When My Life Demands A Competition, There’s Enjoyment No More

Nearly everything in my life began feeling like a stress-filled hell. I’ve uncovered a core reason behind this — everything’s a freakin’ competition now. Well, I’m not playing.

The Fight’s On

I’m on a quest to answer for myself—beyond the obvious, why do I feel so dreadful and discomforted compared to the past? What ideas work against me subconsciously?

I’ve uncovered a lot over a year of self-reflection, through writing. I’ve discovered subtle changes in my experience, negative influences I never realized before. I think I’ve found another.

In January, I searched for apps to connect with people. I sought to mitigate my prolonged social isolation, as I interacted with virtually no one.

I landed on a penpal type app where you send letters, and it’d take some time to arrive. A nice, slow pace to meet people and have in-depth conversations — no instant gratification.

But I had reservations.

What if nobody wants to send letters to me? How do I reach out to people? How many words is too much or too little? Is it possible to find genuine connection here, or is it just a wasteland of nothingness as claimed?

I wrote my bio as raw and lengthy as I do here. Then a public introduction that opened me to receive messages from anyone. I’d sent one or two letters first, but got no response. After a week, it left me wondering.

Why not search the internet for selectively sampled anecdotes with no bearing on my experience, that only serve to validate my insecurities? What a great idea to get the ball rolling, Justin.

And so I Googled my problems to see who else had experienced them.

“App is dead. No receiving any letters.” Those were the titles on posts I read. And a deluge of notions flooded me once I opened them — such as these.

“Your bio must suck. If it didn’t, you would’ve received letters. You’re not giving any reason for people to message you. How entitled are you to think you can put anything and expect results?”

“To capture their attention you need to stand out — hell, provide any basis for your presence to be worthwhile.” The insecurities rose.

I read more. Complaints about the quality of letters, screenshotting, and putting their names on blast. They said they didn’t ask questions, they weren’t in-depth.

Oh god — was I like that? Am I incapable of meeting these standards — to hold a proper conservation through text? Am I coming off as undesirable? Will I be the guy who ghosts people? I’m so horrible…

Then I realized, wait a minute… this is stupid.
I know who I am and what I want.

All I’m trying is to connect with people online. I’m serious, I’m not writing lazy or treating it casually. While admittedly, asking questions for the sake of small talk feels forced, I’m perfectly capable.

How did this transform into my malicious intent to be disengaged and waste people’s time? When was I running a road race with attention as the grand prize?

I sought this experience for the exact opposite — to slow down and de-stress from sensationalism. Yet I was fearing so much like I was under examination.

I got more replies without changing anything, after a few weeks. Most were deep and genuine. I got compliments for my bio in these introductory letters — which I felt strangely giddy to hear.

I continue to meet new pals and connect with existing ones, 3 months later.
It’s great.

After thinking about the panic and inferiority I experienced preceding those connections, I realized what bothered me about my life.

Everything is a *freakin’* competition now.

Playing Games With Emotions

There’s the usual suspects. Comparison of experiences and tribulations. Comparison of achievements and accolades. But competition permeated further than that.

Necessities inundated me when I started writing here last year. They told me what I needed to do. Capture the reader’s attention, and stand out from the crowd. Don’t dare to be a waste of time.

I sprung out to the audience~ with artificiality and quirky prose, shoving vapid links into every writing to promote what I had. To build that fanbase waiting gleefully for the second you pressed ‘Publish’ — as if the world revolved around the moment.

I hardly believed in the idea myself. But true~ writers practiced this, so I was told. I had to follow too — or what was the point? I couldn’t just write anything and expect readers.

It was clearly what I wanted, I had to put effort~ in.

The goal was defined for me back then. I didn’t know what I wanted myself. Unemployment was harrowing, loneliness was too, and the idea of attention and money was lucratively dangled in front of me.

Hell, it was told right to me.

So surely, that was it.

Now I know, I seek none of that— I write to reflect, move forward, and understand facets of my life. It’s not for superficial metrics, as fun as staring at them is.

Writing for the self may provide value~ to someone in similar situations, but that’s not my intent. I write for what I truly feel — not what I believe’s needed from what I read.

My endeavors were influenced from the beginning, and I jumped headfirst into the ring with the attention economy. I realized my writing voice felt ridiculously inauthentic just weeks in and had a partial reset 1 month later.

That was when I began to become myself, motivated by my desires, knowing what I was and wanted to be.

My values change, and ideas I write don’t necessarily hold forever. I’ve accepted I’m always evolving, and will inevitably dislike my old work. It’s a cycle I’ve gone through many times.

