One of the most dreadful things that I feel like I experience when playing games is being very much conscious of something I’m doing within it being a grind. All the gamers I know who have some kind of experience with any kind of long-term investment with particular games know what I’m talking about – that slog that makes it feel like it’s more work than play, the feeling that you’re only incrementally getting someplace even despite putting in many hours of effort, and perhaps, worst of all, the awful surrender of potentially having to look up efficiency guides for something that shouldn’t be so painful.
At their core, I’ve always kind of made fun of fetch quests in the RPG games that I’ve played. There’s an old comic out there that probably encapsulates exactly how I feel about them – an NPC, literally 20 feet away, wanting you to grab an object that the PC is utterly confused about being asked to retrieve for them. It’s the kind of timesink that, done frequently and in mostly the same way, is ultimately a timewaster or a level builder.
When you lose someone you love, it sometimes isn’t the big, grand gestures or big life events that often pop to the top in your memory (although those are certainly important in any kind of eulogizing or remembrance). There are often the small, seemingly trivial and normal things that seem to take on a sense of significance and identity, that become an indelible mark of what was left as far as a person’s impact. In this case, it’s the simple act of feeding ducks in a pond, and watching them get the food that you’re providing them.