There's always a reason.
"The designer is my favorite." "The gameplay is up my alley." "I love the theme." "I really want to play this with my friends." "It has solo, so I think I'll enjoy it."
Years ago, games accumulated into my possession like a flood, drenching me in cardboard and meeples on a rather consistent basis. My collection grew to a point, and now it sorta...sits there. Waiting for that group to come over and play. Or to be brought over to someone's house to open up.
Nowadays, I'm much wiser in my purchases, only buying what I know will get to the table more often. But that wall still beckons me, reminds me of what I was, what I used to be. In a small way, it haunts me, teasing that I'll never find the ideal group of friends to share my joy with, that all this was bought for nothing.
Denial's a powerful thing, and probably the only thing holding my collection in stasis. But maybe it's time to let go. It'll have to be a step-by-step process, though...
Nowadays, I'm much wiser in my purchases, only buying what I know will get to the table more often. But that wall still beckons me, reminds me of what I was, what I used to be. In a small way, it haunts me, teasing that I'll never find the ideal group of friends to share my joy with, that all this was bought for nothing.
Denial's a powerful thing, and probably the only thing holding my collection in stasis. But maybe it's time to let go. It'll have to be a step-by-step process, though...