Outer Wilds Review
(Spoiler Free)
We live in a busy, fast-paced world. It can seem like everyone is moving at break-neck pace rushing from place-to-place, thing-to-thing, without a second thought. Our world has conditioned us to live in this manner. There is always something more to do, something on the horizon you're trying to get to. When you do take a second to look around and breathe, life can sometimes throw you curve balls and slap unexpected things down on your lap: a sudden illness, car break downs, refrigerator going out. It's in a busy world such as this that the meaning of life and those who you live with, the meaning of your experiences, the purpose of your being, can often be forgotten or set aside for the sake of "the next thing to get done." It's an exhausting existence at times.
Sometimes a piece of art comes along and changes your perspective. It can make you rethink your past experience and actions. It can ask you, in the way only a piece of art can, to reexamine what really matters.
A week after finishing, The Outer Wilds is still challenging me to rethink my day-to-day life. It's not just the music, or the incredible planetary vistas, or the charming--albeit brief--moments with characters, it's the core of what The Outer Wilds is as an experience that makes it so special and powerful. It's an experience that asks the player to slow down, to think, to examine, to ponder. It asks players to return to places tread before in search of something new. It asks players to discover at their own pace, come to their own conclusions, and think about the universe and their existence in it in their own way.
The game on the surface is very simple. It's just you, your spaceship, and the universe around you, now go out and see what is there. There is no combat, no complex RPG mechanics and systems, no resource management outside of watching your Oxygen and Jet Fuel meters. It's a game that wants you to think about and engage with its world and the story therein. It wants you to spend time in its world and it's story rather than in its menus.
This philosophy allows for the experience to center completely around you and how you engage with the universe. That, really, is the point of The Outer Wilds. It is hard to describe the feeling and thoughts I began to experience in the closing hours of this game without revealing details. What I can say is that I walked away from the game not only appreciating the game for the excellent experience that it was, but also appreciating everything and everyone around me and my role in this universe. I'm still grappling with the final moments of this game. But, as I sat there, back on the title screen after all of the credits and end-game sequences wrapped up, I realized that all of this business, all of this moving from place to place without ever taking a second to appreciate what I was doing, was a ridiculous way to live.
The universe can often be described as cold, uncaring, existing regardless of us. The scale and scope of the universe can often be used to make our existence seem small and unimportant. Maybe it is in that grand scheme. Maybe our existence on his planet won't have any affect on the universe long-term. But, that doesn't mean it is all meaningless or pointless. What I do matters to me. Who I choose to live my life with or who I choose to care about matters to them. What I decide to do here, right now, will have some effect, no matter how small, on those who walk behind me. Who cares if the universe as a whole won't remember me. The people I care about will, and I will remember them. I should appreciate and spend as much time with those people as possible. Once they're gone, all I will have is memories, so why shouldn't I try to make as many of those as I can? I think we all can learn a lesson from The Outer Wilds. That, despite our fast-paced world, despite the grand scale of the universe and our smallness within it, we do matter and the people we care about matter. And it's important to take a second, or two, to slow down and appreciate those who we care about, appreciate what we do. We are all we have, and maybe, that's all we really need.
(Spoiler Free)
We live in a busy, fast-paced world. It can seem like everyone is moving at break-neck pace rushing from place-to-place, thing-to-thing, without a second thought. Our world has conditioned us to live in this manner. There is always something more to do, something on the horizon you're trying to get to. When you do take a second to look around and breathe, life can sometimes throw you curve balls and slap unexpected things down on your lap: a sudden illness, car break downs, refrigerator going out. It's in a busy world such as this that the meaning of life and those who you live with, the meaning of your experiences, the purpose of your being, can often be forgotten or set aside for the sake of "the next thing to get done." It's an exhausting existence at times.
Sometimes a piece of art comes along and changes your perspective. It can make you rethink your past experience and actions. It can ask you, in the way only a piece of art can, to reexamine what really matters.
A week after finishing, The Outer Wilds is still challenging me to rethink my day-to-day life. It's not just the music, or the incredible planetary vistas, or the charming--albeit brief--moments with characters, it's the core of what The Outer Wilds is as an experience that makes it so special and powerful. It's an experience that asks the player to slow down, to think, to examine, to ponder. It asks players to return to places tread before in search of something new. It asks players to discover at their own pace, come to their own conclusions, and think about the universe and their existence in it in their own way.
The game on the surface is very simple. It's just you, your spaceship, and the universe around you, now go out and see what is there. There is no combat, no complex RPG mechanics and systems, no resource management outside of watching your Oxygen and Jet Fuel meters. It's a game that wants you to think about and engage with its world and the story therein. It wants you to spend time in its world and it's story rather than in its menus.
This philosophy allows for the experience to center completely around you and how you engage with the universe. That, really, is the point of The Outer Wilds. It is hard to describe the feeling and thoughts I began to experience in the closing hours of this game without revealing details. What I can say is that I walked away from the game not only appreciating the game for the excellent experience that it was, but also appreciating everything and everyone around me and my role in this universe. I'm still grappling with the final moments of this game. But, as I sat there, back on the title screen after all of the credits and end-game sequences wrapped up, I realized that all of this business, all of this moving from place to place without ever taking a second to appreciate what I was doing, was a ridiculous way to live.
The universe can often be described as cold, uncaring, existing regardless of us. The scale and scope of the universe can often be used to make our existence seem small and unimportant. Maybe it is in that grand scheme. Maybe our existence on his planet won't have any affect on the universe long-term. But, that doesn't mean it is all meaningless or pointless. What I do matters to me. Who I choose to live my life with or who I choose to care about matters to them. What I decide to do here, right now, will have some effect, no matter how small, on those who walk behind me. Who cares if the universe as a whole won't remember me. The people I care about will, and I will remember them. I should appreciate and spend as much time with those people as possible. Once they're gone, all I will have is memories, so why shouldn't I try to make as many of those as I can? I think we all can learn a lesson from The Outer Wilds. That, despite our fast-paced world, despite the grand scale of the universe and our smallness within it, we do matter and the people we care about matter. And it's important to take a second, or two, to slow down and appreciate those who we care about, appreciate what we do. We are all we have, and maybe, that's all we really need.