Game Anxiety?

2015 was rough in some ways. Abandoning my math studies in favor of linguistics in 2014 was a big and intimidating jump, and unfortunately the new department has left much to be desired. It hasn’t offered enough courses to fill up a normal schedule, among other things, so I’ve ended up with more free time on my hands than I’ve had in a while. As a result, for the past year my life has primarily revolved around Twitch and streaming.

I like looking back and reflecting on the past, often to the point where I probably dwell on it too much. The year that recently ended has offered plenty of food for thought, especially with respect to how my personality seems to have gained an additional dimension (I, a streamer). Defining myself as a broadcaster has involved a fair deal of soul-searching. I’ve tried my utmost to stay in touch with the principal reasons I stream to begin with and constantly question my format, what function streaming fulfills in my life, and whether I should be doing things differently.

I’m especially referring to my love for a single franchise and the inability to juggle multiple things at once – something unbecoming of a proper streamer, I’ve thought. People often ask me what other games I stream or what games I play when I don’t stream, and the answer is still the same: none. I typically grasp the mechanics of new games (tabletop and otherwise) with little difficulty, but for some reason the notion of taking on a new game – a new system of rules that I must get the hang of – makes me anxious and uncomfortable. It’s like the game is designed to trap me, troll me, beat me – unless I learn and master it as quickly as possible.

My husband is sometimes envied for having a “gamer wife” to play games with all day. Hilariously and sadly enough, the reality is quite the opposite: he often tries to coax me into playing some Minecraft, Mario, or other co-op game for a bit, but is rarely awarded with more than brief, disgruntled session (if that). I’m unbearably picky when it comes to entertainment in general. If something doesn’t strike my fancy, I’ll feel rather indifferent about it. I’m fine with watching most things passively, but especially when it comes to games – a dynamic medium that requires active participation – I’m hesitant to jump into something unfamiliar if only for the slightest moment. It simply doesn’t occur to me to “try new games” unless I have observed somebody else playing it over a period of time, assessed it for myself, and had some interest kindled for it. Since taking up gaming again four years ago, this has happened exactly three times: with Skyrim, Mass Effect, and Dark Souls. If I hadn’t spent hours and hours watching my husband play them first, I’d never have picked them up. And I certainly wouldn’t be sitting here, typing up a blog post like this.

In short, I seem to lack the ability to play games casually. This self-diagnosis doesn’t really puzzle me, however – my reactions seem to resemble math or performance anxiety, concepts I’ve become rather familiar with while studying to become a math teacher. I’ve suffered from both in the past; as a teen I was often criticized to be an insufferable perfectionist by friends and family alike. Nevertheless, somewhat overcoming especially my math anxiety during my late high school years subsequently allowed me to discover my passion for the subject and tackle problem-solving in a much healthier manner.

Disappointingly enough, however, it appears I’ve been unable to extend this approach to gaming – something that’s supposed to be relaxing, entertaining, and only optionally challenging. For instance, my husband had pestered me about playing Journey to myself sometime for ages. When I finally forced myself to do it a few months back, I felt nauseous going into the menu and starting up the game. Despite trying to keep an open mind, my… attitude(?) more or less ruined what was supposed to be an immersive and soothing experience; I constantly worried about getting stuck, or missing something crucial, or not understanding some aspect of the game. Upon finishing it, I mostly felt relief that it was over and shaky pride in having accomplished the task, mixed with a great deal of shame and agony over my distorted reluctance and inability to enjoy something so simple and innocent.

This all sounds awfully dramatic, but my emotions do tend to blow up like this whenever I attempt to take on a new game. My “career” as a videogame broadcaster and has naturally thrown this issue into sharper relief than ever before. I have never seriously entertained the idea of being a variety caster, but even so, barely a day goes by that I don’t analyze what oddity of my mind prevents me from feeling curious about games in general, let alone willingly giving them a try. I’m confident about dedicating my channel and content to a single franchise and am not ashamed of being a highly specialized streamer. There is, however, also another reason I feel especially reluctant to try out the various “games similar to Mass Effect” every so often recommended to me.

A big part of why ME had such an enormous impact on me was simply the fact that I was new to gaming; new to RPGs, shooters, cinematic cutscenes, the works. It was all fresh, exciting, exhilarating; I’d never experienced anything like it before. It was only when I hit the internet and started exploring the online communities that I learned about gaming culture in general – and the more I involved myself, the more it chipped away at my own personal, sacred gaming experience. I wanted no part in it. Angry and entitled people bashing and complaining. Comparisons of mechanics and style to other similar franchises, making it feel less original. Casually discussing voice actors and their pieces of work across multiple games and franchises, when their only true characters are the ME ones! Essentially anything that dissected the games just felt stressful to even think about. I’ve since overcome that naïveté in favor of being able to discuss lore and work out combat mechanics together with other fans, for instance. I’m still inclined to feel very protective of my most beloved things, however, and rather avoid anything that affects my personal enjoyment of them.

All in all, the more I acquire general gaming knowledge and experience, the less impact single games or series are going to have. In Mass Effect: Andromeda, I don’t want to be able to detect concepts borrowed from Dragon Age: Inquisition, spot graphics resembling something from Star Wars Battlefront, or hear familiar voices, or notice Halo-ish story elements. I just want to experience the full wonder of something entirely new and magical, untainted by previous knowledge about involved developers and artists’ works.

Sounds incredibly gullible for a so-called gaming personality, but as with fiercely sticking exclusively to the things I love the most, it’s currently the only way I know how to roll.

But there was a time when I was free from any anxieties whatsoever. As a little girl I was able to juggle a handful of PS1 games at a time, not having to delve so deep into one of them that I ended up neglecting the others. I genuinely enjoyed mixing some Crash Team Racing and Tekken into my Spyro and Klonoa runs, occasionally engaging in co-op with my brother. I want to believe that I can still delight in this type of variety gaming; that I can find a balance which lets me be that little girl again while feeling that it doesn’t interfere with my later developed mature and highly focused gaming style.

~ ~ ~

I wrote this blog post more for myself than anyone else, I think, but congratulations if you got through it all 😉 I thank you for reading and wish you a happy new year.

—Star