Brad Feld once wrote a little gem called Something New is Fucked Up In My World Every Day. It’s an inspirational reminder that the way out of your problems is through, and that you don’t need to look far to discover how insignificant your significant woes may be. It also reminded me that sometimes problems don’t look like problems.
Years ago my mother managed a facility for psychiatric patients who were hoping to eventually reintegrate into society. Once, on a visit home, I was chatting with her in her office when someone knocked on the door, came in with a clipboard and a stack of papers, and proceeded to discuss medication schedules and patients with her.
He was dressed well, articulate, and personable. He introduced himself to me and asked how my visit was going. He enthusiastically talked about how much he enjoyed working with my mother.
After he left I said, “Great guy, mom, he seems like a go-getter”, to which she replied, “He’s a patient—one of our most difficult”. Turns out that he was a well-adjusted fellow most of the time (though delusional about his role there), but every couple of weeks he would have a terrible psychotic break for a day or two. He was bipolar with short, intense manic periods. Without medication, he was much worse, but with medication (and the harmless delusion that he was an assistant at the facility), I had no idea there was a problem there.
Of course there are many ways in which a problem does not look a problem. Since this blog is mostly about video game development, I can think of a few:
Minimized by Something Else. Frustrating level design might be minimized by adjustable difficulty settings. While this makes the game more accessible, it doesn’t address bad core design choices.
Masked by Something Else. Underlying performance issues could be masked by high-end graphics and engaging gameplay. Players may not notice problems until later levels or in non-persistent subsystems, like VFX, that are more demanding on the system.
Compensated by Other Strengths. In a game where story is crucial, exceptional programming skill might compensate for inexperienced story writing, leading to a game with strong mechanics but a weak narrative.
Overshadowed by Larger Issues. Minor glitches might go unnoticed because developers (and players) are more concerned with major bugs that significantly affect gameplay.
Delayed Effects. The long-term impact of crunch may not be immediately apparent, but over time it leads to burnout and high turnover.
Normalization of Deviance. Cutting corners to meet deadlines, such as not fully testing patches or bypassing QA, could become the cultural norm if no immediate issues arise, potentially leading to bigger problems down the line.
Of course you can’t anticipate every bump in the road, but you can concede a bumpy road. In the Eat Me If You Wish parable referenced in Feld’s post, a man whose cave is full of demons makes them disappear by surrendering to their unknown wishes. Another way to view this is that you render your demons powerless by consenting to their nature, rather than fighting to accept them as some sort of intractable finitude.
Consent is powerful. Consent to problems you can’t see. Get comfortable with uncertainty. Allow for plenty of unknown mistakes. And be willing to pivot.