I've had friends tell me they "really like programming," and that statement stuck with me. At times, I felt the same way myself.
After completing a project—like building my own version of Tetris or a simple To-Do app using a newly discovered graphics library—I would feel a strong sense of enjoyment for programming. But by the next day, that excitement would fade. This phenomenon never quite made sense to me. Isn’t "liking" something supposed to be a long-term feeling? At least, that's how I always thought it should work.
Recently, however, I had an insight that helped clarify this contradiction. What if it's impossible to "like" doing something in itself? If that were true, it would mean that even "liking to do good for the community" isn’t a real thing—which might sound strange, but let me explain.
I now believe that instead of liking an activity itself, what we actually enjoy is doing that activity well. This idea makes more sense when considering how humans, like all living beings, rely on feedback from their environment to gauge success and progress.
Think about the first time you try to understand how integrated circuits work. At first, the green tracks on the chip seem meaningless. But then you learn that they transfer electricity to different parts of the chip, making the whole system function. You go from knowing nothing to understanding something significant—your learning rate is practically infinite. Since you improved so quickly, it feels great, and you might conclude that you "really like electronics." But what you actually enjoy is learning electronics well. Later, when you dive into more complex topics like energy bands, the process is much slower and frustrating. Suddenly, you don’t "like" it as much anymore.
Here’s a more practical example: I tried surfing three times in my life. The first time, I actively focused on improvement, applying techniques I had seen in a YouTube video. The result? I did surprisingly well, and my brain told me, "I like surfing!" But on my second and third attempts, I felt more relaxed, assuming I had already grasped the basics. However, without muscle memory to reinforce my previous learning, my technique declined. I mispositioned my feet, mistimed the waves, and struggled more than before. My brain now told me the opposite: "I don't like surfing."
These examples suggest that people generally enjoy doing things well rather than just doing them. This perspective also explains a common behavioral pattern: people tend to overestimate their abilities and progress. Initially, I saw this as a flaw, but now I wonder if it might be beneficial. If we need to feel competent to enjoy an activity, then those who overestimate themselves may be more inclined to pursue and stick with new challenges simply because they believe they’re good at them.
This argument challenges the idea that humility is always a virtue. According to this hypothesis, excessive humility could be detrimental—it might prevent someone from recognizing their own competence, thereby reducing their motivation to continue. On the other hand, extreme overconfidence can lead to arrogance and social issues. The ideal balance lies somewhere in between: acknowledging progress without becoming overconfident.
One lingering question remains: Does "doing well" always require comparison? If so, that would explain why Chris Pratt’s character in Passengers became so bored over time—without anyone to compare himself to, he lost a sense of achievement. But even without direct comparison, I believe people can still enjoy activities if they see personal growth and improvement.
With all that said, the next time you hear someone say, "I like doing this," it might be worth asking: What exactly do they like? Is it the activity itself—or the feeling of doing it well?