You know, for the longest time, I was all about the “génesis” of things. That initial spark, that big bang of an idea. Oh, I loved that part. Starting new stuff? Sign me up. I’d be buzzing with energy, sketching out plans, telling everyone who’d listen.
But then, inevitably, the “marathón” phase would kick in. The long, slow grind. The part where you actually have to build the thing, fix the bugs, or just keep showing up day after day. And man, that’s where I used to stumble. A lot. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to finish; it was just that the shiny “génesis” feeling had worn off, and the “marathón” felt, well, like a marathon I hadn’t trained for.
My Own Little Lab: Project “Evergreen”
I remember this one project I was so fired up about. Called it “Project Evergreen” – ironically, because my enthusiasm for it almost died pretty quick. The génesis was epic. I spent a whole weekend storyboarding, designing, even bought a new domain name, thinking this was IT. My practice back then was all about grand beginnings.
- Week 1: Pure coding bliss. Features flying out. I was a génesis machine!
- Week 3: Hit a snag. A really boring, complex bug. My motivation dipped. The marathón looked uphill.
- Week 5: The “marathón” felt endless. I started looking for the next shiny “génesis” idea, another project to start.
That project sat half-finished for months. It wasn’t the only one. My digital graveyard of “génesis” moments was getting pretty full. That was my painful practice, really. Learning from those half-starts, those abandoned marathons. Each one was a record of great starts and poor finishes.
It’s funny, you see this pattern everywhere, don’t you? New year resolutions, gym memberships in January… big “génesis” energy, but the “marathón” of February and March sorts things out. Even in companies, you see teams get excited about a new initiative, but keeping that momentum through the tough middle? That’s the real test of endurance over initial excitement.
The Great Garden Debacle
What really hammered this home for me, though, wasn’t a work project. It was my attempt at a vegetable garden a few years back. My “génesis vs. marathón” smackdown, live and in person. This was where my practical understanding really took root, so to speak.
I went all out at the start. Bought all the gear, the best seeds, fancy organic soil. Read a ton of books. My wife even joked I was more “Farmer John” than my actual job title. The first couple of weeks? Amazing. Tiny sprouts, feeling like a horticultural god. That was pure génesis joy. I documented everything, took pictures, the whole nine yards – my génesis record was pristine.
Then came the marathón. Weeding. Every. Single. Day. Watering, dealing with pests, the relentless sun. One week I got busy with work, skipped a few days of weeding. Came back, and it was like a jungle had reclaimed my little patch. The motivation just… poof. Gone. My beautiful génesis had turned into an overgrown, depressing marathón I couldn’t face. My record-keeping stopped. The daily grind felt overwhelming.
I ended up with a few sad-looking tomatoes and a whole lot of weeds. My wife still brings it up when I get too excited about starting something new. “Remember the Great Garden Debacle?” she’ll say. And yeah, I do. Loud and clear. That was a tough practice session, but the lesson stuck.
That garden taught me more about finishing things than any failed software project. It made me realize that the “génesis” is just the entry ticket. The real prize, the actual harvest, comes from grinding through the “marathón.” My practice shifted from celebrating starts to valuing the perseverance of the middle.
So now? I still love that initial spark, don’t get me wrong. But I’m much more respectful of the long haul. I try to break the marathón into smaller sprints. I celebrate the small wins along the way. And I remind myself of those damn weeds. It’s not always fun, but seeing something through to the end, something you wrestled with? That’s a different kind of satisfaction. It’s less fireworks, more a slow, warm burn. And honestly, after all that practice, I’m starting to prefer it. My record of completed “marathóns” is slowly growing, and that feels good.
