Thoughts on games, work, and… well, mostly games

It’s been two whole months since I made my New Year’s Resolution to produce a game by January 2012.  In that time, I’ve accomplished virtually nothing toward that end.  And not a day goes by that I don’t think about it.

At the risk of making excuses, I’ll say that a confluence of forces have conspired to prevent any work on that project.  I’ve simply not had enough time–or long-enough stretches of it–to make any progress on it.  Instead, I’ve devoted time to my wife and daughter, to work, and to maintaining my own sanity through judicious use of what leisure time I have.

I think a lot about how I feel about having lost a sixth of my alloted time to other concerns.  If I were my own boss, I’d fire me for having not produced anything in two months.  But lately I’ve been thinking about the goal itself and why I set it in the first place.  I think I’m putting too much burden on myself to produce something that’s motivated by little more than the need to feel some personal satisfaction.

At the beginning of this month I discontinued a work habit that I had disciplined myself to keep up for a year or more.  It was a minor bit of bookkeeping that I made myself do to hold myself accountable to… well, myself.  I discontinued it because it was contributing a great deal of stress to my life and wasn’t providing any reward.  In fact, this habit was more a kind of mental self-flagellation than any kind of feel-good motivator.  But I did it because I was keen to hold myself to a higher standard than I’d seen in others, or at least that’s what I told myself.

Since then, I’ve begun to reexamine some of my other obsessions, and I find myself asking why it’s so important for me to produce a game.  I had been rationalizing my obsession by saying, “I need to prove to myself I can do it.”  But that’s a load.  I know I can do it.  I really don’t need proof.  With enough time and resources–mostly time–I could produce the game of my dreams before I die.  There are some challenges in my life I never had the wherewithal to overcome, but building something has never been one of them.

I’ve been telling myself that if I ever want to have any hope of making a living at making games, then I’d better damn well make a game.  It’s a matter of credibility, right?  I worry that reality has put the kibosh on that aspiration for good, as any ships of opportunity I might have had to get a foothold in the industry have long sailed.  Looking at other thirty-somethings in the industry who have either established formidable game companies or otherwise made a name for themselves, I can’t help but compare my own accomplishments to theirs and feel left behind, or worse, not up to the task.  And I know that whining about it in a blog post isn’t likely to engender their respect or anyone else’s.

It doesn’t matter, anyway, because I reason that hard work–not the respect from industry celebrities–can usually put a person at or very close to where they want to be; it’s just a matter of time.

There’s that word again…  For lack of time, I’m wondering if I should “let go” of this obsession to make a game, at least for now.  It’s not yielded any positive results.  I said I’d make a game this year and see how I felt about it.  Well here’s a status report after 60 days: I feel beholden to myself with an artificial but stinging sense or urgency, ungratified, unmotivated, uninteresting, and impotent for not having been able to carve out time to code even a prototype.  I’m spinning my wheels trying to work this non-trivial pursuit into my life this year, and I feel more incompetent by the day as I watch an industry pass me by.

“You have to make time!” I hear it said.  Glib bullshit from where I sit.  I’m a husband and a new father and I’m involved in both to a greater-than-average degree.  I do not want to look back on any year of my life and think I didn’t spend enough time with my family.  (That may be reason enough to stay away from the game industry, no?)  Then, I’m a hard-working non-gaming professional on whom others depend.  Though I know my coworkers could build our product without me, it’s all or nothing: I won’t give them less than my best if I give them anything at all.

I find myself rationalizing my situation.  I feel like I have to explain to myself (and you, apparently) why my life looks the way it does.

Is this self-indulgent crap?  Shouldn’t I just stop overthinking this, delete this post and go work on my game?  Choices.  I feel like writing today, so I’m writing.  I’m searching for an answer to a question that seems important to me, and when I can’t put my finger on it writing helps organize my thoughts.  Strangely I don’t feel nearly as compelled to justify this choice as I do others.

I am where I am because of choices I made in response to opportunities I had.  Some exciting opportunities I pursued didn’t work out in my favor, fizzling out suddenly and unexpectedly, leaving me dumbstruck.  Others came along exactly when I needed them most, with an almost eerie timeliness, and provided me with unique experiences that have positively shaped me.  But though these latter serendipitous occupations have all been enjoyable and valuable–either by teaching me new skills, keeping me solvent or by being stepping stones that have lead me along a career path in which I can take pride–they couldn’t have sidetracked me much farther from the path I envisioned for myself back when making life choices was something I had time to think about.

Part of me kicks myself for having made “wrong choices”.  I shouldn’t have jumped at the good opportunities, even if it meant I’d have been broke!  By taking those opportunities that didn’t align with my ideals, I crossed a point of no return and now must follow the path I’m on. Maybe I’m being too hard on myself.  Or maybe I didn’t learn to take risks until it was too late.  Whatever.  I don’t like to dwell; I’m much more concerned with what’s ahead.  I can learn from that part of my life and…

…do what?  Correct it?  Eh; nothing to “correct”.  Life happens.  Try again?  Doesn’t seem feasible.  I’ve got too much invested in where I am now.  I don’t have the right to upset the lives of those who depend on me (yes, I’ve got perspective; I’m more concerned about my family than my coworkers) just so I can chase something that’s far from a sure thing, to say nothing of the fact that I don’t have the resources to do so.  I’m fully engaged.  I don’t meant to be dramatic when I say, “It’s too late.”

“It’s never too late!” Okay, then somebody–man or God–show me the way.  Because all I see is what’s in front of me: little time, financial commitments on par with my current earnings, no business model and little business savvy, and no creative idea original enough to satisfy both me and a finicky market.  I can’t connect those dots in a way that produces a pretty picture.

It’s damned frustrating.  I know that if I worked as hard at being a game professional as I have at being a multimedia / microelectronic / e-publishing professional that I’d see all the themes I’m already familiar with replay themselves: good solutions to hard problems, respect from coworkers, praise from stakeholders, and organic growth.  I settle for nothing less.

(And in the time it took you to write this blog post, how much progress could you have made on your game, HMMMM? Precious little, and you’re missing the point.)

So what’s stopping me from making games for a living, wearing jeans to work every day and being my own boss?  Aside from lack of money, time, and affordable health insurance…

…I’m not sure that making games is what I want to do anymore.  That’s worrying and a little sad, because it suggests that something I once had may be gone forever.

Even so, I know that candle’s not out completely.  There’s some other reason I have trouble focusing on this game, and I can’t figure out what it is.