Rear-view Reflection

I went to lunch with my longtime friend Alan today. He got me thinking a little bit about my eleven-plus year video game career. For many months I have been quite focused on the future, yet now is also a rare opportunity for reflection while that game career still lingers prominently in my rear-view.

For a few posts, I think I'll talk about my career with games: my start, my rise, my disenchantment, and my exit.

It seems that in our youth we identify with a few things that give us a feeling of uniqueness, whether it be the music we listen to, the teams we like, or even our favorite subjects in school. Often one of those things rises above the others and becomes our passion--our identity. When I was just a game-player (i.e., pre-designer), games were my passion--my best friends loved movies (now directors), some loved music, and a few even liked sports. I loved games. I felt like I was part of an elite minority, and I was quite satisfied, proud even, with that status. Video games as a pastime really started in my generation, and thanks to my Dad buying an Intellivision and a Commodore 64, I was hooked early on.

When I started, I was a lot like the cardboard robot in this video: endless passion, but not much know-how. I couldn't be told "no". I loved grinding away, eager to show the world that I could do it better than anyone else.