Hello, Zevist Family.
Today I come with a new knowledge quest. 🎮
I really like video games. I cannot play for too long because, after about 20 minutes, they usually make me dizzy, so my relationship with them has been more about watching than playing. I enjoy watching gameplays, discovering worlds, listening to their music, and seeing how players explore, solve problems, and move forward.
And from something as simple as that, ideas have started to come to me.
Sometimes I watch a game and think: “I could apply this to my life too.” A mechanic, a way of exploring, a mission, an object, a way of facing a problem... small things that, when transferred into everyday life, can refresh our perspective.
And that is precisely what I want to share here.
I am not saying that life is literally a video game, nor that this is the only way to see it. I simply found in video games a source of ideas that help me look at the world with a little more curiosity, organize myself, and, above all, experience life in a different way.
Because sometimes we need to look at the same things from another angle in order to find meaning in them again.
So today I want to invite you to do just that: to look at life as if it were a new game and discover what ideas we can take from video games to live it in a more conscious, curious, and, why not, fun way.
One way of looking at life is to imagine it as a video game. When starting a game, the player enters a world with rules, environments, possibilities, and challenges that they do not completely control. They can choose their movements, but they cannot decide what obstacles will appear or what external situations will arise. Their freedom lies in how they respond to what they encounter.
Every situation can become a learning experience. An obstacle does not necessarily mean that something went wrong; it may simply be part of the level that needs to be completed. The player observes, tries, makes mistakes, discovers what does not work, and tries again with new information.
That is why losing a game does not necessarily mean failure. In a video game, every attempt provides knowledge. Perhaps it is necessary to go through the same level four times before discovering the solution. However, every attempt is different because the player now knows something they did not know before. Repetition can be progress when each experience allows us to understand the scenario better.
This also shows that not every problem is solved by putting in more effort. Some require changing strategy, discovering a new tool, waiting for the right moment, or understanding a rule that had not yet been noticed.
External circumstances can work in the same way. Not everything that happens is chosen, but what happens can reveal abilities that had not yet been developed. A difficulty can teach patience; a loss can produce understanding; a mistake can reveal a wrong strategy; an unexpected situation can force us to explore a possibility that had never been considered.
In this way, life can be seen as a system of experience and learning. Decisions are movements; consequences provide information; mistakes show paths that do not work; obstacles develop skills; and victories represent those things that once seemed impossible and were eventually overcome.
There are also moments that seem to take us away from the main path. They are like side quests: experiences that may not seem important at the time, but that can provide knowledge, relationships, tools, or skills needed for later stages. Not everything has to immediately reveal why it happened.
And it is not necessary to know the entire map in order to move forward. A player can begin with limited information and discover the world while playing. In the same way, we do not always need to know the final outcome in order to make the next decision.
From this perspective, living is not about controlling everything that happens, but about learning how to play with whatever appears. There are circumstances that cannot be chosen, but within them there are still possible moves.
Life, then, would not be a perfectly mapped-out path, but a setting in which decisions, challenges, and opportunities for learning constantly appear. Sometimes we move forward quickly; other times we have to repeat a level. Some doors open, while others force us to look for another route.
The true victory is not reaching a point where there are no obstacles anymore, but developing the abilities necessary to face them.
Because every level completed expands the player's experience.
And when a challenge appears again, perhaps the scenario is similar, but the player is no longer the same.
One of the things video games have given me is learning to look at each day as something new. When I wake up, I can think: What mission do I have today? What side quests will appear?
From that perspective, even the simplest tasks take on a different meaning. Making the bed can be the first mission. Tidying the house can be another. Reading a few pages, learning something, or spending time doing an activity I enjoy can become a side quest.
This makes tasks stop feeling like mere obligations. Now they become part of a game in which I am the main player, and every completed action represents a small step forward.
It also changes the way I experience my days. I do not need to wait for something extraordinary to happen in order to feel that I am progressing. Progress can be found in the small missions I choose to complete.
Some will be planned and others will appear during the day. Some will be important and others simple, but all of them are part of the experience.
This way of looking at life allows me to begin each morning with curiosity, rather than feeling as though I am simply repeating the previous day.
New game. New day. New missions.
And then the question stops being only, “What do I have to do today?” and becomes:
“What adventure awaits me today?”
If life is the video game and each day presents new missions, the Temple can be imagined as the player's inventory: the place where the tools, knowledge, and resources that can be used during the game are found.
A player does not need to use their entire inventory at the same time. Each mission requires different things. Some situations need knowledge; others require practice, discipline, meditation, understanding, or a particular spiritual tool. Therefore, part of progressing also means knowing what is inside our own inventory and learning how to use it.
The inventory does not complete the missions for the player. It provides resources so that the player can do it themselves.
In this way, when a new situation appears, the question can be:
What do I have in my inventory that I can use here?
