Big Walk Doesn't Make Things Easy

Who has time and energy to play video games, anyway? Unless my living wouldn’t depend on them, they’d require so much diligence and effort, I’d rather put them in something more useful, such as doing home chores before things break down or turning workouts into an actual habit instead of a post-holiday resolution. They’ve come a half-a-century-long way of being mindless distractions to often still mindless but now firmly consuming entertainment.

Enter Big Walk. It’s not useful in the practical sense. I’m getting the mental and social benefits of hiking, sure, but physically, it doesn’t bring me closer to the daily 10,000 steps. I’m chatting, but via proximity only. Stand too far away, and I don’t hear a thing, unless I’m in a tram tunnel or another colorful structure with surprisingly echo-friendly acoustics. At least I’m enjoying myself, aren’t I? I definitely do, the game is too often exceptional, with one huge caveat: I need to convince people to play it with me.

The optional nature of many co-op modes, with the rare exception of Jozef Fares productions and the upcoming Orbitals, has taught me that they’re never essential. I can get by myself, without all the organizing, negotiating and postponing, as if I’m planning an epic wedding ceremony and not just an online gaming hangout. Then I remember that some friends admire video games, but they do it from distance. Some don’t care for them at all. Some don’t care for the ones I care for. And some lack the capacity to do anything at the moment, simply put.

But look, it’s all worth it! The moment I figure out the logistics and start playing, I wave hands around in a surprisingly tactile way, run and jump like a kid who’s no longer grounded, kick everything my sticky arms can reach, chat both because I must and because I want to and just spend time just enjoying myself on a coast instead of hurrying to the next objective marker (that is actually not there because it’s a thoughtfully designed game). And this all without even being able to look at myself, except for that mirror near the painting studio. Big Walk is enjoyable precisely because it’s unafraid to make me uncomfortable in my own skin.

Things get rough. At first, there’s no map to navigate Big Walk, similarly to how there’s no map to navigate any life adventure. I can’t be sure I was heard by everybody. I might get lost in the woods and not come back in time for the session to end. Or something happens in real life and I have to disconnect. But at least there are people around who are going through the same thing, aren’t they? So why don’t I lend them a hand, let them help me out or even hold and carry me around? Even if we can’t immediately solve every puzzle, stay close and work as a team, we’re moving towards the same goal which is still hours away but finally feels reachable when so many Big Walkers are around.