I’ll Never Play Your Favorite Video Game, and That’s Okay
By Brian • 13 July 2025
I’m trying to overcome an input addiction. I always have something playing in the background. Podcasts, YouTube, a baseball game, wrestling. Always some kind of noise. I’m never alone with my thoughts—I’ll allow you to make your own conclusions about how that may or may not be impacting my mental health.
A lot of this input comes from my phone, so I removed all of the entertaining apps from it, including my precious podcast player. Now I can only listen to them on my computer at work, instead of more inappropriate settings, like dinner or church. My children will bring my phone to me unprompted if I leave it in another room, in case you need another hint that technological addiction has become a problem for me.
I took a walk earlier this week, and felt a brief pang of worry regarding all the episodes of Retronauts and Tony Kornheiser and other podcasts I’m probably going to miss because I can’t listen to them on walks anymore. The worry didn’t last long, though—without the ubiquitous sports guys yelling in my ear about Cal Raleigh’s home run totals, my brain engaged for the first time in a while. Latching on to that moment of unease about missing podcasts, I started thinking about all the times I’ve had conversations with friends and family about other forms of entertainment that I’ve missed. The question always comes up:
“Have you seen X?”
“Have you read Y?” (Y: The Last Man? No, I haven’t, actually.)
“Have you played Z?”
The answer is almost always no. In turn, I’ll ask the same questions. Again, “no” is usually what I get in response. Sometimes one of us will say yes, and then we can revel in that shared human experience for a little bit, chatting about the greatness of The Adventures of Brisco County, Jr. or commiserating over the toughness of the boss encounters in Mega Man X2. Yes, these references are old because *I* am old.
For pretty much all my life, when I answer one of these questions in the negative, I immediately feel shame. I guess I worry I’m going to be scolded for my lack of culture. No, I haven’t seen Oppenheimer, but I have seen Star Trek IV a couple of dozen times, and that’s gotta count for something, right? Yes, it’s the one with the whales.
I started thinking about why I feel this way. Why shame? It’s not that I don’t want to take in any of this media. The issue is capacity, which is mostly out of my control. Aside from admittedly re-watching the same Star Trek movies too many times, the truth is I can’t watch/read/play everything from the collective library of works that my family and friends enjoy. No single person can. Imagine getting recommendations from the dozen closest people in your life. Now weigh those recommendations against the stuff you already know for sure interests you, on top of whatever responsibilities in your life you must also manage. You can’t do it. You have to pick and choose what speaks to you the most, and maybe eke out enough time to dive in.
The response should not be shame or sheepishness. It should be curiosity. “No, I haven’t played Clair Obscur: Expedition 33. In fact, I don’t even know what it is—please tell me about it!” And sure, if it strikes me as something not to overlook, I’ll take the time to check it out. But, I also shouldn’t feel internal pressure to do so. It’s FOMO, right? Oh no, I’m missing out on this great piece of art and am less human until I digest it.
No, I’m not less human. That’s just me finding yet another reason to be needlessly cruel to myself.
As I kept walking in the quiet, I decided that being unable to experience everything myself is actually another opportunity to experience joy and camaraderie with the people I care about. We must depend on others to share their experiences with the works we won’t have time to take in ourselves. That’s important in a number of ways. It gives us something to talk about. I get a glimpse of what brings them joy and what molds their personality, and they get a glimpse of the same for me. It’s an opportunity to allow our divergent choices in life to bring us closer together. That seems more enjoyable than the perpetual fear of missing out.
Come to think of it, it’s the whole reason I listen to podcasts like A Cure for the Common Craig (shameless plug for Craig and Nicole’s work) or Retronauts. I get good movie and game recommendations from those shows that I do check out, but there are just too many to enjoy them all, so I depend on those hosts to enjoy them for me. It’s a service to humanity—allowing others to enjoy art by proxy.
So no, I’ll never play God of War, the Resident Evil 2 remake, any Assassin’s Creed game, Fornite, or those other popular games out of my wheelhouse. I don’t have a problem with them. I’m just over here, doing my own thing, without the time to enjoy everything. But, if you can tell me about them, why you love them, without our conversation getting weirdly judgmental because I’m not doing the exact same thing you’re doing, then I get to enjoy those games in some small way through you, I get to grow my relationship with you, and maybe I can share some of my favorites with you, too, that you will also probably never play for all the same reasons.
This is it. This is part of life, how humans are supposed to behave and thrive—through sharing their journey, good and bad, contributing to the greater tapestry of human experience. I’m embracing it. What choice do I have?
Maybe I should be alone with my thoughts more often. I might figure out what actually is my favorite video game.
Thanks for reading, and see you next mission!