Perhaps there is already a tool that can help with that mission and its usefulness has not yet been recognized. Perhaps it is necessary to learn something new before continuing. Or perhaps a tool that seemed intended for one particular situation eventually becomes useful in a completely different level.
In this way, acquired knowledge does not simply remain stored. It becomes a tool available for the game.
The Temple of Zeus therefore represents that inventory to which the player can return, explore, and expand. Each new piece of knowledge incorporated increases their resources; each practice developed adds a new ability; each understanding acquired can become a tool for future missions.
And the more familiar the player becomes with their inventory, the more possibilities they have for facing each new level.
It is not about carrying every tool in our hands at the same time.
It is about knowing that, when a new mission appears, there is an inventory we can turn to in order to find what we need.
A video game may look, from the outside, like a form of entertainment, but playing involves much more than simply having fun. In order to progress, it is necessary to observe, pay attention, remember, analyze, make decisions, recognize patterns, and learn from mistakes.
The player is constantly interpreting what is happening. They observe the environment to discover paths, identify what represents a danger, experiment with different possibilities, and modify their strategy when something does not work. Even an apparently simple game requires concentration and active participation.
There is also a constant relationship between action and consequence. The player does something, observes what happens, and uses that information to decide their next move. In this way, playing develops an attitude of attention toward the environment: looking before acting, learning from what happened, and adapting to what appears.
That is why a video game can contain fun and, at the same time, require seriousness. Fun does not eliminate attention; many times, it is precisely what allows us to maintain it for longer periods.
Playing also means solving problems, managing resources, recognizing opportunities, accepting defeats, and trying again. There are moments when moving forward requires patience instead of speed, observation instead of immediate action, and strategy instead of strength.
That is why reducing a video game to “a way to pass the time” leaves out much of what actually happens during a game.
The player does not simply play: they observe, learn, decide, experiment, and evolve.
And perhaps that is one of the reasons why the image of a video game can be so powerful for understanding life: because behind every game there is a constant interaction between attention, choice, experience, and learning.
If we look at life as a video game, the Gods occupy the role of guides along the journey.
The player remains the one experiencing life: observing, deciding, acting, making mistakes, and learning. The Gods do not replace their will or play the game for them. Their role is to accompany the journey and offer guidance when the player seeks to better understand the world in which they find themselves.
A guide does not walk for us. They help us find the path.
In the same way, the relationship with the Gods can be understood as a way of receiving teaching, guidance, inspiration, and knowledge. Each divinity can represent a particular way of approaching certain aspects of existence, and getting to know them can expand the map that the player has of their own world.
Sometimes the player does not need the obstacle to disappear. They need to understand it.
They do not need someone to complete the mission for them. They need to discover how to face it.
They do not need to be given every answer. They need to learn how to ask better questions.
In this sense, the Gods as guides do not eliminate the difficulties of the game. They can help the player move through them with greater awareness and understanding.
Guidance can also appear when the player feels lost. They may be moving forward without understanding where they are going, repeating the same mistake, or facing a situation for which they do not yet have the necessary tools. Turning their attention toward the divine then becomes a search for guidance.
But receiving guidance does not mean obeying without understanding. The player must listen, reflect, and decide how to incorporate what they have received.
The guide shows; the player walks.
The guide can point toward a door, but the player must open it.
They can show a path, but the player must walk it.
They can teach a tool, but the player must learn how to use it.
In this way, the Gods are part of the game without taking away human responsibility. Existence remains a journey of decisions, learning, and experiences, but it is not necessarily a solitary journey anymore.
The player has their inventory, their missions, and their challenges.
And they can also have guides.
Divine beings to whom they can turn in order to learn, understand, and find guidance throughout the different levels of life.
Because perhaps one of the deepest functions of a guide is not to tell us exactly where we should end up, but to help us better understand the path we are walking.
This is simply one way of looking at life. I like video games, and through that experience I found a different way of observing the world and facing everyday life. Why not add an extra perspective that can help us move forward in life?
This perspective does not reduce the Gods or intend to turn them into elements of a game. On the contrary, it allows us to find new ways of understanding their presence, their guidance, and the relationship we can establish with them in different aspects of existence.
This comes from my own experience, Zevist Family: from observing how this way of thinking has influenced the way I live, organize myself, face situations, and move forward. It is not intended to be an absolute truth, but another perspective through which to look at life.
Extra Note: One application that has helped me with this is Skillion. It does not ask you for any information; you can enter as a guest, and it has a video-game-like appearance. You level up when you complete tasks. This is simply an external resource.
If the way we see life influences how we act, then the environment we inhabit can also become a tool for keeping that perspective present.
Each person can have a space in their home dedicated to the Gods: an altar, a place of prayer, or simply a place that represents their presence. It is not only about placing objects, but about giving them a place within everyday life. The physical space can become a visible expression of a relationship that also exists internally.
But this can extend beyond the altar.
