This past weekend I started and finished “The Witcher” on Netflix. I had never read any of the books nor have I played the highly popular video game series, but for some reason, the show intrigued me. The story follows this beefy, white-haired mutant brother who slays both men and monsters for money and destiny and all those other medieval fantasy tropes. He keeps a steel sword for the men, and a silver sword for the monsters — I guess all the monsters follow werewolf rules. Wouldn’t a silver sword also kill humans just as good, though?

I got partway through the first episode and thought, “this is kinda dumb.” However, I figured I’d give it more time to grow on me.

Then I got to the end of the second episode. It was also kinda dumb, but the Witcher’s bard sang a pretty dope song, so I kept going.

The third episode was a sick almost monster-of-the-week type story, with the Witcher fighting this cursed child, who’s the offspring of incest between a king and his sister. I had to keep going at that point.

In the end, “The Witcher” was OK. The show never again lived up to the awesomeness of that third episode, yet I finished the whole first season.

Why?

If I’m reading a book, and I don’t like it, I’ll put it down or give it to someone else. If I’m listening to an album and it doesn’t grab me, I normally turn it off. If I go on a date, and that person is boring, I don’t call them back.

Why is it so easy to break that pattern for the Netflixes and Amazon Primes of the world? Yes, sitting on a couch and staring at a box is pretty easy work compared to reading and dating, but I could’ve easily switched to a different show.

It made me think about how our parents, teachers and mentors are always telling us to follow things through and finish strong. That’s good advice, but it seems wasted on kids like me who use it as an excuse to watch mediocre television.