Animal Crossing.
I made a bet with my boyfriend (I know y’all are like eyeroll when are you going to stop talking about him) that for every thirty minutes he spent on his exercise bike, I’d spend thirty minutes playing Animal Crossing. Both of these were purchases that we’d bought with good intention but didn’t get around to using as much as we’d planned. He’s a comedian and was busy doing comedian things. I’m a writer and was busy staring out the window, trying to be as moody and artistic as possible, but I also stayed away from Animal Crossing because the openness of the world kind of freaked me out at first. What was I supposed to do in this imaginary land? I spent most of my time picking up weeds and selling them to this raccoon waiting around in a tent to buy them. I shook pears out of a tree and sold those to him too. I couldn’t move forward because A) I didn’t know how to play the game and B) I just wanted to stay present in the life that I have. I didn’t want to transport to someplace new.
The more I played the game, the more enamored I became with it. The regular thirty minutes helped me quickly pick up how to play, and now, I’m fishing, I’m digging for fossils, I’m using my pole vault to skip across the river, to go to other parts of my island. I’m struck by the details, how now that it’s summer there are fireflies skirting by, beautiful big butterflies too. Sometimes, I log in and there are new people walking around, a camel asking me if I want a new rug. Sometimes, when I’m in the real world, I find myself holding back the urge to say, “This reminds me of Animal Crossing!” This dock we’re sitting on, it reminds me of Animal Crossing! These weeds, they remind me—as if this virtual place was my first introduction to nature, to the world.
I’m growing fond of the game, and now I need to find this rare mineral so that I can help that raccoon build a store, but it’s probably going to mean leaving my island to explore another one, if I’m going to get what I need. Weirdly, I don’t want to. I don’t want to leave my island. I want to stay right here. I was hesitant of the game at first because I wanted to be present in my life, and now I’m hesitant of traveling in the game because I want to be present on my island.
When I was in college, I was kind of unhappy for a while, and I’d cope with it by leaving and going to another city for the day. (Austin, Texas was the city, if you’re wondering.) It was an hour away, and I’d drive up there in the afternoon and walk around, go to a bookstore, a coffee shop, and then come back when the sun was setting. One time I went even farther than Austin, very far, so far that I dropped out of school and was pretty aimless for a while.
Now, on Animal Crossing, when they ask me if I want to travel, I find myself responding, “Not right now,” or “Maybe later.” Somehow playing this game made me realize that when I’m sad, I can be a runner, and when I’m happy, I want to stay put. I had to go to a conference in Boston a few months ago, and I didn’t want to go. I heard there was going to be a snowstorm there, and I secretly wished it would snow so hard that no one could blame me for staying here. I’m happy here, in Atlanta, this city that somehow feels made for me. I love the weather and the trees (they remind me of Animal Crossing!). I love my often-mentioned boyfriend and my friends. I love being in school here and my PhD program and all that I’ve gotten the chance to learn. Some weird part of me thinks that if I leave, even temporarily, I’ll come back and my life will somehow be erased, all of it an elaborate prank on me and my patience. But it’s good to see new places, right? Even if you’re happy where you are. Boston—for all its strangeness—was fun. Slipping away for a while does not have to mean you’re sad to be where you are, and it also doesn’t mean you’ll come back to a life in flames. (I had this weird fear when I first moved into my apartment that if I left it for too long, I’d come back to find it infested with ants. There weren’t even any ants around. Why does my brain do this to me?) I like Animal Crossing for somehow—roundaboutly—showing me that it’s okay to go away for a while. Sometimes you should go to Boston (hmm, should you?), to another mysterious Animal Crossing island. You can go and come back, still find, miraculously, your home to be ant-free.
Image: Nintendo
