1987. I was eight-years-old. As was the tradition, my little sister, two cousins, and I had posted up at Baachan's house for the summer.
For us kids, it was heaven. Cable TV in every room. Free reign of the stocked fridge and pantry. Skateboards, remote control cars, drawers full of puzzles and toys, a full-size basketball hoop. But for those two months in '87, it was all about one thing.
The Legend of Zelda.
I can still remember the smell of the glossy golden game cartridge, fresh out of the box. The weight of the thick instruction booklet in my palm. Everything about it was pure seduction for the pre-adolescent.
I parked my butt in front of the living room TV, where it stayed for the better part of two months, despite my grandmother's frequent tisking. "Your eyes are going to turn into little TV's," she'd say. But it was useless. I was going to beat this game. I was going to win.
If you're not familiar with it, The Legend of Zelda pioneered the whole action/adventure role-playing video game thing. You journeyed around this fantasy kingdom, fought monsters, collected jewels, and met merchants and villagers to uncover secrets about defeating its eight underworld bosses. At the end of it all, you did battle with Ganon, the Prince of Darkness, to rescue Princess Zelda and restore peace to the kingdom.
Days would fly by. One boss down, another to go. My calloused thumbs and that Nintendo controller became one. Maybe a break for a snow cone, dinner around the kitchen table, then right back at it. I dreamed in 8-bit.
Weeks passed and the closer I got to beating the game, the more obsessed I grew. It was all I could do, all I could think about. Winning. I had to win!
Finally, late one August morning, I did it. I beat Ganon. I won. The end screens rolled.
And that was it. That was it?!?
I don't know what I was expecting. At the very least, some sense of pride or accomplishment. Or something. But as the start screen flashed back on the TV, I felt... empty.
I felt disappointed.
I've been thinking a lot lately about that experience of winning Zelda. About how as adults we busy our days, our lives, with these seemingly urgent "to-do's," one after the other. And how narrowing our focus to deal with them can feel, superficially at least, like we're getting somewhere.
But maybe keeping our heads down and hammering away also prevents us from being fully present in our lives. And from considering whether the journeys we've chosen for ourselves are truly worthy of our precious time and energy.
I don't know about you, but I'd hate to find myself at the end of line, thinking "That was it?"
