havoc00
Member
Lately, the world feels pretty bleak.
I spend a lot of energy these days just telling myself that, in many ways, this is the best the collective human race has ever had it. I try my hardest to muster up some semblance of gratitude, for self-preservation if nothing else. People who are far wiser and more well-adjusted than myself will tell you that being buried in overwhelming dread is exactly what the powers that be want; that maintaining a sense of joy is vital during times like these. In my experience, they're absolutely right. As such, I've tried my hardest to remain uncompromising when it comes to living a life still sprinkled with joy--after all, who would be inclined to live and fight for misery?
I try to spend as much time as possible around loved ones and touch plenty of grass, but admittedly, an element in my attempts to enjoy life and process all of this has been video games. This probably isn't a surprising or novel claim. If you're reading this, there's a good chance you're a gamer and are very familiar with the healing power and delightful escapism associated with games. Recently, Reuters published a study regarding the positive impact that cozy games such as Animal Crossing or Stardew Valley can have on mental health. According to the study, there is essentially "no statistically significant difference between playing a video game and engaging in meditation." I love this fact, mostly because it makes me feel a bit less guilty when my husband catches me playing Fields of Mistria at 11 o'clock at night.
But while I have found myself gravitating towards games like Fields of Mistria and Hello Kitty Island Adventure in my spare time--both of which are incredibly fun, free of oligarchs, and adorable--these sweet adventures offering a detour from reality aren't always what I turn to. And though they're certainly relaxing, they're also not the games making the largest positive impact on my mental health, either.
What I long for more than anything these days are tales of resistance; stories in which scrappy underdogs take on forces far larger than themselves. They're seldom fearless--no sensible person is, video game character or not--but that fear doesn't hinder them from doing the ethical thing. To invoke a Mr. Rogers quote I've always found charming, I suppose that even when it comes to video games, I'm "looking for the helpers."
This isn't a new phenomenon for me. When conversations turn to what "radicalized" me, to use the beloved meme template, I can vaguely pinpoint the moment many of my core beliefs and values began to form--it was Final Fantasy VII during the moment when Barrett Wallace began shooting at the heap of metal and concrete Shinra buried his home, friends, and, presumably, his young daughter Marlene beneath. "What's it all for?" he screams, his body heaving from both grief and the recoil of his bullets. Lately, I find myself asking the same question, over and over and over again. "What's it all for?"
Barrett's cry is more than relatable, though--it's cathartic. Through the entirety of Final Fantasy VII, he serves as a beacon of love, bravery, and self-sacrifice. Barrett would lay down his life if doing so would better the lives of perfect strangers; he would fight ceaselessly, and savor the struggle, if it meant his daughter would never have to. He's the type of person I desperately want to believe exists, not just as a singular being, but as an inherent part of all of us. Barrett Wallace is a "helper."
I suspect this is in part why Metaphor: ReFantazio resonated so deeply with me last year, too. Throughout its entirety, as it delves headlong into topics such as prejudice, poverty, cycles of violence, anxiety, and religion, Metaphor repeatedly emphasizes the importance of caring for those around you and striving to be a just and empathetic person--a "helper," if you will. Its metanarrative then takes this one step further by boldly proclaiming that works like Metaphor--works that are earnest, honest, and above all else, hopeful--are far more than entertainment; they're vast wells of inspiration that exist in part to create even more helpers.
Stories, whether constructed by one person or a whole studio of people, contain our hopes, fears, dreams, experiences, and beliefs. They are the closest we can come to making the intangible, tangible--to sharing our internal worlds with one another in hopes of establishing resonance. And though not all works are intended to inspire, all works can, and thus the act of creating is one that can be immensely powerful. In Metaphor, I found a game that believes all of this as strongly as I do. Long after finishing the game, its hopefulness and reassurance continues to cloak me. And part of the reason it does is because I firmly believe it must cloak other people, too.
Of course some of Atlus' other titles, namely the Persona series, also encourage perseverance, kindness, and rising against oppression and cruelty. I'd be remiss not to mention how Persona 5 is a game all about taking on those who abuse power, even when that means standing up to dangerous people, the status quo, government institutions, and forces that make you feel small.
I also think about the time I spent playing the Mass Effect trilogy, and how Shepherd's willingness to help divided communities reconcile, right past wrongs, and lay down their life repeatedly inspires resistance, bravery, and compassion. Sure, you don't have to play Shepherd that way, and there are some aspects of all of this the game doesn't quite get right, if we're being honest. But at its core, Mass Effect offers a power fantasy in which a large part of said fantasy is you having the power to change the entire galaxy for the better. Getting to make out with number one video game boyfriend Garrus is just a nice perk--though I'd argue it does reinforce the importance of holding on to those you have and finding joy even in dire circumstances.
www.gamespot.com
I spend a lot of energy these days just telling myself that, in many ways, this is the best the collective human race has ever had it. I try my hardest to muster up some semblance of gratitude, for self-preservation if nothing else. People who are far wiser and more well-adjusted than myself will tell you that being buried in overwhelming dread is exactly what the powers that be want; that maintaining a sense of joy is vital during times like these. In my experience, they're absolutely right. As such, I've tried my hardest to remain uncompromising when it comes to living a life still sprinkled with joy--after all, who would be inclined to live and fight for misery?
