When you're new to fly fishing your view of the sport is largely shaped by what you know and you generally don't know shit. At best you have some idealized view of what it's all about because you watched "The Movie", read Hemingway's Metaphor for War or because you saw some guy do it and now you're a dry fly purist too. Even after a couple of outings, you still don't know anything but are convinced that your way is good enough.
When you're first introduced to the dark arts you shudder, give a wave of the hand and move on trying not to retch.
Nymphing. You don't want to do it but you must fish and when the trout aren't looking up you can either practice casting or man up and get it done. So you slip a bit of fuzz on the leader and chuck line. Nymphing is the gateway drug to the underworld. The leap from a Catskill dry to a Prince Nymph may be great, but the slide from there to Wooley Buggers and articulated junk is a small one. Then you learn about sink tips and sinking lines and soon you're fishing everything from sipping trout in thin-water to raging flood with five hundred grains cutting through a vicious cross wind.