Why ‘Liking’ Something Might Be an Illusion

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?

The Science of Cravings: Why the First Bite Always Wins

Have you ever finished a delicious meal and suddenly craved a piece of chocolate? That craving arises because the pleasure of eating has ended, and your brain, eager to maintain stimulation, searches for the next source of enjoyment.

Humans naturally seek activities that make them feel good. The brain measures "feeling good" by the amount of hormones—such as dopamine—circulating in it. To maintain a steady flow, it constantly directs us toward actions that maximize these hormones. In the case of chocolate, once the meal is over, the brain instinctively searches for something else that provides a similar or greater level of satisfaction. Chocolate often emerges as an appealing choice.

However, the first bite of chocolate is always more satisfying than the last. This is because the brain self-regulates, signaling, "That's enough, move on to something else." From an evolutionary perspective, this mechanism is crucial. If early humans fixated on only one pleasurable activity, such as building shelters, they wouldn’t have diversified their skills to include hunting, farming, and socializing. To promote variety, the brain gradually reduces the reward response to repetitive tasks over time.

This pattern also appears in everyday activities like studying or working. Initially, you might feel motivated to start your homework to get it off your mind. But as time passes, that motivation fades, and your brain begins seeking alternative sources of stimulation—perhaps calling a friend, gardening, or grabbing a snack. This is simply your brain’s way of ensuring you remain engaged and hormonally balanced to facilitate learning and productivity.

In today’s digital world, the brain has an even easier time finding quick sources of stimulation. The first time you watch a hilarious cat video on Instagram Reels, your brain immediately registers Instagram as a reliable dopamine source. This memory persists because the brain dislikes being unstimulated for long, so it prioritizes recalling past activities that provided easy satisfaction. This explains the constant urge to open entertainment apps—your brain perceives your current task as less rewarding than simply watching more cat videos.

Similarly, consider a programmer debugging code. After hours of effort, a stubborn bug refuses to be solved. Frustrated, the brain—unable to generate satisfaction from failure—shifts its focus. Instead of intensifying problem-solving efforts, it searches for an immediate dopamine fix. That’s when you unconsciously reach for your phone, drawn toward the very distractions that momentarily ease your frustration.

Over time, this cycle becomes more pronounced. You might even receive a screen time notification, realizing how much time you've wasted on entertainment apps. Attempting to fight this urge by forcing yourself to focus entirely on work may succeed for a day, but exhaustion soon sets in, making the temptation to scroll through social media even stronger. The more your brain associates an app with an easy dopamine hit, the harder it becomes to resist.

Trying to fight this instinct head-on is like chopping wood with the blunt side of an axe—it’s ineffective and exhausting. A better approach is understanding why the brain works this way and using that knowledge to your advantage. Instead of simply uninstalling Instagram, a more sustainable solution is convincing yourself that it isn’t a genuine source of happiness. However, rewiring your brain isn’t easy. Since your neural pathways are already conditioned to seek stimulation from these apps, true change requires strong personal conviction.

On a final note, I was inspired to write this after hearing someone say they "needed" to watch TikTok videos to recharge from a tiring day. This made me reflect on the rabbit hole entertainment apps create. What that person didn’t realize was that the very thing they turned to for relief—TikTok—was actually contributing to their exhaustion in the first place.