It's Thursday, so here I am, hijacking your email two days late. I've heard it likes the thrill.
I wanna tell you a tale about what I was up to yesterday.
It involves eight geeks, a mafia leader, tater tots, and a million rules. No, unfortunately, it wasn't a DnD (Dungeons & Dragons) group.
But I can tell you, I wasn't prepared for the four life lessons I learned over those four hours.
Now, onto the...
Fun Sci-fi Quiz: Do you know the answers?
1. What is the name of the humanoid robot in the 2015 film 'Ex Machina'?
2. Who directed the 2010 sci-fi film 'Inception'?
3. In the TV series 'Stranger Things', what is the name of the parallel dimension?
Remember your answers. The truth'll be revealed at the end ;)
Meeting the Mafia Leader
Like a banshee after stubbing her biggest toe, the gravel screeches in my head. It’s crunching and groaning under the other cars’ wheels, but it won’t slow me down. I’ve come to enjoy life.
I close my car’s door and walk into the unfamiliar restaurant. It has high ceilings, lots of long wooden tables, and massive silver, stainless steel beer-brewing containers side by side behind the bar.
Ritzy. And the food smells goooood.
Earlier, I’d decided to join an in-person game I knew nothin’ about — Magic: The Gathering.
I’d expected to jump right in and have fun after a long day of business. I was wrong. Magic: The Gathering is a massive game with tons of rules.
First lesson: Expect nothing but a journey of progress
Four hours isn’t gonna be enough to learn how to play well, but that’s not gonna stop me from asking a million questions. I may be new, but I don’t lack self-confidence.
Okay, a little, but not a lot. Years of growth and hard inner work will do that for you.
I don’t know where the group is meeting, so I explore the restaurant. Bathrooms. People. The second floor. It has a small, dusty shuffleboard against a barrier, board games, and a cozy nook with two couches and a TV tuned to football.
Back downstairs, I find the group sitting at a long table. I sit at the far end.
The restaurant is loud even though it’s pretty empty. Already, I’m staring at people’s mouths, trying to read their lips because I can’t hear them over the background noise.
A game’s in progress. Three geeky guys have their dice, collector’s edition cards in plastic sleeves, custom-made board mats, and one has a beautiful purple and blue 3D-printed dice holder he made at his house.
They’re deep in it. Spitting out numbers, mathing, casting spells, and killing each other’s creatures. There’s a tinge of competitive energy, a bigger zing of elitism — geeks get real serious about playing games nerds made — but these guys are respectful to each other.
I smile while watching them. It’s nice seeing guys doing regular things. Like having emotions, admitting they’re wrong, sharing food, and supporting each other.
We get so used to the “all guys are trash, self-absorbed gym bros, lady haters, jealous d*cks, incels, unemotional robots” narrative that we forget to question it. Forget to remember that guys are humans too.
Some are like the thickest, dirtiest river water, but others are like the clean, crisp water Jesus’ disciples served him.
Each is different from the next.
I stare at their three boards and a hundred cards with weird symbols. I have no idea what’s goin’ on. I thought Magic: The Gathering was gonna be like Uno but with wizards.
Later, I’d learn it is like Uno, but, like taxes, they use bigger words to make it seem more complicated and adult-like.
Everyone around the table has the same geeky look and demeanor.
No, they’re not wiping their noses and puffing on their inhalers — I don’t see one inhaler the whole time — but they’re excited about collecting cards, mats, dice, trivia, and other game paraphernalia.
Immediately, I know we’re different: These are geeks; I’m a nerd.
Geeks collect things nerds make.
Geeks consume. Nerds create.
Geeks know random things. Nerds know how to do random things.
Geeks have smaller egos. Nerds — not me, of course — think they’re the Universe’s gift.
They’re both passionate as heck.
I’m craving a room full of nerds. This isn’t my true tribe, but I’m here, excited, and ready to learn.
Growth is my comfort zone. This game is a challenge. Let’s do this!
I grab my phone and research how to play while they battle it out.
A headache and panic are brewing even though I’m wearing sunglasses inside and have stuffed my earbuds in to block out some of the sounds. Still, a 10-minute tutorial and YouTube video later, I know a smidge less than the nothin’ I came with.
“My mind’s open and empty,” I tell him and set my freshly made fried fish tenders, tater tots, and Sprite to the side. For the next two hours, I barely touch any of them. I’m not kiddin’; I’m ready to learn.
Our depths are where we truly are; the surface is where we hide.
I like to know the depths. That’s how I know if I can trust someone.
I’d watched him play in the first game, and he decimated the other guys. In the end, he pulled out six dice in quick succession, mathed at lightning speeds, and didn’t care about grinding the other guys into the ground.
While he’s schmoozing, I’m struggling to remember some of the rules he taught me, making headway with the mathing, understanding tons of the concepts, and forgetting how to turn the cards or maneuver around my battlefield.
Parts of me are starting to feel like a burden. Wanting this game to end faster so he can be free of me.
I focus harder, but there’s only so much my brain can consume of this massive game.
You’re not a burden. You’re learning. Everyone begins knowing nothing. I tell myself.
The person leaves. He teaches me more. Two hours pass, then he asks, “How does it feel to win?”
It doesn’t feel like anything, so I say, “It’s a game. Okay, now you can go have fun with people who know how to play.”
Graciously, he’s like, I love teaching other people. This feels true. He did enjoy teaching me, but he’s also ready to play a proper opponent and smash them into the simulated dirt.
The restaurant’s become louder and fuller, and my thoughts are jumbled. I move to sit with the largest group of players, working hard to separate their voices from the background noise. No dice. I can’t understand anything, so I take a rest and tune out.
After a few minutes, the earlier thought becomes clear.
