It is often said that no one knows you better than yourself. As a perfectionist and a typically high-strung overthinker, I know that I am my worst enemy.
No matter how capable I am of rationalizing a situation and acknowledging the objective truth, under the influence of my mind, everything warps. Suddenly, the most innocuous of activities become something Herculean and daunting.
Video games fall under this category. It’s strange; for as long as I could remember, the fear of perfection has followed me even into a realm where I didn’t need to be subjected to expectations. Frequently, I would restart games after previously leaving them unfinished, justifying it as no longer remembering the plot and wanting a fresh start. Yet, when this cycle would constantly repeat itself and I grew older, the justifications began to sound more like flimsy excuses.
In reality, the longer I left a game unfinished, the more that the negative thoughts would begin to fester. By not playing, I would lose the skills, the context, and the foreknowledge necessary to play the game. The next time I was on, I would go from being the perfectly equipped player to being unable to remember the task I was working on and thus wasting time — I would be far from perfect.
Over time, I began to play less and less as I engaged more with my studies and extracurriculars, now seeking academic success and validation. Games were sidelined until my last year of high school and college, when I found that I missed the thrill of escaping into another world through games.
As a now-young adult, I thought I had outgrown the irrational desire to achieve perfection in games that consumed my childhood. However, it wasn’t until last summer that I realized just how much the inner child inside of me has been stunted from growing.
Stardew Valley was a game that I had always wanted to play, if only because it had been so heavily discussed among people that I know and mutuals online. I didn’t know much about the intricacies of the game itself, but I knew the basic overview. As a farming simulation game, it was familiar — it resembled the Harvest Moon and Rune Factory series I grew up on, and the nostalgia immediately swelled my interest.
Perhaps, when creating that comparison, a part of me must have been preparing for the outcome that would inevitably arise. After all, for as much as I enjoyed and incessantly replayed the Harvest Moon and Rune Factory games, I had never finished a single one. There was always something I believed I could have done better, unsatisfied with how I spent my time in-game or my progress in the story; there would always be something I forgot to do that would haunt me until I eventually chose to reset altogether to erase my shortcomings.
Starting Stardew Valley with my partner, it quickly became apparent that I would struggle. While the game itself was inherently cozy and appealing in every aspect, I had to confront my childhood’s greatest fear: being less than perfect.
Between the short time span of each day, the various quests my partner and I were assigned, and having to manage the farm, it felt suffocating. I was overwhelmed as my mind fixated on the tasks I didn’t complete, at the time that was wasted, and at how unprepared I was for certain events. It was unavoidable — I was falling back into old habits.
Yet, I surprised myself. Though I was suffocating, I tried to focus on how much fun the game actually was. I wanted to continue; I wanted to push past the imperfect days and the inability to accomplish everything in a certain time frame. While in the past, I would have taken the easy way out and simply began anew, I didn’t want to do that to myself or to my partner. I would fight my mind’s influence over my life, regardless of how it would push back.
Over the summer, as I invested more time in Stardew Valley with my partner during our days off from work, I slowly began to remember how to breathe and play without the weight of perfection looming over me. Though some days were more difficult than others, it was progress. My inner child was ecstatic that I could even get to this point. She was proud of me, and I was proud of myself.
During the winter break, I returned to Stardew Valley. With it having been several months since we last played, my partner and I had no recollection of all the things we wanted to accomplish. However, it didn’t matter. We would relearn everything that we forgot and figure out what we needed to do next. We would just enjoy the time together and play. Perfection had no place in our small Pelican Town — and that was the most liberating part.
Stardew Valley has taught me how to grow, helping to cultivate my inner child that had never received closure or assurance that she didn’t need to be perfect. It has taught me how to breathe and find joy in the little things, especially when things may not be going ideally or how you initially imagined. It has taught me that there are no expectations when it comes to playing video games, and that not even your own mind can change that.
Letting go of perfectionism isn’t easy. While it has eased up when playing games, it exists in other forms. Still, I am learning to let go. I know that that is more than enough right now.