I push buttons in a respectable group. One with brand recognition, at least locally. Pressing buttons seems to smooth over many undesirable aspects of life. I don’t worry about my health nor rent.
In the beginning with this group, I was ecstatic to press buttons. I learned new techniques to press more buttons with fewer wrist motions and heard war stories about how hard the buttons were to press back in the day. I felt like every day I pushed buttons better than the previous day. I felt fulfilled and filled with purpose. The collective was fantastic. There were occasional treats available for all to have and joyous activities I got to partake in with my co-pressers. Bread and circuses were well covered.
Over time I noticed patterns. Repeating beats that one ought to perform in order for those in proximity to express gratitude. I noticed that there were some buttons that needed to get pressed on regular intervals, but never quite understood why. They seemed arbitrary and that this was more tradition than rationale. This bothered me in ways I still struggle to articulate. The organization had members I could go talk to whenever I was questioning my place in the collective, and I frequently did. They helped me grapple with the nature of the human condition and reminded me why I loved pressing buttons in the first place.
Good things couldn’t last. A plague here, some inconceivable numbers dancing there, the collective needed to reconsider priorities. Not enough buttons were getting pushed to keep everyone together. Sacrifices must be made. My existential struggles remained, but there was nobody left to hear them. Nobody I was willing to bother anyways. Unfortunately this made me reflect.
Initially I thought the problem was the buttons. I started developing myself towards shinier buttons. Hoping to use these to fix the illogical repeated presses I had encountered earlier. This didn’t take, as based on rubric not shared with button pressers, this was not feasible within the risk or work thresholds.
Having reflected and looked within the world of buttons to no avail, I looked around me. I saw co-pressers who had been with the association for much longer than I, but with ability on par with mine get denied boons on the basis that their methods were inadequate. Having witnessed first-hand how new buttons are disregarded or even discouraged, this seemed contradictory. On the other hand I saw my peers from school pressing the shinier buttons I dreamt of pressing and being rewarded with my yearly boons every couple of months.
I started clicking switches in private. Maybe this was me branching out or trying to see if I’m really a switch clicker at heart, but to my surprise I found a sustainable source of joy in it. After a while I even started to reintroduce buttons into the mix and even if they weren’t the shiniest ones, clicking them had this strange sensation of meaning to me now. I went as far as to subject children to the world of buttons and to even more surprise found that equally draining and fulfilling. Everything surrounding the buttons seemed inexplicably interesting with the exception of my task of pressing the buttons.
I returned to the original organization and tried my best to press buttons and got rewarded for this handsomely. I then tried working even harder, using some of my free time to study pressing techniques I could apply, even automating some button presses altogether. This time the results were different. No matter how I pressed my buttons, it seemingly had no impact on the reception.
This lead to a devious thought. If pressing more buttons has no effect, does pressing fewer buttons have an impact? Being the scientifically minded individual I am, I tested my hypothesis and to my disappointment, no. I can press buttons how I please and it has no impact on how the world around me. Certain personality types could deem this the ultimate boon. Reward for no risk or effort. Maybe I am unwell to think otherwise, but this is where the lack of support fell short. Over time I started to grow annoyed at my inability to understand my obsession. I couldn’t bring myself to not press buttons, but neither could I pretend to care for the buttons I pressed. Despite significantly higher rewards now, I yearned for the days of being a young naive button presser with the world ahead of me.
More experienced practitioners suggested that I should stop seeing the button and simply focus on the effect it has on the world. One ought to seek the best effect for the least buttons pressed and that the buttons themselves are secondary. To a degree my experience with switches concurs, but this advice never sat quite right. I think the disconnect stems from differing goals. For someone who sees the various forms of rewards one gets from pressing buttons as the motivation to press buttons, this advice must seem obvious. Like all ‘ought’ statements, it comes with a set of unspoken assumptions. One of these assumes the effects of the buttons are the reason to press the button or at least relevant to the utility one gets from pressing, which in my case doesn’t appear true. I simply like pressing buttons.
I did take their advice for a while and tried to focus on the outcomes and disregard the buttons. This lead my techniques rusty and my tools lacking. I was pressing the same buttons the same way day in day out because it seemed like the best way to optimize for what I was being asked. I saw how my co-pressers ended up in their situations and felt it happening to me.
At this time I noticed this wasn’t getting better. I was unrecognizable to myself, angry at the world and everyone around me. Easily annoyed and snappy, and with the summer approaching I figured that maybe the past stretch had just been a bit too much. I had recently come to possess a slit of paper that told me I was indeed capable of pressing buttons, which seemed redundant, but I was told it was a highly valued piece of paper in some circles. Acquiring this paper was rough for me, so the deduction that it had simply pushed me too far was reasonable.
I scheduled a month of time, during which I was under no obligation to press buttons. I lasted two days until the switchboard started calling. After several high jinks and a remarkably low volume of button presses, that month had passed. I returned to my station to resume pressing buttons. Due to my early takeoff, I had landed before my co-pressers which left the shared space feeling eerie. There were seats for hundreds of pressers, occupied by a handful. I didn’t speak to a single person the first week besides my morning greetings.
The return sparked many emotions within me. The first day went something along the lines of curiosity, intrigue, inquiry, confusion, understanding, further confusion, annoyance, recollection, despair, loneliness, discontent and finally apathy and boredom. On the following days I’ve managed to skip the confusion and start off around annoyance or despair. If anything, the break made things worse. Nearly a week into my return I checked out my progress. I had completed 7 of the 9 units of presses our team had managed to complete designated for the summer. As far as I understand, the others had been pressing these buttons in my absence for at least two weeks. This brought me back to the question of our time, why bother? None of the groupings of presses I had achieved were that impressive. All of my presses could’ve been done in a single productive day, rather than the four unproductive ones I had.
I hold no ill will towards my co-pressers, if anything I am upset at myself. I cannot verbalize why I am bothered by the fact that my presses were inefficient. It has no impact on anything. Maybe the fact that my co-pressers were incentivized to dig themselves to a hole to reduce their options and make them stay with the group for longer. Maybe it was how I saw others with my opportunities thrive in their own environments. Maybe the initial feeling of purpose I gained while learning the ropes or playing with my switches had made me to think of the whole in a wrong light.
I am still pushing buttons. Unsure why. Probably not for long.