Hello, my name is Rainer Hurtado, and I'm a recovering video game addict. The first video game I ever played was one of those old flash games on my Dad's laptop. My Dad was good with computers and he was forward-thinking. I'm sure he thought that my interest in video games was a good thing, that it would lead to other useful pursuits in computers and technology. (This has been true, to some degree.) I’m not blaming Dad for my video game obsession, other kids in the family had the same opportunity to play them but it never became a problem for them.
When I was a kid, I was only permitted 45 minutes of video games a day, which seemed painfully brief. Over time I bent the rules more and more, and whenever my parents left the house, the rules went out the window entirely. Video games quickly went from being a harmless once-in-a-while indulgence to the default activity that I filled all my time with whenever I didn't have school or work, and it had begun to spin out of control. Playing a few minutes of video games every once in a while with friends on a weekend is harmless, but when hours and hours of gaming becomes a daily habit, it's a serious problem.
The only thing I looked forward to at the end of the school day was hopping on the computer and playing games. My parents tried to get me to become more well-rounded and stop playing so much, but it was to no avail. I was completely absorbed in gaming and I had no will to change. As I entered college and started living on my own, gaming took up so much of my time that I'm ashamed to even think about it.
When I look back on all the time I wasted, the most obvious question is 'why?' What was so alluring about video games that drew me to them day after day for hours on end? What made me prioritize them over all other activities? After mulling it over, I think I found an answer. To understand why, we first have to take a look at what distinguishes video games from other forms of media.
All video games, from the earliest, simplest ones to the complex behemoths on the market today have one thing in common. They are deeply interactive. Movies and TV shows typically don't take input from the user and alter the experience accordingly. In fact, this was one of the reasons that in the early days, video games were considered a more positive form of media than the alternatives, as they encouraged activity rather than passivity. The interactivity of video games allows the gamer to become the protagonist of the game and share in the joys and failures of the protagonist in a very intimate way. People watching Harry Potter might get deeply immersed in the story and sympathize with Harry, but they do not become Harry.
Everything worth doing in the real world is hard. Going to the gym is hard. Relationships are hard. Hiking is hard. Writing is hard. Art is hard. Meditation is hard. Gardening is hard. Eating healthy is hard. Learning an instrument is hard. Sometimes, even getting out of bed is hard! Real life is just deeply, deeply hard. The mismatch between the ease of accomplishing a simulated achievement and the stark challenge of accomplishing something real leads the gamer to spend more and more time gaming and less time living. After all, when everything seems so hard, what else is there to do? The gamer is left impoverished of real achievements, while a vaporous cloud of fake ones evaporate in the sunlight like dew.
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(Some gamers might quibble with the distinction between a ‘real’ and ‘fake achievement, but to such people I would pose the question: Would you rather finish a ‘dating simulator’ game or actually get a real girlfriend?)
I can recall very real opportunities that I passed up on because they would interfere with gaming. As a kid, I quit taekwondo because it was hard and games were easy. In my teens, I rejected an opportunity for voice lessons because it would interfere with my gaming time. In my early college years I spent most of my free time gaming in my apartment that I could have instead spent on making lasting friendships and learning new skills. And as I look at my Steam page with its countless pointless hours sunk into games, it's impossible to avoid the conclusion that I could have done something, anything better with the time. This is the tragedy of video game addiction, it takes away your time, saps your willpower, and gives you nothing in return.I finally had this realization a year or so into my marriage. I felt disgusted and realized I needed to take a step back and think deeply about who I wanted to be and what I actually wanted to achieve in life. I decided to quit gaming and fill my time with other things. I drew up a list of things I wanted to learn and practice. I wanted to start going to the gym and improve my physical fitness. I wanted to learn to garden to become more self-sufficient. I wanted to hike regularly to become closer with nature. I wanted to take up a practice of meditation and prayer to deepen my relationship with God and improve my mental faculties. I wanted to write a journal to leave something behind for my descendants.
Now that I had my goals, I began taking steps to achieve them. I got a gym membership, dug out plots for gardening and bought seeds, began writing a daily journal, and started a simple practice of daily meditation and prayer. In this early stage of development there were a lot of setbacks and ‘relapses’, and it was difficult to juggle all of my responsibilities. The urge to play video games would rear up frequently and it would be very hard to resist.
In a strange turn of events, I was reminded of a particular game called Getting Over It. In a way, it's an anti-video game. In the game, you play as a guy stuck in a cauldron holding a hammer. The task is to climb a huge mountain of garbage with nothing but the hammer. The game is meant to be completely boring, unforgiving, and difficult. There are no save points, there are no exciting enemies to battle, there’s no satisfying powerups or thrilling music, and there is no way to make the game easier. It’s just a mountain of garbage. One slipup can lose you all the progress you’ve made in a single second. When you fall, a narrator dryly mocks your failure, rubbing salt in the wound. Most people give up the game after a few minutes of boredom and frustration.
I thought about it for a while, and wondered if I could use the game the same way a heroin addict uses Methadone Maintenance Therapy, using brief hits of a less potent drug to take the edge off of withdrawals. Whenever I felt the urge to play video games, I was only allowed to play Getting Over It and nothing else. These sessions rarely lasted more than five minutes because of how much I hated the game, and then I would get up and do the stuff from my list of tasks.
Surprisingly, this actually worked, and soon enough my daily routine stopped revolving around video games. Hours I would have otherwise spent gaming were replaced with hiking, reading, writing, meditating, drawing, and doing chores. On the day I finally finished Getting Over It, I deleted it from my computer and that was that, no more video games. I no longer felt the compulsion to play them, and finding better things to do with my time had become second-nature. It was a hard process, but very worth it. Progress in personal goals is slow and sometimes it can be discouraging, but when I look back on it I know I am forging a way forward and all I need to do is persist.
It’s been almost 2 years since I cut video games out of my daily routine, and in that time I have become stronger and more fit, able to endure harder labor and strenuous activities. I have spent more time reading, writing, learning, and engaging with complex ideas. Spiritually, I have maintained a regime of meditation, contemplation, and prayer each day which has helped me to feel the presence of God and think with clarity. As I write my journal each night, I note how much more interesting my days are now that they aren't parasitized by a single activity, and before I go to sleep I smile knowing that I am no longer allowing life to pass me by.
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