Virtual Life Gave Me Hope for My Real One

I’m not all that huge into video games. I have plenty of hobbies, and most of the time, I’d rather be creating content and media than consuming it. That’s just a personal preference, and extends in many directions (I’d rather write than read, for example). And honestly, I have my hang ups around video games. Growing up as a girl, I wasn’t allowed to enjoy “nerdy” things by schoolyard bullies, and most of my attempts at improving my gaming skills were thwarted by an older brother who always either did things for me or just took over the console for his own games.

And yet, games have been an integral part of my life. I met my husband on a Pokémon discussion board, and somehow that’s not the story I want to tell today. I want to talk about Final Fantasy XIV online, and how living a life in that game has guided me through the darker parts of my own life.

I’ve only been playing Final Fantasy XIV for about 2 years, and only gotten serious in about the last year. Let me tell you, doubling down on an immersive hobby a mere few months before a global pandemic is a fantastic life choice that I wholeheartedly recommend. It’s been the difference between hours spent sitting in despair as the world crumbles around me, and hours spent finding meaning in frivolity.

There came a point early in the pandemic that I was spending hours scrolling Facebook. Angry people, scary news, and heated arguments filled my awareness as my mind filled with dread. And during a national lockdown, there was little else to do that wasn’t scrolling social media… except play video games.

I started logging into Final Fantasy first thing in the morning and spending all day in the game. While I couldn’t leave the house in real life, my character could do so much. She could go out and mine precious metals, letting her live out my fantasy of having an honest job characterized by hard work and financial success. She could help build a new residential district. She could fight enemies that towered over her, while the real me faced invisible foes like depression and despair. She could make friends, whereas I was a recently uprooted immigrant, lonely in her new home.

I know that people make fun of in game avatars for being larger than life (or rather, prettier than life). I know that plenty of folks would scoff at me using virtual success as a salve for tangible suffering. That’s fine. If living with Depression since I was a child has taught me anything, it’s that the goal isn’t respectability; it’s surviving. In a global pandemic, that knowledge is worth so much. Being able to log into a game world let me forget momentarily that my parents are old enough that this disease is an even greater threat, and simultaneously thousands of miles away. It let me forget about mask debates, Covid-denial, and government indifference. When I caught COVID-19 myself, it gave me a reason to drag myself out of bed.

When my 25th birthday started to edge closer and the pandemic was only becoming more dire, I had my birthday party at the Mih Khetto Amphitheatre in-game. My friends and family from real life all came; even those who had to make characters to be there. It was the best birthday party I’ve ever had. For that day, I wasn’t despairing about a life that could have been. I was living it.

I’ve seen so much greatness in-game, so much humanity. When children were home from school, most dungeon runs (where you play in a specific map with other real-life people) involved at least one fellow player stopping suddenly, only to come back with a message to the tune of “sorry, the kids needed me.” Not once did I see any responses other than friendly understanding. We all knew how hard these times were.

One day, a message appeared in the global shout chat (which everyone in that area of the game receives) from a person announcing that they were going to be performing a one-person play at that same Mih Khetto Amphitheatre. Intrigued, I went to watch.

The play was performed in the memory of a popular player who had died. While the actor clarified that the person hadn’t died from COVID-19, I think most people watching felt an extra ounce of gravity during the play. Things like this aren’t even uncommon; I’ve seen countless stories about a fellow player encountering hardship or even losing their life, only to be helped or commemorated by the people they played with. People who don’t like games will wax philosophical about how they turn normal people into murderous monsters, but nowhere else have I seen so much raw humanity.

That’s what this game means to me. When the real world is tearing apart at the seams, this is a place where you can believe for a second that things will be okay. If this game is a petri dish of humanity, then perhaps-- despite what reality’s news media will tell you-- humans will turn out okay.

At the very least, Final Fantasy XIV gives me the power to believe.