Mic Drop

Last night I performed at an open mic night, and told a story that went over very well. Everyone loved it, and I received many compliments and was told that it was the best story that had ever been told during said open mic nights. However, despite my calm nature when I finally took to the mic, I was terrified. My heart was beating so fast I thought it was going to suddenly stop from exhaustion. As the night went on, I only grew more nervous. Each performer was more impressive than the last, and I feared as though my story would be out of place and land upon ears that didn't want to hear the silly story that I had to tell. When I finally got up there, I achieved an inexplicable level of serenity and clear-mindedness. The story went off without a hitch, and everybody loved it. So what does this have to do with video games? I'm never afraid when playing video games.

Rarely is there a moment when my heart is pounding in my chest because I don't believe that I can do something. It's because in video games, I'm not actually there. I can die, and experiment with different strategies however many times that I want without anything to lose except time. There has never been any kind of threshold that I have struggled to cross because of my anxieties or fears. It is very difficult to capture this essence of fear. I've written before about how Zelda captures fear, but it isn't quite as intense as the fear that I experienced last night. Indeed, there is a fair amount of trepidation when entering into a dungeon in The Legend of Zelda, I do not wish to discredit or diminish that, but nothing that makes me feel as though I might fail.

What I felt last night was the fear that I might embarrass myself. That people would laugh, or look down upon me for telling a story that was intended to make people laugh, in a setting where people were bearing their soul through poetry. I felt out of place. These were amazingly talented people who have honed their craft, and continue to innovate and write something new. I was a newbie in a game of professionals. Yet, I came out of that open mic night a champion. I felt calm. I felt cool. I felt amazing. When I complete something in a video game, I'm left criticizing the end of a story arc. I analyze the characters and storytelling. I haven't really felt anything similar, except when I set a new high score in Star Fox 64.

Video games are an art form, and they should be treated as such. However, what sets them apart from other art forms, is that they seek to craft an experience. An experience that is similar to the one that I had last night. Something genuine. Something that that the players can look back upon and say that their life was changed, or that they had done something amazing. In that they had overcome something that they didn't think that they could have. I want more than tough boss battles. I want more than a good fire fight. I want more than to feel like a badass. I want to feel human. I want to feel afraid. I want to feel overwhelmed, until I can break through the ceiling of oppression and opposition and prove not only to them, but to myself that I can do this. That I DID do this. Because all I'm seeing, is a bunch of pixels dancing on a screen.