“Do what you love, and love what you do” –Some Random Guy Whose
Name I Forget (or never knew in the first place)
It took 20 years for me
to hit my breaking point, but I’m fed up. Tired. Exhausted. I don’t want to live
in fear anymore. I’m sick of doing the things I love under the cover of
darkness and secrecy. I realize now that I want a career in an industry I care
about. I want—no, I need—to have a job doing something that I love. It’s not
money that drives me, nor am I motivated by what I studied in high school or college.
No, what I love most are games.
I’ve been a gamer all my
life. Video, card, board—you name it. I’ve collected more types of cards than I
can count, solved more mysteries than I’d ever imagined, and owned more video games than I can remember. But I’ll always remember
the first time I played any game—digital or paper.
My first introduction to
games was through my mother. She was the school nurse for a private school in
Manhattan, and due to her position and location in the school, a lot of kids
would hang out in her office—usually because she was awesome person to be
around (or it could have been because kids didn’t want to go to class and feigned
sickness, but I like to believe it was a little bit of both). One day, some unknown
student left his Sega Game Gear in her office. My mom, not knowing who it was
that left it, kept it in her possession for a month and waited for someone to
claim it. After that month was over, no one came in asking about a missing game
system, so she decided that she would just give it to me.
Several hours of Shinobi (and a ton of double A batteries) later, and my
fate was sealed. There was no turning back—I was hooked.
Perhaps the best gift I’ve ever received. |
My soon-to-follow gaming
addiction overwhelmed my free time, along with my finances. Eventually, my
parents grew unwilling to completely support my hobby and decided that I needed
to get a job. So off I went to find work that paid well for someone with my
skill-set (read: age 13, no former work experience). After some brief searching
on various different job boards around the school (we didn’t have Craigslist or
Monster back then), I stumbled across several child care gigs.
Since I lacked 'real world' experience (as in,
office positions, cashier experience, and the like), most of my jobs in high
school involved working with children. Not so much the tough parts of it; more
like the run, play, and stuff them full of candy before sending them back to
their parents or guardians sort of stuff. After hours and hours of just spending time
with children and watching them (because that doesn’t sound creepy in any way, shape or form) I
realized what we have in common—we both like the same stuff. I’m a fan of a lot
of “childish” things, though the reason I like these things is because they are
complex entities dressed up in mystical or mysterious packages. Also, sometimes
they’re just really adorable. I can understand other stuff, like finance, or economics,
or math; in fact, I majored in all three in college. But I’m not really
passionate about them—they’re just something I happened to fall into.
Have you ever watched Avatar? No, not
the really awesome movie, and not the really shitty movie—the kids’ television show. Well, that’s really a misnomer…I don’t think it’s just a “kids” show. It’s for everyone
that appreciates what it’s trying to convey. In the case of this cartoon show
(because it’s not an anime, those
are made in Japan by definition), the message is about doing the right thing
despite hardship—a moral lesson we can take to heart. It just so happens that
the moral lesson is dressed up in explosions, flying yaks and a few quirky
characters.
C’mon, how can you not love this? His name is Appa! |
And that’s what I really enjoy about
things like video games, anime and the like—they have a message and a story,
and I just so happen to love the medium in which those stories and messages are
conveyed. In the case of games particularly, you even get to interact with the
story…almost like you create it because of your actions. That’s an incredible
feeling.
Now publicly admitting one likes fantasy,
or sci-fi, or similar genres is…difficult (at least, for me). For some reason,
these genres are viewed as childish or geeky by the populous at large. There’s
a stigma that exists associated with anime, games, and fantasy in general. When
you admit to a random stranger that you have a vast
collection of paper cards with pictures of dragons and demons on them that you
use to battle other strangers who have similar objects in their possession, sometimes you get weird glances. I figured that I
wouldn’t be able to have a career in any of these things when I grew up because
I wouldn’t be able to admit to strangers I liked them—it would be a secret
reserved for my friends and family.
