It all started out innocently enough. You experimented with it once or twice in
your first year of college, but Nano and Pico were easier—closer to what you
had already been using during high school on the Windows machines and Macs. But
as time went on and you got more experience under your belt in the
college-level computer science courses, you started to notice something: All of
the really great programmers—the kind who churned out 4 line solutions for an
assignment that took you 10 pages of code to complete; the kind who produced
ridiculously over-featured class projects in a day while you struggled with
just the basics for weeks—none of them used Nano or Pico.

Staying late one night to finish an assignment that was due at midnight, you
happened to catch a glimpse over one of the quiet uber-programmer's shoulders.
Your eyes twinkled from the glow of rows upon rows of monitors in the darkened
computer lab as you witnessed in awe the impossible patterns of code and text
manipulation that flashed across the screen.

"How did you do that?" you asked, incredulous.

The pithy, monosyllabic answer uttered in response changed your life forever:
"Vim."

At first you were frustrated a lot, and far less productive. Your browser
history was essentially a full index to the online Vim documentation; your Nano
and Pico-using friends thought you were insane; your Emacs using friends begged
you to change your mind; you paid actual money for a laminated copy of a Vim
cheat sheet for easy reference. Even after weeks of training, you still kept
reaching for your mouse out of habit, then stopped with the realization that
you'll have to hit the web yet again to learn the proper way to perform some
mundane task that you never even had to think about before.

But as time went on, you struggled less and less. You aren't sure when it
happened, but Vim stopped being a hindrance. Instead, it become something
greater than you had anticipated. It wasn't a mere text editor with keyboard
shortcuts anymore—it had become an extension of your body. Nay, an extension of
your very essence as a programmer.

Editing source code alone now seemed an insufficient usage of Vim. You
installed it on all of your machines at home and used it to write everything
from emails to English papers. You installed a portable version along with a
fine-tuned personalized .vimrc file onto a flash drive so that you could have
Vim with you everywhere you went, keeping you company, comforting you, making
you feel like you had a little piece of home in your pocket no matter where you
were.

Vim entered every part of your online life. Unhappy with the meager offerings
of ViewSourceWith, you quickly graduated to Vimperator, and then again to
Pentadactyl. You used to just surf the web. Now you are the web. When you
decided to write an iPhone application, the first thing you did was change
XCode's default editor to MacVim. When you got a job working with .NET code,
you immediately purchased a copy of ViEmu for Visual Studio (not satisfied with
the offerings of its free cousin, VsVim).

Late one night, as you slaved away over your keyboard at your cubicle, working
diligently to complete a project that was due the next morning, you laughed to
yourself because you knew no ordinary programmer could complete the task at
hand before the deadline. You recorded macros, you moved entire blocks of code
with the flick of a finger, you filled dozens of registers, and you rewrote and
refactored entire components without even glancing at your mouse. That's when
you noticed the reflection in your monitor. A wide-eyed coworker looking over
your shoulder. You paused briefly, to let him know that you were aware of his
presence.

"How did you do that?" he asked, his voice filled with awe.

You smile, and prepare to utter the single word that changed your life. The
word that, should your colleague choose to pursue it, will lead him down the
same rabbit hole to a universe filled with infinite combinations of infinite
possibilities to produce a form of hyper-efficiency previously attainable only
in his wildest of dreams. He reminds you of yourself, standing in that darkened
computer lab all those years ago, and you feel a tinge of excitement for him as
you form the word.

"Vim."

:wq

source: https://rudism.com/vim-creep/