I want to talk more about where is the line between giving it your all and sunken cost fallacy. Here is my post from yesterday in which I was talking about my struggles with the Double Fan Form. I think back to when I laughingly assumed it would take me three months, tops, to teach it to myself.
Remember when I said yesterday that there were two results from the Dunning-Kruger study? One is so well-known, it’s called the Dunning-Kruger Effect. In a nutshell, that posited that people who were really bad at something vastly overestimated their skill and didn’t understand how much worse they were at it than other people. People basically boil it down to people who are bad at something think they’re great, which, of course, is heavily dependent upon different demographics.
The second result they found is the other side of the same coin–that peoaple who are really good at something underestimate how much better they are at it than other people are. Again, that’s vastly simplified, but it’ll do for my purpose. Which is, most of the time, I am the latter. I always think I suck at something, no matter what. If I can do it, anyone can. Or rather, that’s for things I know I’m no better than mediocre at.
That would include FromSoft games. I am horrible at them, and I think that if I can finish them, anyone can (within reason, of course). It takes me twice as long to finish one for the first time as it does the most pedestrian of players. That would also include drawing, sadly. I tried to do it when I was a teenager/in my twenties, and I was very bad at it. I saw no reason to keep trying because I suuuuuuucked at it. Could I have gotten better? Oh, yes. Did I want to put in the effort? Oh, no.
See, this is where it gets fuzzy. My brother and I have argued over the years about nature versus nurture when it comes to the creative arts. Thirty years ago, he was on the side of nurture while I was on the side of nature. That’s too simplified, though.
My brother is extremely talented in photography. I have long maintained that he could do it professionally (and he has done some side hustles as a photog). I, on the other hand, am a person of words. Writing is my thing–or at least it was. Not as sure any longer. I’m trying, and I’m hoping to find a way to break through whatever is blocking me (not a writer’s block, sadly. I would at least know how to deal with that. Even though I’ve only had it two or three times).
My brother argued that anyone could be taught the finer points of photography. I diisagreed. I think we were actually closer to the middle than either of us were saying, though. After we talked about it more, ho understood that I was saying you had to have natural talent to start with. Yes, you can teach someone to be a competent photographer, but if they didn’t have the eye to begin with, it wouldn’t reach the level of art; it would remain a very, very good picture. And I agreed with him that with a lot of work and dedication, someone could hone their skills and elevate their talent.
In other words, as with most things, it’s both. You have to have the raw talent, but you also have to be able/willing to hone that talent. I mentioned it was hard as a writer because most people could write and did so on the daily. emails, texts, messages, reports, and such, I mean. I’m not talking about fiction. At any rate, though, many people believed because they could write (literally) that they could write fiction.
That’s neither here nor there.
Back to the Double Fan Form. No, I’m not going to do a meaningful segue because my brain is pretty friend righht now. I have things to say, but I can’t make the connection; I’m not going to bother trying.
I love the Double Fan Form. I’m grateful that I learned it. I wish I had never taught it to myself. I would not do it again. All of these things are true at once. There was a month in the middle of that when I could not practice because I foolishly got three shots/vaxes at the same time. That was not smart of me, and I regret it deeply. I would also do it again because I was already at the doc’s for another reason and thought it was better just to get it done.
It was so hard. So much harder than I thought it was going to be. So hard that I seriously thought about quitting about a dozen moves into the form. Of 48 positions. So about a fourth of the way into it. I could have quit. I had no reason to keep going except pride. If I’m going to be totally honest with you, it was 90% pride because I was having such a hard time with it at that point. Nobody would know or care if I stopped (well, my teacher would know or at least ask me about it, but she would be understanding about it), but I would know–and I would care.
I really wish I wasn’t like that; it’s not a good thing overall. Yes, my stubbornness pushed me to finish teaching the form to myself, and it’s one of my favorite forms (if not my favorite), but I really wish I had quit when it was kicking my ass. This is the dichotomy in my brain. Both of these things are true (I love the form and I wish I had quit teaching it to myself). Is one more true than the other? Probably that I love the form. In the end, I’m glad I taught it to myself, but it really fucked with my brain for a few months there.
Am I proud of myself for learning it? Yes. Did I really doubt myself for several months there when I was struggling with it? Also yes. Do I feel better overall for learning it? For the third time, yes. Do I still truly wish I had not taught it to myself? Yes. I don’t know how all of these can be true, but they are. I’m still conflicted about it, and I think that’s ok. I don’t have to resolve it one way or the other, really. I can let it sit as it is in my brain and just let it be.
And I’m still going to do it perform it for the demo.