Well, I finally reached that point with a piece I’ve written. I once reflected on how playing video games gave me story ideas, and I made progress analyzing their writing. The tone feels weird now.

I’ve realized I can’t enjoy leisure time when I force myself to dissect prose. Worst of all, I was comparing. I was preoccupied with how much better the games I played were, which spawned longing… and even some jealousy.

I thought practicing “progress through leisure” was good… I’m not sure anymore. I play games without these thoughts now, and it’s carefree compared to the past — there’s no longer an obligation.

Fun wasn’t unaffected before though.

I got into the zone playing rhythm games. I thought I was good — then I heard 4-star maps were easy. There were charts with 7 keys and 80 hits per second. I felt inferior with my mere 4-finger plays.

Team compositions in games. What, I wasn’t using the best characters and more efficient setups? What a waste, why was I not following these guides to maximize my STR stat? That wasn’t following best practice~.

You know what broke my brain? When I encountered concepts in dating this way. I hardly know what friendship means, let alone r-r-r-romance. I’ve got work to do before that, so it’s not a huge consideration now.

But through mindless scrolling on the internet, I read descriptions of relationships in quite… outlandish terms.

Terms like the dating pool… or suitable mates. Literally calling it a competition for mates…, “What reasons do you provide to spend time with you?”

Dating pool… suitable mates?! I shouldn’t base my perception on sensationalism, but... have I just played too many anime games and isolated too long to know what a real relationship is like? To care about someone? Am I just unknowledgeable?

I know it’s not all rose-tinted glasses… but pools of applicants, giving justification? It sounds like auditioning for a job, and I know how arduously dehumanizing that is.

Maybe it’s always been like this. Perhaps social connection is a soulless transaction free of personal feelings, and I’m a fool for thinking otherwise.

I thought I resonated with others on a human level when I sent those letters, sharing raw experiences and emotions, but forget that I guess.

Apparently, I participate in a selective process as a fellow interlocutor, to gauge for minimally adequate quantities of interest-appealing attributes in the friendship pool. “I’m so happy my friend finds me adequate~ enough to talk to.”

I don’t play games to enjoy them — I accumulate improvement of involuntary reflexive behaviors to maximize point-collection method efficiency and beat my adversarial entities in the domain of play.

And when I die someday, I must vie for emotional and time investment from my prospective mourners through advertising my funereal endeavors.

In a world saturated with death, I need to s̶t̶a̶n̶d̶ lie out.

Not It

Competition isn’t my problem, despite what I’ve recalled. I conceived an app idea fueled by competition. I saw incumbents in the niche, realized many weren’t updated recently, and thought I’d try to add something new.

While my idea technically competes with theirs, it’s an indirect collaboration too — as the existing ideas spurred my own. I see them as in the same space, but not adversaries.

The problem I face with every facet of life is not that it’s become a competition.

It’s become a battle royale — with emotional manipulation.

It’s a state with pressure to eradicate and screw over the enemy — and everyone is perceived as the enemy. It’s hierarchies and survival of the fittest, so I read.

The coercion followed a cookbook in marketing, perhaps to create demand. One—I’m in the game and seek the prize, whether I like it or not. Two — I need to make an effort~ to come out on top~.

Three — how dare I expect the prize without effort? You know, the prize it claimed I wanted. Four— I’m inherently a loser if I refuse to play. And five —to not be a loser, follow these words exactly.

Everything from writing to developing to breathing. It was placed into the arena. I could enjoy nothing, there was always something wrong or more to do.

You know what this is like? It’s like when you’re playing basketball alone, and your middle school classmate comes screaming into your court with their ball. “aaaaaaaAAAAHHHHH-”

Every shot they make they celebrate in your face. Every time you miss they let out an obnoxious “OHHHHHH.” Then when recess finally ends, they go “HA! I WIN!!!” and run off.

I’m not writing to beat anyone, nor do I have anything to prove. I’m not playing games to start a multi-million business either. I have no opponents, and I don’t consciously gauge the suitability of my fellow interlocutors.

I know for myself what I want, need, and am — by intuition.
That is my truth.

I’m out. I’m not part of this. I have no interest in what’s happening over there, whatever it’s said I’m obligated to participate in. My life’s not a spartan fight. And I have no standard to meet — that isn’t already my own.

I have desires, but that doesn’t mean I expect infinite riches and everyone to love me. I don’t want to one-up anything. I’m trying to live my life, do my best, connect with people, work on endeavors, and enjoy my leisure for what it is — and that’s it.

Dammit Kyle, I’m not playing the game.