Originally drafted in 2018.

I am not a gamer.

I am not a passionate person who loves all things video games. I’ve never played Legend of Zelda (I’m told there are many versions; I’m pretty sure I’ve seen exactly one minute of it outside of TV ads). I’ve never pre-ordered a game, then taken the day off work so I can devote hours to it before someone spoils it for me. I’ve never spent all weekend on the sofa, trying to solve every riddle in Batman.

Growing up I had a Nintendo, and would play Super Mario Brothers, and whatever track and field game came with the Power Pad, but by middle school it had been moved to the garage. In fact, other than a brief time in my early 20s (when my college boyfriend played Goldeneye so often that the high-pitched, key-changing theme music accompanying each Bond death is burned into my brain) I didn’t think about video games much until smart phones brought them to my fingertips. Now I play, but mostly as I’m waiting in line at a store or during commercial breaks on live TV.

I did, however, marry a gamer. My partner Austin loves video games so much that he went to college to learn how to make them, and is in his second decade of working in the industry. In the past dozen years I have unintentionally absorbed more video game knowledge that I thought could be possible for someone who mostly plays variations of match three (and four – what’s up Two Dots!). But even with this new frame of reference and exposure, I still hadn’t experienced a game as anything other than a way to kill some time.

Until The Witness.

In early 2016, Austin downloaded The Witness. He had been looking for a game we could play together, because even though games aren’t my main passion, I’m certainly open to playing them. I just didn’t want to have to run around shooting people (I tried Halo once and super did not enjoy it), nor did I want to have to follow some extensively detailed back-story to be able to make sense of the world I was in. From what Austin had heard, The Witness might just fit that bill.

Here is where you start:

You have no instructions, tutorial, or guide. You can move, you can see, and you can hear, but you don’t have a gender or race or age. You don’t have any weapons or tools, just a cursor that appears when you click in the right place. Your task is solving this puzzle, and then applying what you’ve learned to help solve the next one. And the next.

Solving this puzzle opens the door and drops you into a peaceful, sunny garden. The moment my eyes adjust to the sun (seriously, it feels like I’m outside), my breath catches in my throat. Reliving it now, as I’m writing, I can feel that moment, where both Austin and I gasp and say ‘whoa.’

This happens repeatedly over the three weeks that we play this game.

Every little area of this world is different and clever. The colors are stunning. The plants and water don’t look ‘real’ in the uncanny valley sort of way, they just remind me a bit of how plants and water look in a dream. Sand dunes, mountains, waterfalls, leaves – everything is gorgeous. The sounds feel natural; there are no moments where I must scramble for a remote to turn down the game. I am exhilarated but relaxed. Not once do we reach a new part of this world and feel let down.

Beyond the visual and aural beauty is the complex world of puzzles. Each new puzzle type starts out easy, so you can learn the rules of this world. Then the next one is a bit harder, making the rules clearer. I know that gamers will recognize this as a common convention to teach the player the rules of the world, but even Austin – again, a grizzled gamer – marvels at the elegance of this format. Some areas have puzzles that can be solved two ways, leading us in different directions depending on our solution.

The Witness provides Austin and me with the perfect opportunity to work on something together. Most of the time our interests diverge. We both like to read (not the best team activity), but at the time there were not many bands, TV shows, or films that we liked to experience together. And even though this is not a two-player game, we turn it into one. It is easy enough to share the experience of solving puzzles and exploring a new, stunning world. Austin’s years of gaming experience mean he takes the controller when we move from place to place, but we are equal partners, navigating together.

These puzzles create many moments of discovery that are a joy to share with each other. So many times, we are staring at the screen, having tried every combination we think exists, ready to give up. Suddenly one of us yells “oooh, gimme the controller” and solves the puzzle. Either the other one says OH RIGHT or, if we still don’t see it, asks the solver to explain what they did and why.

About 14 days in, we finish the game. We have spent the previous two weeks either racing home from work to eat dinner and settle in for a couple of hours of play, or ruing the plans we’d made previously that prevent us from nestling into this little world together, just us and occasional visits from our two cats. It has a sweet ending, and we are a bit sad. No, that’s not accurate. We are very sad. It was a tremendous experience, and now it is over.

And then, Austin comes home from work and says the two words I’ve been hoping for since we turned the PlayStation off:

“There’s more.”

The ‘more’ of which Austin speaks is a complex section of puzzles that knocks us back and pulls together things we’ve learned throughout the entire game. When we finally beat it, working together, it isn’t just exciting. It is invigorating. We squeal and laugh and scare the kittens with our shouting. It is pure joy, and we share it.

I hadn’t really thought of video games as something that could create such a communal, ecstatic experience. I know there are true multi-player games, and I’ve had some fun with things like Guitar Hero, but this was something else altogether. It felt meaningful without having some large overarching message. It was never violent, or cruel. It got me thinking, it challenged me, but it also made me extremely happy.

I know so many different types of games exist, and I can see that each of these types serve different purposes. I don’t want to elevate any particular one over the other, but I did want to let those out there who don’t fancy themselves as big into games, but who know and love someone who is, that this is available. This is a game you can play together if you like. Or, if you just want an extraordinarily special experience, you can play this on your own.

It’s been eight years since we finished this game. It’s stuck with both of us, and we both miss it. It’s wonderful to get to share the discovery of something new with the person you love most – sometimes it’s a delightful TV show, or a new city while on vacation. This time it was a video game, and I’ll remember it as vividly as any trip I’ve taken.