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Editor’s note: Rachel reflects on a question we’ve all asked ourselves, and isn’t so sure she likes the idea of games as escapism. -Demian
After years of occasionally wondering, I think I may have figured out why I game. The problem is, I hate one of my reasons.
Yesterday I took half of a day off from work to take my grandmother to the doctor. After undergoing several weeks of preventative chemo therapy she has come down with pneumonia. This is the second time I’ve taken her to the doctor in the past week.
When I arrive at her house I’m intentionally early. She has trouble getting out of the door quickly and I want to make sure we aren’t late. I do some chores for her, and to my delight, we leave the house on time.
We get into the car, and I try to pass the time by telling her cheerful stories about college. She doesn’t want to talk about that, though. Instead she wants to talk about how our city used to be. What the old Polish neighborhood was like. The glory days of the auto industry. How worse off everyone is now. I try to smile and nod, but my attempt at cheerfulness is weak and I know it.
No, all I could think about was getting home and playing Dragon Age: Origins. I wanted to immerse myself in something eons away from my reality. And I hated myself for it.
Last summer I was listening to Robert Ashley’s A Life Well Wasted podcast at work, the Why Game? episode. I work for my Dad, who owns a small loose-leaf binder factory, and that particular day I was collating a large index tab order. Basically, that means I was walking around a table all day.
Podcasts are usually how I get through long, boring projects like that, but that day Ashley’s podcast was so upsetting to me that I had to turn it off. He was interviewing game developers and asking them why they game. Most of the responses asserted that the reason games are fun is that they are better than reality. I hated hearing that. I didn’t want to think about it. I started listening to something else.
About a week later, I was again at work doing an even more mundane task, counting and bagging ball chains. Without my realizing it, Dad was standing next to me. When I noticed he was there I began to tell him how far along I was, but before I could say anything he started talking. He told me that sometimes what gets him through the day is remembering that the Detroit Tigers will be on TV that night.
I didn’t say anything and didn’t have to, because he was gone by the time I had processed what he said. Before he had come to talk to me I had been daydreaming about playing my newly purchased copy of Metal Gear Solid 4.
Is that what my life will be, then? Dealing with what’s difficult or painful by longing for the all-too-short moments when I engage in something that makes me forget? Can that really be why I spend so much time gaming?
Having said all of that, I believe that escapism is not the only reason why I game. I love games for what they are. Games can bring people together in ways different from any other form of media. As a child, games engaged my imagination. Today, games relax and entertain me. However, it’s true that when a crisis occurs in my life I game to block it out.
I can’t make up my mind as to whether or not this is a good thing. Can this really be a healthy escape mechanism? Or is gaming a legitimate way to release my tension for a little while? I can’t decide. And when I want to retreat to a game I feel guilty, for better or worse.