Accessories, images, objects, and symbols related to what we want to remember can function as reminders and associations. Seeing a particular object can remind us of a teaching, a practice, an intention, or even our way of understanding life.
Video games can also be part of this. A person may have figures, objects, maps, illustrations, or any other element related to video games that have represented experiences of exploration, adventure, discovery, or overcoming challenges.
But there is an important distinction: not every video game necessarily contributes to this way of seeing life.
As with anything else, the player's ability to choose also comes into play here. It is not about assuming that every video game is beneficial simply because it is a video game. It is about recognizing which experiences, stories, and worlds expand us, inspire us, make us think, awaken our curiosity, or remind us of qualities we want to develop.
An exploration game can remind us of our curiosity.
An adventure can represent the desire to discover the unknown.
An open world can remind us that there are paths we have not yet explored.
A story can leave us with a lesson.
A character can represent a quality we admire.
An object in our home can become a small reminder of all of that.
Therefore, the player also chooses what they introduce into their own environment. Just as they decide which tools they carry in their inventory, they can decide which influences they want to have constantly around them.
The goal is not to fill the house with objects or turn it into a literal representation of a video game. It is to consciously build an environment that has meaning for the person who inhabits it.
The environment constantly influences our attention. What we repeatedly see eventually becomes part of what remains present in our minds. Therefore, surrounding ourselves with elements that represent our values can help us keep them active in everyday life.
A symbol can remind us of a virtue.
An object can remind us of a God.
An image can remind us of a teaching.
A video game accessory can remind us of an adventure, an ability, or a way of facing challenges.
And an altar can remind us that the divine also has a place within our everyday lives.
The point is not to accumulate objects, but to choose them for what they represent and for what they awaken within us.
In this way, the home can become a consciously constructed environment: a space where the elements around us are not there simply because we like them, but also because they have an association with something we want to keep present.
The ability to choose appears again here.
The player does not have to accept everything they encounter in the world. They can observe, experiment, and decide what they keep.
They can choose what expands them, what builds them, and what enriches their experience.
In this way, the Gods, symbols, personal objects, and certain video game experiences can coexist within the same environment, each with its own meaning.
It is not simply about decorating the space.
It is about building a setting that, every time we inhabit it, reminds us how we want to live our own game.
It is also important to understand that an object does not have to represent only one thing. The same object can contain several associations and meanings at the same time, depending on the experience of the person who owns it.
A figure, for example, may remind someone of a video game, but also of an adventure, a stage of life, a virtue, a teaching, or even an experience related to the Gods. Its meaning does not have to be limited to a single interpretation.
In the same way that the Gods have different facets, an object can also acquire different dimensions within our experience. It can represent several things at once and acquire new meanings as we ourselves change.
Therefore, creating a meaningful environment does not mean constantly buying new objects. It is not about consumerism, but about purpose.
We do not need to have a huge collection to build a space that represents us. A single object can be enough if we know why it is there and what we want it to remind us of.
The value is not necessarily in the number of things we have, but in the relationship we build with them.
An object can sit on a desk and remind us of a mission.
It can be next to the altar and represent a facet of a God.
It can accompany us for years and accumulate new associations over time.
In this way, objects can become small pieces of memory and meaning within our environment. They are not there simply to fill a space, but because they have a purpose within it.
The player chooses what they keep, what they place around themselves, and what meaning they want to give it. And, just as happens with experiences, that meaning can evolve.
That is why it is not about having more.
It is about having what truly means something.
An environment built in this way is not an accumulation of objects, but a collection of reminders: each one can have a story, an association, and a purpose.
And sometimes, a single object can remind us of many things at once.
Reminders do not have to be only visual or physical. Each person can relate to their environment through different senses, and sound can become an especially powerful tool for keeping a certain way of seeing life present.
For someone who has a special connection with sounds, music that evokes adventure, exploration, curiosity, or discovery can function as an immediate reminder of that perspective.
You do not have to be playing to listen to it.
A melody can mentally transport us to that feeling of beginning a new mission, entering unknown territory, or discovering something for the first time. Sound can thus become an association with the player's mindset: curiosity, exploration, attention, and a willingness to discover what comes next.
And, just as with objects, the same song can have several associations. It can remind us of a video game, a particular stage of life, an emotion, a teaching, or even a moment related to the Gods. Its meaning can grow over time.
This allows us to build a much more personal environment. For one person it may be images; for another, objects; for another, scents; and for someone else, sounds.
What matters is not using one specific medium, but discovering which elements naturally remind us of the way we want to experience life.
In this way, a particular piece of music can become a kind of “soundtrack” for the game. Not because life is literally a video game, but because that sound helps us recover a certain mental disposition.
The day begins.
An adventure song starts playing.
And something as simple as that can function as a signal:
The game continues. What is there to discover today?
Eudora
If there are any grammatical errors in this language, I apologize in advance. As I always say, I am a Spanish speaker. Thank you all.