On feelings of loneliness in games

I like when a game makes me feel lonely. Yeah, you might think it weird, but I don’t think I’m alone - there’s something about experiencing a sense of isolation, a sense of quiet discomfort, a sense of vastness and insignificance - something that draws me in.

I remember most profoundly feeling this when playing Minecraft, back when it was in beta. The vast, never-ending landscape, the calming, mysterious soundtrack, and lots of time to reflect. I’m the only person to exist in this world, and in fact, thanks to procedural generation, the only person to see it. I built structures for no one to find (naturally, I’m talking about the single player experience here), and my creations probably dot the virtual landscape to this day somewhere on an old hard drive. Although hard drives don’t hold information that long, so those worlds are probably forever lost.

Minecraft beta: it was even blockier than you remember.

I’ve been thinking about Minecraft beta a lot: the game was smaller, simpler, had fewer types of blocks, and less things to do… And it had a different vibe because of it. There was more downtime, more “okay, now what?”. I think this highlights that space for reflection is important for any game that aims to invoke a sense of loneliness. You can’t really think, reflect, and feel lonely when constantly bombarded with gameplay choices.

I thought I might have been idealizing a simpler time, but loading Minecraft today dissuaded me from that. Hundreds of block types, experience points, enchanting system, clearly communicated progression, dozens of mob types, achievements… It might be a better, more streamlined, more complete game - but the magic of being spawned in an empty, uncaring world is not really there. A quick search indicates that the Minecraft beta can still be played and is a popular choice for some, and I understand why.

Death Stranding makes me feel alone too. There are the preppers in their bunkers, and even occasional porters on deliveries: but the world is harsh, quiet, and lonely. Often there’s not a soul for miles, and the slow march towards the goal leaves enough time to feel the feelings. Death Stranding does a great job getting me in the zone, leaving space for three things in my mind: look under your feet, remember where you’re headed, and feel the absence of life around you.

Death Stranding is set in a lonely and often gloomy world, with lots of time to think in between.

Occasional contact with other human beings only underscores the loneliness and makes it hit harder. It doesn’t help that Sam isn’t really comfortable around people, or when being touched.

Intense feelings of loneliness take me to a simpler time. I’ve always enjoyed my own company: give me a book, a video game, or a TV show - and I’m well entertained. Even my outdoorsy hobbies don’t really need a partner - I enjoy going on a bike ride by myself, or maybe exploring a city solo. I moved out of my parents’ house when I was 18, and I spent good five-or-so years in a new city (cities), largely by myself, without a close circle of friends. I had my video games, I had my little weekday routines, I had my weekend bike rides.

I was alone, I was happy. There was simplicity in that life. I could fit my whole life in a single suitcase, and I did. It felt freeing. It felt good in the way that sitting by the window at night, as it’s raining, while having a cup of coffee feels good. It’s a very specific feeling, but it’s a feeling I came to call home.

Things changed as I got older. I have a wife and a daughter, both of whom I love very much - and I enjoy their company. I’m much happier now, much more content than when I was younger. But the feeling calls to me.

Elite Dangerous: here’s my trusty spaceship, exploring a new system, a hundred jumps away from another living being.

And then there’s Elite Dangerous, a game I bought a HOTAS for (that’s hands on throttle-and-stick). Even when playing around other people, what really drew me in is an ability to set of on a long, arduous, lonely journey - somewhere no one has ever been before. Knowing that I’m hundreds of light years away from any sign of civilization - or any other player just fills me with a unique sense of discomfort and peace. I could spend dozens of hours just flying the ship through unexplored nebulae and star systems. And not knowing what’s waiting for me after the jump to the next system added a sense of danger. What is loneliness without mild discomfort?

I wonder if I like the way video games make me feel lonely in the same way people enjoy horror media. It’s a safe space to experience an uncomfortable emotion. We don’t really like feeling lonely, and engaging with the feeling in a controlled environment helps keep demons at bay.

And while it seems strange to seek out loneliness in games, I’ve come to find it to be a form of comfort. As much as I’m content with my life today, with a loving partner and child, and richer social relationships - I find solace in that particular shade of loneliness. It’s tied to a simpler time: a time of quiet independence and boundless possibilities. I don’t miss being alone, but I appreciate the memory of what that felt like. I get to revisit a very specific, personal type of loneliness that I came to call home.