The Mothlamp Problem: Why Engineers Chase Impossible Dreams

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The Allure of the Impossible

There's a particular breed of engineering problem that seems to call to certain minds with an almost magnetic pull. These problems share three defining characteristics: they captivate a specific type of nerd with their inherent beauty, they demand solving the hardest known problems in computer science, and they face constant questioning about their practical value. I call these "mothlamp problems"—because like moths drawn to flame, we engineers are irresistibly attracted to these challenges, even when they might consume us.

The Classic Examples

The archetype of a mothlamp problem is clear once you start looking for it. Creating your own programming language sits at the top of the list—a project that requires mastery of parsing theory, compiler construction, language design, and often years of work before producing anything useful. IDE features that support structural editing represent another classic example, demanding solutions to problems in syntax tree manipulation, real-time performance optimization, and user interface design that push the boundaries of current technology.

Static type checkers that go beyond what existing languages offer, custom build systems designed to solve specific workflow problems, parser generator frameworks that aim to be more elegant than their predecessors—these all share the same DNA. They're problems that seem to whisper: "Someone should solve this properly. Why not you?"

The Personal Toll

I'm not immune to this phenomenon. For half a decade, I've been working on an extensible, language-agnostic static analysis and refactoring tool. By any reasonable measure, this is a mothlamp problem. It requires solving fundamental issues in program representation, cross-language analysis, and tool extensibility that have stymied researchers for decades. My GitHub account tells the story of this obsession—abandoned programming language implementations, parser generator frameworks that never quite worked, false starts at extensible autoformatters, and yes, even an async-await implementation that I'm not entirely sure why I built.

Each of these projects represents months or years of work, often ending not in failure but in abandonment. The code still works, the ideas still have merit, but the energy to continue simply evaporates. Yet I keep starting new ones, keep being drawn to the next impossible challenge.

The Deeper Question

Why do we do this to ourselves? The obvious answer is boredom—the need for intellectual stimulation that everyday programming work doesn't provide. But I think there's something more profound at work here. Dreaming big is a muscle that needs exercise. Each time we conceive of a grand vision and invest dozens or hundreds of hours into it, only to walk away unfinished, we learn something about how to make dreams become real.

This process teaches us about scope, about the gap between vision and implementation, about the importance of choosing the right abstractions, about when to push through and when to pivot. We develop an intuition for what's actually possible and what's merely appealing in theory. We learn to recognize the difference between a problem that's hard but solvable and one that's fundamentally intractable given current technology.

The Acceptance

One day, I will start my last project. I may or may not finish it. But after it's done—whether due to tragedy, falling out of love with the craft, or simply not having time left to start another one—I will put my computer and notebooks down for the last time. That's life. But I can accept that. I'll be very good at dreaming by then.

The mothlamp problem isn't really a problem at all. It's a feature of how certain minds work, how they need to push against the boundaries of what's possible, how they find meaning in the pursuit rather than just the achievement. The light we chase may burn us, but it also illuminates the path forward, showing us what's possible when we refuse to accept the limitations of the present.

So the next time you find yourself drawn to an impossible problem, when you feel that magnetic pull toward a challenge that everyone else thinks is pointless, remember: you're not alone. You're part of a long tradition of engineers who would rather chase the light than settle for the darkness. And who knows? Maybe this time, you'll solve it.