I quit Sea of Thieves this week.
It wasn’t sudden – this move was bound to happen eventually. As someone with ADHD who’s trying to step away from Big Tech, including Microsoft and their gaming studios, I’ve been thinking a lot about where I spend my attention. Sea of Thieves had been part of that world, and Season 18 finally made the choice clear: it was time to let go.
It wasn’t burnout. It wasn’t boredom. It was the moment seasonal rewards stopped being seasonal and started being broken into limited-time events – the kind you either show up for exactly when they happen, or lose forever.
For me, that moment was Return to The Devil’s Roar.
What should have been an interesting world update became a countdown. A temporary window to engage with content that had real rewards attached to it, with the full knowledge that missing it meant permanent gaps. Not “catch it next season.” Not “do it when you’re ready.” Just now, or never.
Instead of logging in because I wanted to sail, I was checking a calendar. Planning sessions around timers. Keeping mental notes of what I couldn’t afford to miss. The sandbox didn’t disappear – but it got fenced in by deadlines. And that’s where the fun quietly drained out.
I realised I wasn’t choosing to play anymore. I was responding to pressure – manufactured urgency designed to keep me engaged, not entertained.
Walking away felt oddly familiar, like breaking a login streak. There was that itch: the need to progress, to unlock, to not fall behind. But when I sat with it, something clicked. The desire wasn’t really for the game. It was for forward motion.
That forward motion didn’t appear out of nowhere.
I’d already signed back up to freeCodeCamp at the start of the year, well before I quit the game. From day one, I’ve been showing up daily – even if it’s just a single lesson, a coding exercise, or reviewing a tricky concept. That simple habit has made all the difference.
The latest version of the freeCodeCamp curriculum is excellent. Structured, yet flexible. Clear, yet forgiving. It respects your time without dangling artificial urgency. Progress compounds quietly. Step away for a few days? Nothing disappears. Step back in? Momentum picks up where you left off.
Even better, the DEV Community ensures learning doesn’t stall. Reading posts, sharing frustrations, celebrating wins, asking questions – this replaces the sense of belonging I once got from gaming. Motivation here doesn’t come from fear of missing out. It comes from curiosity, growth, and the quiet support of people walking the same path.
And that’s a crucial difference.
Gaming had been a loop designed to keep me busy. Development is a path that helps me become better. My progress in learning doesn’t expire, and the rewards – the real ones – aren’t fleeting.
Meanwhile, the tech world keeps serving us stories of AI magic: overnight mastery, unicorn success, instant career transformation. Those narratives are fun to read, but they’re distractions if you’re trying to actually learn. I don’t need a unicorn to make progress. I need time, focus, and consistency – the same things I’ve been getting by showing up to freeCodeCamp daily and engaging with DEV.
I quit Sea of Thieves this week, but I had already made the decision that mattered earlier in the year.
Gaming beat me.
Development didn’t.