Just one of the random people I’ll meet at a Magic: the Gathering tournament. Yes, I play in those. Yes, he’s a wizard. |
Today, just typing the last sentence of
that paragraph makes me feel like a complete idiot. Reading it over again
confirms that feeling. How come I cared so much about what people think of my
hobbies? No, not hobbies…that’s not a strong enough word. The word I’m looking
for is passions. I am passionate about games, anime and the
like. When I played Braid, I wanted to stand up
on a rooftop and shout “Jonathan Blow is a genius” until my lungs bled. After
watching Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood, I nearly cried at its beauty and incredibleness. And
Magic: the Gathering has given me more friends than I can count.
So why didn’t I go on the roof and
scream till I lost my voice? Or tattoo a Pokemon character on my forehead?
Well, I’d like to say it’s because I’m not a crazy person, but I don’t think
that’s actually true. It’s probably because I’m afraid of heights. Or needles.
Or more realistically, it’s because I’m afraid of judgment.
Let me tell you a story—one that will
show you the stigma I felt first hand. Back in middle school, I used to go to a
summer camp in Rockland. It was a day
camp, but sometimes we’d go on trips and stay overnight in places. One of these
places was Mexico, and we got to stay there for an entire week (yea, that camp was pretty awesome). While the trips were really
nice, and the friends I made were really cool, everything wasn’t sunshine and
cupcakes.
If only life were like this every day. |
You see, we had a program director that
wasn’t the…nicest of people. She did her job, and she did it well, but she
didn’t have a lot of tact. Or maybe compassion. One of those. Anyway, one
random day we were playing Magic in the camp common room. She comes over and
sees us playing, and the following dialogue occurs:
Director: snicker “Hey, that seems kinda neat—what’s that game?”
Us: “Oh, it’s called Magic. You use
dragons and demons and other monsters to fight your opponent.”
Director: audibly chuckling “That’s kinda cool…so I guess that makes you guys
the ‘Magic Men’ huh?”
Us: “I guess so…? All we do is just play
the things we love.”
Director: as loud as possible, so the
entire camp hears “OK, whatever, see ya later Magic Men!”
Us: glare
silently; slouch visibly; as ‘cool kids’ point, laugh and judge.
Note that the above story might be a little bit of hyperbole and is subject
to my bitter, skewed sense of reality.
Now we were already kinda nerdy, but we
didn’t care—we were doing what we loved, and naturally, we enjoyed it. But she
gave us a name, a label, an identity, and then assigned a negative connotation
to that identity immediately—and so did everyone else. It wasn’t the identity
that segregated us to the social pariah zone—our actions put us there long
before we had a name. But she made it tangible. She portrayed that it was
appropriate to mentally partition a group of people into a place with a label.
After she did that, we had next to no shot of getting out of that zone, and for
the next several years, we were known as “the Magic Men.”
I’d like to say that it was an isolated
incident; that something like that happened once, and only once. I can’t say
that. Even now, today, when I tell someone I meet that I love things like
Magic: the Gathering or Pokemon, I get looks. The difference is I’ve just
stopped caring.
This isn’t the story of why I love what
I love. Rather, this is the story of what’s been holding me back from following
my dreams—a wall of my own doing, a perception based on the belief that what
people think matters to someone’s happiness. In a sense, it does—especially if
you value your happiness based on what people think of you. People in media
have this problem. Your level of popularity matters, definitely, if you’re a
singer, a movie star, a politician, or a bunch of other things. What’s changed
in me is not the desire to impress, but rather the type of people I’m trying to
impress.
I’m tired of trying to fit in with a
crowd I don’t belong with. I’m tired of being worried if I’m judged for what I
believe in. Honestly, it doesn’t matter what I believe in to anyone but myself
and my closest friends. If you’re reading this, what I believe in probably
matters to you, too. If it doesn’t, then that’s fine as well.
After all this—the admonitions that I
love “childish” things, the allusions to my personal experiences with people
forming opinions about me without actually knowing me, and acknowledging to
myself the desire I have to be a part of something I love, you’ve basically got
two options. Either you can judge me for the fact that I play with paper
pictures of dragons and demons and be on your merry way, or you can accept that
fact and play them with me.
You know where
you can find me either way.