As you read this, I am either high above the Atlantic, or already across it. I have become so accustomed to this journey that it feels like a perfectly natural part of my life, crossing vast distances a mile or more above the sea. I still gaze from the window of the airplane and at times get to see incredible sights, like the Alps swathed in clouds so that it seems a mere island in a sea of white foam, or the twisted ice sculptures of Greenland's glacial interior, but for the most part international travel has become routine.
I try to counter the tendency to lapse into feelings of mundanity by consciously marvelling at the amazing course of my life so far. Had it not been for the early MUDs, or my work for a role-playing game magazine, I might have remained an astrophysicist and been working on particle colliders at CERN. Instead, I'm running one of the world's leading videogame consultancies and enjoying the strange schizophrenia of contributing to big-budget console titles that go on to sell millions, while simultaneously working on low budget titles, and even some "art house" games with minimal commercial aspirations - all while being constantly mistaken for an academic! And I never cease to marvel that I only ended up setting up my own company because of the love of the woman who has become my wife.
Strive to treasure each day - the highs, the lows, the little victories and the myriad pointless conflicts, and whatever brief glimpses of joy we can attain in the moments when the stress of living and working are thankfully forgotten. We have but a brief heartbeat of the life of this planet to be who we are, and to be with those we love; it is a bittersweet gift, but only if we allow ourselves to be thankful for what we have, instead of lamenting what we do not.
Only a Game returns in April.