How Sidelining My Dream MOC Reinvigorated My LEGO Passion

Today’s guest article is written by Joseph Zawada, an AFOL out of Maryland and community ambassador of Charm City LUG. You can find his work on Instagram as faron_moc.

How Sidelining My Dream MOC Reinvigorated My LEGO Passion

The excitement of starting a new LEGO MOC is an incredible feeling: drafting ideas, referencing cool techniques you’ve screenshotted over the years, dumping pieces out of your part bins to tinker with. You’re excited to build something truly amazing. But sometimes you get a few days in, maybe a week or so, and you feel something might be wrong. The build isn’t clicking. You’re frustrated. You’re not having fun, but you keep going because hey, you already started, right? With any luck, you push through it and come out the other end with something wonderful to share, maybe you set it in the bin of table scraps to revisit later, or perhaps you realize this project isn’t for you and you abandon it for something better. All acceptable options.

When I first joined the AFOL hobby back in 2012, I fancied myself a castle builder. I would mainly build based on my favorite video game at the time, The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess. From the onset of my involvement in the hobby, I wanted to build grand things. I worked alongside an incredibly talented builder, Sean, to build a massive model of Hyrule Castle based on its form in Twilight Princess. It was an ambitious endeavor I couldn’t have hoped to accomplish on my own, and one I never foresaw needing to outdo.

The MOC was a challenge. A labor of love for over two years. There were discouraging times when the scope had to be reduced or when a technique I intended to use was far too expensive. I absolutely had moments where I was about to give up. But there were also times of great joy; overcoming a tricky bit of engineering or coming up with fun easter eggs to tuck into the build. The pride and joy I felt from realizing my goal was enough to push through the times of uncertainty.

A New Challenge Has Appeared

In 2017, a new Zelda game was released, Breath of the Wild, and with it came an even bigger, more beautiful Hyrule Castle. I had decided that THIS was going to be my new greatest LEGO creation. It would dwarf my previous Hyrule Castle in both scale and level of detail. It would be the best build I could ever muster.

At the heart of my project was the desire to create something truly extraordinary, my magnum opus. I wanted to build something at an immense scale without compromising detail, something that took into consideration every critique imaginable; a build without flaw. At its inception, I was optimistic about this exciting new challenge, but the castle build swiftly turned to an increasingly daunting task. Each time I sat down to build, the joy my hobby once brought me was overshadowed by overwhelming pressure to complete this castle perfectly.

I found this pressure was compounded by the self-determined scale of the project—nearly 100 square feet of elaborate, faithful recreation of castle walls, cliffsides, waterfalls, and intricate stonework. I did what I thought was most sensible and many would advise: break down the task into manageable goals. But I found that, over time, the complexity only deepened. Every detail, no matter how minute, became critical; every door I built and wall panel I created became agonizing. Despite the idea that “the sum is greater than the parts,” I found myself asking, what happens when what I’m adding up is only mediocre? How great could the sum of all this ever really be? What started as a passion project became an obligation, a task that loomed over me rather than a being a source of joy.

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Seeing the joy waning fast, I decided to put the castle on the backburner, instead focusing on being the ambassador of my LUG and working on creating smaller MOCs. The castle sat unfinished, taking up frankly far too much space in my house for six years. It occupied far too much space in my mind, too; it was never really on the back burner, I just wasn’t looking as I let it boil over. I felt guilty working on other projects and embarrassed every time I did not have sufficient progress to share with AFOLs who knew about the project.

The Weight of Time and Resources

In addition to the emotional pressure, the practical realities of undertaking a dream LEGO MOC can contribute to the decision to step back. The time required to complete a large, detailed build is considerable. What might start as a few weekends devoted to your effort gradually morphs into months of intermittent work (for me, half a decade). Life’s demands, work, family, social commitments, and the “non-productive” enjoyment of the LEGO hobby all compete for your attention, and the time you set aside for your project becomes harder to sustain.

Moreover, there’s the issue of resources: finding the right bricks and having to source them in massive quantities to finish a design can be a costly endeavor. This is not even considering the physical space required to build and store such a thing! What was once an exciting prospect can quickly turn into an overwhelming logistical challenge.

All these factors—money, space, and time—combine to create a situation where, despite your best intentions, your project no longer aligns with the reality of your life. And yet, the MOC continues to sit unfinished, staring back at you with a sense of unfulfilled potential. For me, this created a growing sense of guilt and shame. I was witnessing myself failing at something I had started with such enthusiasm.

