It feels like I’m returning to things I left when I started focusing on making things. I didn’t leave them entirely, but their importance diminished. Like actually playing. Not games or pre-built experiences, but real play. Play which is only limited by my imagination. Physical things can help start it, but it lives in my mind. I’ve noticed in this return that somewhere along the way, I had stopped imagining. I imagine things like games I want to make, but nothing for the joy of it. Nothing like I used to. Things like the floor falling away or buildings rising up out of the sea. They live in my mind, but where have they gone? Replaced with the cares of the world? I think not: I’ve let other people imagine for me. Every game, every movie, every book, is someone’s dream or a group of peoples’ dreams. It’s time that I played my own. When I find something I need to share, I’ll make it.
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