Every once and awhile, I play a game at the
exact time I need to play it. A time when it will have the largest affect
me because of where I am in life. It doesnât happen often, but when it does,
it becomes a part of who I am. It makes me see things in a different light. It happened when I played Shadow of the Colossus
as a freshman in college during a time when I so desperately wanted to hold onto the pastâto
hold on to being a kid, and the game showed me that while the past is important, holding
on too hard can be destructive. It happened when I played Journey near the
end of college during a time when I was getting ready to move away, and while I played, my
roomates came in and out of my room to join me as I scaled the mountain while other players
came in and out of my voyage to do the same, and it helped remind that even though people
wonât always be directly in my life, that doesnât make the time spent with them any
less meaningful. And most recently, it happened when I played
Outer Wilds last year during a time when I felt an immense need to figure everything
out about my life but kept coming up short. So let me tell you about it. Outer Wilds sets itself up as a where the
main purpose is to explore. That starts with the rustic village on Timberhearth,
then moves to the deep caves with zero gravity, and eventually opens up to the wide expanse
of space. But the main goal of Outer Wilds doesnât
really become clear until the sun implodes for the first time. After being enveloped by a hauntingly beautiful
supernova, memories of my journey flashed before my eyes, and I woke up where I started:
in front of a campfire, looking at the stars. everything seemed to be the same except for
the fact that now I had the knowledge of the day I just lived. Outer Wilds doesnât give much explicit direction. It lays a trail of breadcrumbs for players
to follow, but there is no objective that pops onto the screen saying what to do. It is all self-directed. And in that moment when I woke back in front
of the campfire, I knew what I needed to do: I needed to save the galaxy. If video games have taught me anything, it's
that no matter who you are, you have the power to bring about great change. If a plumber can save the galaxy, I can too. So I got back on my ship and flew off with
the simple ambition of stopping the sun from imploding. As it turns out though, saving the galaxy
is harder than it looks. The solar system of Outer Wilds has many places
to explore, dangers to overcome, and mysteries to work through. Every answer leads to more questions, and
it felt like the more I learned, the less I knew. Figuring everything out before running out
of time and being sent back to the start is impossible. Despite my best efforts, I couldnât save
the galaxy in just one day. And while at first this was a point of frustration,
eventually I found solace in it. Every time I met some sort of tragic demise
and woke up back in front of the campfire on Timberhearth, I told myself: Itâs okay,
you canât save the galaxy in a day. I wore these words like armor to deflect frustration. Whether it was from flying into the sun on
accident, or setting too many goals, causing me to not properly finish any of them before
running out of time or spending an entire cycle flying around aimlessly looking for
any sort of lead and not finding it, I told myself: itâs okay, you canât save the
galaxy in a day. It became my mantra, and anytime I felt discouraged,
Iâd lean on it. It helped me take a step back from the enormous
goal I had set for myself. And when I focused less on saving the galaxy
and more on just completing one thing at a time, I found myself engaging much more with
everything around me. Instead of trying to rush to the solution,
I was more willing to waste some time in order to appreciate the galaxy I was trying so hard
to save. One loop I followed a probe that ultimately
didnât lead me to any answers, but as I traveled into the middle of space, surrounded
by both everything and nothing, I felt like I was exactly where I needed to be. One loop I just stayed on Timberhearth and
explored every inch of the planet, just to appreciate its beauty. And on many loops, I found joy in singular tasks, knowing that even if I was only helping in small ways trying to do anything is what mattered most. Sometimes I wondered if I even could save the galaxy, but that didn't stop me. Each day, I woke up in front of the campfire
with new knowledge, and went off to slowly answer questions and learn something new. And it was around this point that I sat back
in my chair and thought, âwait. Why am I giving myself more grace in a video
game than I do in my actual life?â This past year has been a weird one for me. After working for a few years in what I thought
would be my lifelong career, I came to the realization that it was making me miserable,
so I went off to try something new. And that sounds like itâd be exciting, but
in reality, I spent more time worrying about what was next than anything else. I worried if my next job would make me happier
than my last. I worried if pursuing a new career would put
me even further behind in life than I already felt. I worried if what I did next would make enough
money so that when Iâm old and weak, I could stop worrying. And once things on YouTube started to take
form, I began worrying about that. I worried if it would be a sustainable source
of income, if people would like what I put out next, if the entire site would shut down
because of poor policy decisions. I constantly worried about the future, and
not just in how it related to my life. I worried about all of the problems we are
facing today and how they arenât being addressed quickly enough. I worried about what the world will look like
in 10 years. I worried about what the world will look like
in 30 years. I worried if there might not be a world in 50 years I worried about saving the galaxy. But you canât save the galaxy in a day,
and you definitely canât save the galaxy alone, and maybe you canât save the galaxy
at all. And thatâs okay. Itâs important to consider the future, itâs
important to try to make things better, but itâs also important to live in the present
instead of the future. Weâre here now, and that is worth something. Looking to the future often means looking
past today, and I found myself so caught up in what could happen that I didnât appreciate
all the things in my life that were happening. Before I had time to celebrate anything, my
mind was already on to the next thing. I so often feel like I hold the weight of
the galaxy on my shoulders. Sometimes it is the weight of my future, sometimes
it is the weight of the worldâs future. But it is too heavy to always hold, trying
to will only lead to me not wanting to save the galaxy at all. Playing Outer Wilds helped ground me in that. It reminded me that some days, I need to follow
paths that make me happy even if they get me nowhere, that some days I need to slow
down and admire the beauty of where Iâm from, that some days just trying is enough. And on the other end of it, its helped me
remember that there will be days where it feels like Iâm stopped before I even start,
where I set overly ambitious goals and am unable to get everything done, where I have
no idea what to do, so I do nothing. And thatâs okay. I wonât lie and say that since playing Outer
Wilds Iâve stopped putting the pressure of the future on my shoulders. I do. All the time. Itâs really hard not to. But now I at least am trying to disrupt that
pattern of thought. I sit back and remind myself that I canât save the galaxy
in a day. But I can look at the things I've accomplished
whether they be big or small, productive or relaxing, and I can bring them with me as I wake up and live in a new day
One of the most enjoyable, well-spoken content creators when it comes to games. Very much enjoyed this video, even if the message is a bit too floaty for me