I try to spend as much time as possible around loved ones and touch plenty of grass, but admittedly, an element in my attempts to enjoy life and process all of this has been video games. This probably isn't a surprising or novel claim. If you're reading this, there's a good chance you're a gamer and are very familiar with the healing power and delightful escapism associated with games. Recently, Reuters published a study regarding the positive impact that cozy games such as Animal Crossing or Stardew Valley can have on mental health. According to the study, there is essentially "no statistically significant difference between playing a video game and engaging in meditation." I love this fact, mostly because it makes me feel a bit less guilty when my husband catches me playing Fields of Mistria at 11 o'clock at night.
But while I have found myself gravitating towards games like Fields of Mistria and Hello Kitty Island Adventure in my spare time--both of which are incredibly fun, free of oligarchs, and adorable--these sweet adventures offering a detour from reality aren't always what I turn to. And though they're certainly relaxing, they're also not the games making the largest positive impact on my mental health, either.
What I long for more than anything these days are tales of resistance; stories in which scrappy underdogs take on forces far larger than themselves. They're seldom fearless--no sensible person is, video game character or not--but that fear doesn't hinder them from doing the ethical thing. To invoke a Mr. Rogers quote I've always found charming, I suppose that even when it comes to video games, I'm "looking for the helpers."
This isn't a new phenomenon for me. When conversations turn to what "radicalized" me, to use the beloved meme template, I can vaguely pinpoint the moment many of my core beliefs and values began to form--it was Final Fantasy VII during the moment when Barrett Wallace began shooting at the heap of metal and concrete Shinra buried his home, friends, and, presumably, his young daughter Marlene beneath. "What's it all for?" he screams, his body heaving from both grief and the recoil of his bullets. Lately, I find myself asking the same question, over and over and over again. "What's it all for?"
Barrett's cry is more than relatable, though--it's cathartic. Through the entirety of Final Fantasy VII, he serves as a beacon of love, bravery, and self-sacrifice. Barrett would lay down his life if doing so would better the lives of perfect strangers; he would fight ceaselessly, and savor the struggle, if it meant his daughter would never have to. He's the type of person I desperately want to believe exists, not just as a singular being, but as an inherent part of all of us. Barrett Wallace is a "helper."
I suspect this is in part why Metaphor: ReFantazio resonated so deeply with me last year, too. Throughout its entirety, as it delves headlong into topics such as prejudice, poverty, cycles of violence, anxiety, and religion, Metaphor repeatedly emphasizes the importance of caring for those around you and striving to be a just and empathetic person--a "helper," if you will. Its metanarrative then takes this one step further by boldly proclaiming that works like Metaphor--works that are earnest, honest, and above all else, hopeful--are far more than entertainment; they're vast wells of inspiration that exist in part to create even more helpers.
Stories, whether constructed by one person or a whole studio of people, contain our hopes, fears, dreams, experiences, and beliefs. They are the closest we can come to making the intangible, tangible--to sharing our internal worlds with one another in hopes of establishing resonance. And though not all works are intended to inspire, all works can, and thus the act of creating is one that can be immensely powerful. In Metaphor, I found a game that believes all of this as strongly as I do. Long after finishing the game, its hopefulness and reassurance continues to cloak me. And part of the reason it does is because I firmly believe it must cloak other people, too.
Of course some of Atlus' other titles, namely the Persona series, also encourage perseverance, kindness, and rising against oppression and cruelty. I'd be remiss not to mention how Persona 5 is a game all about taking on those who abuse power, even when that means standing up to dangerous people, the status quo, government institutions, and forces that make you feel small.
I also think about the time I spent playing the Mass Effect trilogy, and how Shepherd's willingness to help divided communities reconcile, right past wrongs, and lay down their life repeatedly inspires resistance, bravery, and compassion. Sure, you don't have to play Shepherd that way, and there are some aspects of all of this the game doesn't quite get right, if we're being honest. But at its core, Mass Effect offers a power fantasy in which a large part of said fantasy is you having the power to change the entire galaxy for the better. Getting to make out with number one video game boyfriend Garrus is just a nice perk--though I'd argue it does reinforce the importance of holding on to those you have and finding joy even in dire circumstances.
Everything Sucks, But Video Games Help Me Process It
As much as the world needs games that make us feel secure and cozy, I believe we need games that encourage and empower us, too.
www.gamespot.com
I love getting out, watching the URC, going on nearby hikes and being in nature, being lucky enough to go on game drives, visiting local events and live music, even though I'm shit at it I've joined a golf society and we have monthly games and it's great hanging out and meeting new people.
