A Way Out of The NPC Life

I once read Anton Chekhov’s short story The Bishop, about a Russian bishop named Pyotr. It narrates his life in the weeks leading up to Easter. As the story unfolds, it becomes clear the bishop is unwell. Chekhov portrays his loneliness—how his high position prevents people from speaking to him honestly. Even his own mother is warm and lively with others, but formal and distant with him. The one person who is candid, Father Sisoy, he finds unpleasant. Pyotr yearns to escape to another country for a better life. The story ends with the revelation that he had typhoid—and he dies.

When I finished, I thought, Is that it? Yes, the story held my attention, but all the discomfort built to nothing. I’ve read other Chekhov stories and often feel the same. He vividly captures life’s challenges and discomforts, but the characters seem to drift without changing.

They are like NPCs—non-player characters in a game—existing in the background, going through the motions without making things happen and they die.

Then three years ago, it dawned on me I was living the NPC life. I woke up at a time I didn’t want, wore clothes I didn’t like, drove through traffic I hated, and moved through my days longing to be somewhere else.

The wake-up call came one day in church. I was chatting with a friend when another man joined us. They began complimenting each other, “I like how you nail your outfit every time.” They laughed and chatted as I stood there like an NPC. Then one of them turned to me, said, “Oh hey Robert,” and walked away. I was forgettable—nondescript.

I was left standing there with a smile on my face, but inside I was freaking out. “Oh my God! I am like that bishop and now I will die of typhoid! I am soon to be 40 and I don’t even know what typhoid is?!” So I googled it.

It was a small moment, but it rippled into the rest of my life. My lack of thought about my outfits reflected a deeper pattern—doing things without intention, simply because that’s how they’d always been done. That day, I decided I wanted out of the NPC life. How would I do this?

I found the answer when I reflected on a different type of story . What was missing in Chekhov’s The Bishop was exactly what T.S. Arthur’s An Angel in Disguise had. In Arthur’s story, Maggie, a sickly orphan, is left behind when her mother dies and her healthier siblings are taken in by villagers. Joe Thompson, despite his wife’s protests, brings Maggie home. His quiet kindness softens his wife’s heart, and Maggie’s innocence and gratitude transform their home.

The story ends: “An angel had come into his house, disguised as a sick, helpless, and miserable child, and filled all its dreary chambers with the sunshine of love.” Corny? Maybe. But even though there is no prince kissing random sleeping princesses in this story it sounded like a “happily every after” story to me.

Farmer Joe was a peasant – the definition of an NPC. Instead of going through the motions, he faced the discomfort of taking in Maggie and faced the discomfort of confronting his wife—because it mattered to him.

After that church incident, I asked myself what mattered to me.

First, I didn’t want to be nondescript. I bought white shoes for the first time in my life and faced the discomfort of wearing them on a muddy, rainy day. I joined a gym but nobody had every told me that when you initially join a gym you will be less fit than even teenage girls who’d been training longer. I started a video podcast without knowing how to record or edit. I saved up and traveled to places I’d always wanted to see. Not completely happy but I was living like I wanted to and I was on the way out of the NPC life.

This past week I came across a perfect illustration of this idea. I was listening to an episode of the 20VC podcast featuring Peter Rahal, founder of RXBAR, who sold his protein bar company for $600 million. Early on, Rahal was tempted to take the NPC approach—making a PowerPoint to pitch to investors. He almost did exactly what everyone else in his city was doing.

But his father challenged him: “Shut up and try to sell 1,000 protein bars.” Rahal went back to PowerPoint to design labels, mixed protein bars recipes in his kitchen, and took samples to gyms for feedback. He freed himself by facing the discomfort of creating, selling, and building something real.

Something peculiar happens at certain stages of our lives—when we’re toddlers, teenagers, or around 40. We want to be free. People think we’re “acting up,” but in reality, we’re waking up. We realize we’re living a depressing Russian story. We see we’re NPCs, and we want out.

That realization can also happen at any moment in our lives. When it does, we can continue with that life and continue to find comfort in the familiar. Or we can choose to face the discomfort of creating a “happily ever after” story for ourselves. Like the founder of RXBAR’s father said, we can “shut up and just do it.” We can live the life we want. Like Joe from Arthur’s story, we can push through the discomfort to do what matters to us.

I’m not saying things will turn out perfect. My white shoes got ruined in the mud. I was humbled at the gym. My first podcast episodes were embarrassing. But by facing discomfort, you will begin to live a life you actually want and because of that you will have many moments of happiness. You will have found a way out of the NPC life and if you ask me that is living happily every after.