Thursday nights are “D&D” nights. This is the highlight of my week—starting at 7 PM, I get to become immersed in a fantasy world with my best friends. We battle monsters, save cities, and dangle between the definitions of heroes and villains.
Games have always had a huge role in my life, especially now that I have adult money. I own a silver plastic card that lets me justify my shopping addiction because I can watch my credit score skyrocket into the realm of badassery. I regularly subject my friends to game nights that consist of us learning one or two in the new stack and falling back on our favorites. Our current obsession is a board game called “Villainous”. Each player takes on the identity of one of the big bads in the Disneyverse, hoping to the worst of us all. The objective of this game is simple—complete your task before anyone can beat you and try your best to ruin it for your rivals.
I think my obsession with games started with my family. We are a competitive bunch, and for the grandkids—this manifested in obsessions with gold medals in sports, academia, and the desire to dominate our areas of interest. The latter two are my specialties. Grade reports became tokens of achievement, resume building—a Friday-evening enthrallment, and game night? An opportunity for greatness.
We are an “UNO” household with a mantra that is embarrassing to say outside of the dinner table, “Everybody loves a winner, that’s why I’m in love with me”. It’s safe to say that our confidence was built up over the years with mottos like that, but over time, this song became so much more than a silly saying—it’s a pedestal. The ultimate game of achieving perfection. This might seem awfully self-centered to other folks, but to us, it’s a reminder that winning is a mindset. Winning is our everything—it holds us together, not just as a family, but our own individual identities are heavily wrapped up in the world of chasing the next success. We are often too driven, too ambitious, too dramatic…always in excess.
One of my favorite table games to play is “Quirkle”. My grandma and I will pull out the small canvas bag with dozens of tiles of different colors and shapes to challenge each other after picking flowers in the garden or a random visit on a Tuesday. She always makes fun of me for keeping track of the score with tally marks, “I just don’t understand why you don’t add them up as you go…it’s easier to keep track of who’s ahead!”
I am pretty sure that grandma and I are making up the rules at this point.
If you are a closeted introvert like me, game night offers a safe and interesting escape. Even as the host of a sea of people for these events, I find that once the session begins—everything else hardly matters. We could be arguing over property in “Monopoly”, defeating the traitor in “Betrayal at the House on the Hill”, or getting our armies’ crushes in 1v1 duals for “Magic the Gathering”. The best thing about these get-togethers is the endless potential for enjoyment and imagination.
Over the past year, my significant other has slowly been turning me toward the dark side. The transition to video games has been a slow process. In my youth, I would beg my mom to let me borrow her computer after school to explore the virtual lands of “Pixie Hollow” or “Pet Park”. I have found that my game style has not changed with exposure to ‘newer’ virtual games. I still have the same objectives as ten-year-old me.
Run around in circles.
Collect all touchable items.
This has worked out in my favor for my introduction to “Stardew Valley”. I have yet to romance a single character in the game and have spent over 100 hours chopping trees, feeding ducks, and hiding behind my friends in the mines so they can fight the slimes while I grab all the shiny things. Now, here is the part where I should give myself more credit for helping, but more than once I have set off a bomb on myself in the mines and been sent home with a fat bill from Dr. Harvey.
I am just better at grabbing the cool stuff. “Animal Crossing” understands this about me. “Minecraft” does not, or at least it didn’t until I discovered creative mode.
Within the past two years, my assortment of games has crept in the 50+ range. I have learned the ways of “Catan”, cultivated the required luck for “Love Letters”, and beaten “Plague” on hard mode. I have found it much too easy to fall into despair with games like “Episode” where you have to pay for the best option. As if my competitive self has any control to not select the best option. I bought “Bitlife God Mode” so I could create perfect people and live out their lives. What does that say about me?
Everything in my life has been attached to games.
How many books can I read in a year? We’ve lost track.
How long can I hold my breath underwater? With practice, over a minute.
How many jobs can I fit in-between classes? You’ve had six at once.
How many days can I go without my cat reminding me I’m depressed? Zero. She smells it.
How many parties will I have before I realize I hate parties? You like the idea of parties.
How many games does it take to satiate our shopping addiction? You think this value is infinite.
How many times can you say I love you before bed? An extremely obnoxious amount.
How many times will you forget the rules and make up your own? It’s easier to win that way, and before you get mad—the entire “UNO” fandom collectively decided that draw 4’s are stackable and this was deemed against the rules by the game creators. We’re all cheaters.
Everything is countable. Every action can be spun into a new story for success. My therapist once told me that the first step to a better mindset is to reframe your thinking. Little does he know that I already do this in many areas of my life, an almost unhealthy amount. It becomes less complicated to excuse the behavior of loved ones and yourself if you become a negotiator of the finish line.
I have always set ridiculously high expectations of everyone around me. There is a small voice in the back of my head that reiterates the potential seen in others. This is nice for the part of me that wants to become a teacher, but it can be lethal in high doses. Even small successes at times can feel like failures. Another nice feature of games—in most of the ones that I play, the ability to win is easily available and out in front of you. It is attainable.
In “D&D”, if I want my character to develop in a new area, I can gain experience and take a level.
In “Quirkle”, if I want to strategize my last play, I can count and know grandma’s final hand.
In “Stardew Valley”, if I want to frolic around collecting resources—I can do so and still do well.
In “Plague”, if I infect the Icelandic port, I am a freaking unstoppable god virus.
In “UNO”, if the table agrees, I can stack draw fours.
I think everyone should have a game night. Now, I am not saying that you need to be obsessive about winning or anything along those lines. I believe these get-togethers hold a lot more power than people give them credit. Game nights are a time when we can come together to learn new stories and bond over something that is meant to encapsulate the essence of fun and friendly competition. Life should not be evaluated as a game, so don’t steal that from me—but please, give your loved ones a call. I am sure they would love to spend some time with you.
Teach your mom how to roll for initiative.
Teach your dad foils versus standards.
Teach your grandpa how to stack draws.
Teach your grandma how to count tiles.
Teach your best friend how to let go of reality.
Teach your love how to love you.