisel would ever get the damn thing off. It had seemed like all of his effort up until then had been for nothing. “Taxi time,” I thought.
However, after a brief analysis of the exposed lock, the white van man just chose a new point of weakness and got back to his work. I can’t say I was surprised, and there was nothing for me to say. This guy was committed to getting that lock off. It wasn’t about me, or his job, or his ego. He had simply committed himself to getting that damn lock off with a lump hammer and chisel. The task was clearly defined, and he was never going to give up until that f***ing thing came off. If I had had a hat, I would have doffed it in respect, instead I just kept my mouth shut and let the man do his work.
It took about another fifteen minutes, and then that lock came off, in pieces. Both the steering wheel and steering wheel rack were undamaged. The mission had been accomplished in full. I tried to give him some cash as an extra thank you, but he refused it, again with a smile. He hadn’t done it in hope of a reward, or anything else beyond simply wanting to get it done.
It’s been more than twenty years, and until now I’ve only told that story to a handful of people. It really happened, but I don’t think the written story as I’ve tried to convey it to you, will ever compare to the experience of just watching that guy get his s**t done. He refused all distractions, all offers to quit, and in the end the only reason for him to finish his work was simply because he had made the commitment to do so. Good man.