The Truth, the Whole Truth, and Nothing but the Truth
How Gamers Can Maximize Enjoyment Through Selectivity and Self-Awareness
Life Is Too Short to Play Mid Games
In an era of market saturation and digital overload, gamers face a flood of titles across every platform and genre. No one can meaningfully keep up. It’s a symptom of the broader information age—more content than time, more noise than signal. After years of trial and error, one truth stands out: life’s too short to play mid games.
For most, gaming is a casual pastime. But if you're reading this, you've likely spent countless hours thinking about design, mechanics, and the thrill of mastery. In that context, time is premium currency—so why spend it on mediocrity? Life is too short to play mid games.
This isn’t a dismissal of personal taste—what counts as “mid” is subjective. But after beating over 310 single-player games and closely following gaming discourse, I’ve developed a sharp intuition for what resonates. Through trial, error, and social listening, I’ve honed in on the genres and titles that reliably deliver me high-caliber experiences.
Once you’ve experienced the apex of a genre, your expectations shift. You stop chasing perfection and start appreciating variation, flaws, and smaller delights—because you already know what the gold standard feels like.
Take Ninja Gaiden as a case study. Most veterans recommend starting with Ninja Gaiden Black, then moving on to Ninja Gaiden II, and finally Ninja Gaiden 3: Razor’s Edge. But that path isn't how I fell in love with Ninja Gaiden. I bounced off Ninja Gaiden Black early—its key hunts and maze-like maps weren’t what I wanted. I craved pure combat, which led me to Ninja Gaiden II, a more linear, action-focused experience I eventually beat on Master Ninja. I even cleared Ninja Gaiden 3: Razor’s Edge on that difficulty, but never finished Black. That’s not heresy—it’s personal clarity.
I took it a step further with Ninja Gaiden 3: Razor’s Edge. As I’ve written elsewhere, the game is highly flawed overall. But by using a 100% save file and jumping straight into Ninja Trials and Chapter Challenge, I skipped the campaign and found the purest form of its action. There, I discovered one of the most fluid and exhilarating combat systems ever made. This kind of flexible, selective play is something more gamers should embrace.
There’s an ideological shift needed: stop glorifying completionism or “doing it right.” If skipping entries, starting in the middle, or ignoring side content brings you joy, do it. If downloading a save file boosts your fun, so be it. This isn’t cheating—it’s optimizing your time and taste.
This ethos applies to narrative too. I always skip cutscenes. Shinobi, Nightshade, and Ninja Gaiden II are among my favorites, yet I can’t recall their plots. I skipped every cutscene in Wo Long: Fallen Dynasty, despite its high production value. Why? In a fast-paced world, I just want to fight. If the story grabs me later, I’ll read a synopsis. There’s no shame in beating a game first, then exploring its lore. Linear storytelling isn’t required for nonlinear enjoyment.
Obviously, I don’t skip narrative when the story is the main event—like in Metal Gear Solid (which also has solid gameplay). At the heart of this argument is a call to rethink how we engage with games. Think outside the box. Break the mold. Your time and attention are finite—don’t waste them on mediocrity. Find what clicks, and go deep.
The internet creates an illusion of consensus—a pressure to “game the right way.” But if you skip cutscenes, use 100% save files, or jump into a franchise midway, embrace it. There’s nothing wrong with how you play. The only mistake is forcing yourself to play a game just because it’s sitting in your library, silently judging you.
Production Value as a Gateway
Building on the idea that life is too short for mid games, time is also too precious to spend on low production value titles—especially when trying a genre for the first time. This isn’t a call for AAA exclusivity, nor a dismissal of indies or cult classics. It’s a practical strategy to reduce attrition and boost enjoyment.
Too often, gamers are told to “start at the roots” — to begin with the classic titles that shaped a genre. While this has academic merit, it doesn’t always help the modern player exploring unfamiliar territory. Take Baldur’s Gate 3, praised for its polish, deep systems, and scope. One might feel compelled to start with older CRPGs like Planescape: Torment, Icewind Dale, or the original Baldur’s Gate. But without prior genre appreciation, that’s often a strategic misstep.
Why? Because starting with a low-fidelity, clunky, or visually outdated game raises the risk of disinterest and burnout. Without nostalgia or genre familiarity, awkward interfaces, dated mechanics, and slow pacing can overwhelm new players. This often leads to unfair dismissal of the entire genre based on an unrepresentative entry point.
Instead, I advocate starting with the apex. If Baldur’s Gate 3 represents the genre at its most accessible and polished, that’s where you should begin. It gives the genre its best chance to resonate and lets you decide if it’s worth exploring further. If you don’t connect with the gold standard, what hope is there for its rougher predecessors?
And if you do fall in love with the experience, retroactive exploration becomes meaningful. You’re no longer stumbling blindly through history—you’re motivated, informed, and curious. You’re willing to tolerate quirks and limits because you already know the genre’s best.
This approach applies across genres. Whether tactical RPGs, character-action, or survival horror, the logic is the same: start strong. Give yourself the best chance to connect. Don’t let loyalty to “how things used to be” ruin your first impression.
In other words, production value isn’t just graphics or budget—it’s about reducing friction between you and the fun. Taste-test a genre through its most polished example. Let that guide whether you move forward or step away. Either way, you make the most of your time.
The Myth of the Infinite Backlog
Modern gamers suffer from a common problem: the unmanageable backlog. With digital stores offering deep discounts, bundles, and subscriptions, it’s easier than ever to amass dozens or hundreds of games hoping to play “one day.” The truth is most will never be played, let alone finished. This isn’t a discipline failure—it’s a gap between aspiration and reality.
Once you’ve experienced the peak of your favorite genre—especially action games—your standards rise. You develop a tactile sense of what “feels right”: responsive attacks, intuitive combos, satisfying animation canceling, and fluid agency. These aren’t always visible in screenshots or trailers, but the moment-to-moment feel can’t be faked.
That’s the problem with many backlog titles—they look great in marketing, but when you hit start, you feel nothing. I had this with a SHMUP I’d been excited for. After loving Crimzon Clover, I downloaded it, let it sit for days, imagining a 1CC run and a blog post. But within three minutes of playing, I knew: this wasn’t it. It lacked that special spark.
Trim the backlog. Trust your instincts. Play what clicks.
Play Your Games, Don’t Let Your Games Play You
You should choose what to play—not the algorithms, not the subreddit discourse, not your Steam library whispering that a game is “unfinished.” A game should not extract your time; it should reward your time. If it stops doing that, you owe it nothing.
Many games today are built around retention mechanics: massive upgrade trees, dailies, battle passes, and prestige systems. These mimic productivity but rarely lead to mastery. They create routine, not growth. Recognizing this isn’t cynicism—it’s literacy. Skilled gamers must know when a system enriches their experience and when it’s just milking their attention.
The true endgame is clarity: knowing what you want to play, how you want to play, and when to move onto something else.
So yes—play your games.
But more importantly, don’t let your games play you.
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