I played a handful of excellent games over the last week. I’ve been working hard at a few major projects exterior to my jobs and writing, and I needed to dive into a cardboard wonderland to stop being so insufferably grouchy.
These last few weeks have been some of the most productive of my life, but with that comes a staunch neglect of the things I love. I haven’t been writing as much as I’d like and other routines are starting to slip. It’s so important to force yourself to be with yourself in an intentional way. You can’t—I can’t—just throw your hands up and say your entire life is working hard and sleeping.
I kicked off my gaming marathon with Everdell Duo, which is a 1-2 player reimplementation of the classic Everdell system. In the solo game, little squirrels block spaces as you assume the role of two mayors trying to build a town made up of critters and construction cards. The mayors are a tortoise and a hare. The whole thing is adorable, but the actual gameplay is very tight! I played on the easiest difficulty and the amount of tension I experienced was both unexpected and welcome. This is a game where every single move matters, and you will remember a turn at the beginning as your approach the end of the game and realize you played sub-optimally. Everdell Duo is persistent agony.
The game takes about 30 minutes. I’ve found myself gravitating towards these snappier games despite being a big-box-lifer. There is nothing like sitting down to burn your brain away for three-plus hours, but when you’re already doing that all day at work, then also doing that in your personal life, you—me—run out of fuel for a massive game. And if you—me—have trouble even getting started with a big game, sometimes the decision is applied to all games. But you—me—should not be excluded from the things you love just because you’re tired. Shorter games offer flexibility and still provide the joy of taking time for yourself.
After Everdell Duo, I set up my beloved Nusfjord, a classic Uwe Rosenberg game about fishing and building up a quaint village. The main meeples are shaped like fish. I like cute things, what can I say! This is another quick-playing game that is very tight and leaves you gritting your teeth as you try and do math between fish, wood, cardboard money, worker placement spaces, and your own sanity. I’m always one turn away from doing something really great, but in the end, that’s games and it’s wonderful to play at all.
I’m actually not very good at these types of games—euro games—but I do enjoy a spreadsheet simulator coated in fishing village paint. Hobby gaming is the only thing I don’t take deathly seriously. Being just so-so at most board games helps me with my lifelong goal of letting go and giving up. I’m always okay with losing in games, while I have no patience for myself in my creative pursuits. An imprecise sentence still gives me hives; I’m still learning to let the draft be the draft.
I’m skilled at forgetting to have fun. When I get up at 5AM and start writing, there’s usually a moment when I spin away from my desk and proverbially shake myself until I fashion a smile to my face. I get to write; I have to get over myself. With games, I’ve long accepted I will not be a 0.01% player of anything and instead embrace the joy of doing. Gaming is like life: the living is the living. Writing adds a beautiful richness to my every day, but when you do something for work, it changes the scope. So while the writing is the living, and the truisms are pouring out of me, I am also someone with a propensity to be crushed under her own ambition. Gaming teaches me to lighten up.
We ended the week playing Leviathan Wilds, a co-op game where you and your buddies climb giant beasts besot with corruption crystals. You scale these monsters, punch the corruption, and try not to fall down and die. It’s a gorgeous production and a really fun mobility system. The game feels elastic as you climb these creatures and drill down to make every action point count for your turn and prepare for the monster’s activation. Leviathan Wilds rewards adapting, and is rife with those moments where your deck hums and your turns sing.
Co-op gaming is one of the greatest joys in my life and my marriage. Everything in life comes down to communication and collaboration, and co-op gaming is a great space to learn how to hear another person without any real-world consequences. I have this theory that no one knows how to listen and we are all just picking up every third word and doing our best. In a co-op game, the number of variables is reduced, you can actually hear and understand what your companions are saying.
When my wife needed to punch a pale blue crystal, I saw she was going to trigger her own death, and immediately played a card to keep her safe. If only regular life was so bang-bang in terms of solving problems. We did save the giant turtle from his corruption problem, high-fived, and packed up the game feeling a buzz of doing good work together. So, maybe my life is working hard and sleeping, but with some cardboard and plastic chits mixed in.
That’s all from me today. I’m trying to be more focused with how I spend my non-working time, especially as I’m revising my newest kid lit draft. Hope to share more about that soon. Until next time.
Nusford has been on my wishlist forever . . . I'm inspired to buy it asap!