In The Words of Cathy Hay, “It’s About the Trudging”

Let’s deviate a bit to talk about historical costuming. While not something I participate in, it does have some similarities to the LEGO hobby. I often use videos on the subject as “easy viewing”—something to listen to while I sit idly staring at my Studio screen, waiting for brilliance to happen. As the YouTube algorithm took me from suggested video to suggested video, I eventually found myself listening to a video that caught my attention, “How to Finish What You Start Every Time - For Sewing Projects, Embroidery Projects, Craft Projects.”

Historical dressmaker Cathy Hay is well known in the field and is particularly well known for a decades-long effort to recreate an incredibly ornate (albeit controversial) dress, The Peacock Dress.

I was in awe of Cathy’s willingness to spend years working on recreating a single garment. She spoke about so many of the things I struggled with in my own hobby: the monotony of trudging along, managing expectations, accepting necessary concessions, etc. I really hoped the messages in the video would get me out of my rut, but when it came to my castle project, the sentiments didn’t stick, and I couldn’t find out why. It frustrated me that what made sense on paper and worked for Cathy and many others never proved beneficial to me!

After maybe a year or so, I rewatched some of Cathy’s content, and it came to me where she and I differed—why she enjoyed “the trudge” of working towards loft goals and why I didn’t. Cathy still enjoyed the costuming hobby as a whole. She didn’t see time spent on other projects as time wasted. Cathy had come to terms with the fact that good things are worth waiting for—the peacock dress was a lofty goal worth trudging forward for. I, however, had let my obsession with one MOC ruin LEGO for me. It was no longer a hobby I engaged in for joy, but instead only out of self-inflicted obligation. And that’s when the light bulb went off. I didn’t want to build Hyrule Castle anymore, I just thought I HAD to.

I took a week or two to ruminate on whether abandoning this project was what I really wanted to do. And when I made the choice, it was so much easier than I could have imagined. By cleaning off the build tables and archiving the hundreds of screenshots I had taken, I was having more fun putting the build to rest than I ever did working on it. I had committed to giving up something I had previously cared deeply about.

Stepping Back, Moving Forward

After many years, my castle was little more than four doors and a handful of pillars. My dream project, the one that had lingered in my mind for so long, no longer brought the joy and excitement I had once had. Instead, it became a source of stress, frustration, and guilt. I knew the idea that once motivated me was now weighing me down, but it took me quite a while to decide to let it go.

I do not see this as a personal failure, but a great personal success. I took a big step in a better understanding of how to sustain my passion for LEGO in a manner that is fulfilling. I learned that sometimes the act of relinquishing a dream project can be the most profound step we take toward enjoying the hobby as a whole.

Admittedly, my build output still isn’t where I want it to be; I find my build inspirations lend themselves to longer-term builds. However, I am able to enjoy other elements of the hobby more freely, such as LUG meetings, AFOL conventions, and online discourse. I’m able to see others’ impressive feats of building without fixating on my own shortcomings. It is a very freeing feeling that I wish I hadn’t delayed seeking out.

Reprioritizing Joy

My giant castle endeavor had sapped nearly every ounce of joy out of the LEGO hobby for me. Every convention was a reminder that I missed a deadline. The scant MOCs I built felt like wasted time I could have spent working towards greater endeavors. I had concentrated my value of the hobby on one build rather than everything the AFOL community and LEGO building can offer.

The purpose of any hobby is to give you something to do simply because you enjoy doing it. It’s about joy, self-expression, personal fulfillment, and within reason, a healthy challenge. Be wary of the need for your hobby to feel productive, profitable, or even useful. Rather than pushing ourselves to complete a MOC simply because we started it, we can return to LEGO bricks’ roots as a form of play and fun. We can allow ourselves to indulge in builds that are satisfying, enjoyable, and less taxing. In doing so, we keep the spirit of creativity alive and make building a joyful escape rather than a burden.

If you find that your dream LEGO project is no longer fulfilling, it’s okay to step away or set it aside for later. Letting go of something that no longer brings joy is by no means a failure. Rather, it’s an opportunity to refocus and rediscover the reasons you fell in love with the hobby in the first place. LEGO is meant to be enjoyed, and sometimes the best way to enjoy it is by returning to the simple pleasure of creating.

BrickNerd contributor Kate Harvey is on a similar journey to rekindle joy in the LEGO hobby, sharing how focusing on the community can reignite the “spark.”

Have you ever given up on a MOC for your mental health? Let us know in the comments below!

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