# My Journey to Becoming a Map Maker – A Video Essay [My Journey to Becoming a Map Maker – A Video Essay](https://youtube.com/watch?v=UY7wuxd5qT0) <div class=iframe-container> <iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube-nocookie.com/embed/UY7wuxd5qT0?si=BcTLoColc0ZDGgwo" title="YouTube video player" frameborder="0" allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" referrerpolicy="strict-origin-when-cross-origin" allowfullscreen></iframe> </div> I've been pretty busy for the last month. This is my first video game, video essay. I've spent said month writing, capturing, editing, and recording this sucker and am *finally* done. I hope you enjoy. I'll have a much deeper dive behind the video and the process of creating it soon.[^1] For now, a couple of quick notes: - Finally making an essay like this was a quarterly goal of mine, last quarter. It was a bit naïve to think I could goal from zero to finished product in three months, having never made one before. Excited to share more about the process soon. - The entire script is below so folks can read it, should they desire. I think it hits better on the screen, but please read it instead, if you'd like. - The credits for the project can be found [[My Journey to Becoming a Map Maker Credits|here]]. This is a full list of sources I tapped into. - Every bit of gameplay was captured by me, off original hardware, at native 4K60. - I don't apologize for singing. - I haven’t played a game, outside of capture, in three weeks. I’m excited to get back into *Tears of the Kingdom* and start *Metroid Prime 2: Echoes*. Thank you again for reading and watching. --- # My Journey to Becoming a Map Maker Script >[!warning] Spoiler Warning >- The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild >- The Legend of Zelda: The Wind Waker >- 10-year-old Max's Business Plans >- Red Dead Redemption II >- Death Stranding >- Firewatch ## Prologue: Map Fiend There is this moment in a kid's life. It's usually a big deal. It's that transition to when they're finally big enough to pick the theme for their room. They pick the color, the bedspread, the style that manifests their personality. As a father to a two-year-old, this makes even more sense to me now. Eloise doesn't know or care about her loosely jungle-themed room right now. Her tastes only go so far as she likes Cheerios and ducks. Those aren't really the backbone of interior design. So when I was old enough to make this critical decision, one that'd define my personal space for years to come, I knew what I had to pick. I didn't pick race cars. I didn't pick *Star Wars*. I didn't pick whatever the hotness was in Pottery Barn Kids. I picked maps. Like, an atlas—of Earth. I had this huge world map on the wall by my bed. I had this Earth spot rug. I think even my comforter was mapified in some way. I'm not sure when the love of maps took hold, but it has never left me. I'd pour over maps of the United States, the Lewis & Clark Expedition, and the worlds inside my books. I daydreamed about hollowing out a tree and living in the forrest like Sam in *My Side of the Mountain*. My favorite part of getting my drone pilot's license was learning to read the charts. Maps light up something in my brain and I can't get enough. And it turns out that maps and video games often go hand in hand. I am such a sucker for a good video game map. There's this promise of possibility, exploration, and adventure. Bound only by the imagination and capabilities of their developers, video game maps can be the best maps. They bend and break laws of physics. They can offer unique views of the world. They can be reshuffled in infinite ways. They can be set in the mysterious past or imagine a dope future. The can depict the underground world of bugs or desolate space stations or creepy castles. They can be diegetic or unrealistic. It can be a window to the most satisfying checklist ever designed. It could also just be *so* visually pleasing. I mean look at me, I have the map of Inkwell Isles from *Cuphead* as a poster (which still needs a proper frame). Like I said, maps and video games go hand-in-hand. Back to my Map Room Era, one fateful day my Dad made some purchases across the street during a neighborhood-wide garage sale. He came back with a fat stack of Nintendo 64 games and a couple of strategy guides. And the game I started with was... *Star Fox 64* was great. The action, the thrills, the rush of dogfighting as a fox, which is kind of like a dog. The cast is lovable and iconic. And the gameplay is pure. It's fun, clean, lean, and crisp. I would replay it over and over and over. But the whole time, I was just playing the bottom string of levels—what I just learned the player's guide calls the "easy routes." I had no idea that these top and middle planets were playable. I have no clue why. They are clearly levels. Look at how they stand out! I digress. This was a time before I had access to the Internet. I didn't learn about over *half of the game* until my college-aged neighbor (or was he in high school? Older people seemed *so much* older to me then) told me that the upper levels were a thing. All I had to do to start this new quest was fly through the rings on Corneria and save Falco. My mind was blown. I raced home and immediately tried to reach those planets. Before I knew it, my squadron was flying through a waterfall and the Lylat System doubled in size. The map grew. I was charting the uncharted; or for a more apt reference, I was boldly going where I had never gone before. I think this was where the bridge from map to game was born. And, thanks to those garage sale pickups, I didn't have to wait long to be immersed and mesmerized by the biggest world I ever seen up to that point in my life. One teeming with life, a cool, summer breeze, and hundreds and hundreds of bananas. ## Chapter 1: Sacred Text I don't see how a developer that makes such wonderful games could be bad Look at this place. / Isn't it neat? / Wouldn't you think my collectathon's complete? Wouldn't you think I'm the gorilla / the gorilla who has everything? / Look at this trove. / Treasures untold. / How many wonders can one cavern hold?/ Looking around here you'd think / Sure, he's got everything I've got coconuts and peanuts a-plenty / I've got oranges and grapes galore / You want banana fairies? / There are 20! / But who cares? / No big deal. / I want moooooooore I wanna be where the monkeys are / I wanna see, wanna seem 'em rapping/ Swinging around on those, what do you call em? Oh, vines. Flippin' your Dpad won't getcha too far / Control Sticks are required for jumping, dancing / Strolling along down a, what's that word again? / Beach Up where they walk, up were they roll, / up where they stay all day in the sun / wanderin' free, wish I could be / part of that world Ahem, now look at the player's guide, which my dad also picked up that fateful day. Its pages are packed with map after map after map. Now, that may be more indicative of padded backtracking design than anything, but for a map fiend like myself, this [was a sacred text](https://media0.giphy.com/media/cKcAv3mfmObxrHhtHs/giphy.gif?cid=6c09b9523fa4jlvbt7ewbtysgjwwnkfm7hqgwk52qticcupl&ep=v1_internal_gif_by_id&rid=giphy.gif&ct=g). I had almost zero ability to retain the sheer scope of the worlds hidden inside that Donkey Kong-shaped mountain, let alone find all the bananas and remember which Kong was needed for which area. This book showed me the way. Just look at this pirate ship, hidden treasure looking map found in the early pages. How could this not entice me? It was thinking about this innate allure that reminded me of a quote from British psychoanalyst, Adam Phillips. I don't think I've ever intentionally sought out the words of a psychoanalyst, but I was intentionally reading Issue #184 of Ridgeline, a newsletter by walker, talker, and photographer Craig Mod. This one was titled "Continuous Uninterrupted Solo Walks." Craig read a collection of interviews with Adam Phillips from *Paris Review* and this quote inspired Craig to write that particular letter. And the cycle sort of continues with it being one of the quotes that became a cornerstone for this essay. And like Craig said, "it’s a bit long but stick with it." > [!quote] > "As young children, we listen to adults talking before we understand what they’re saying. And that’s, after all, where we start — we start in a position of not getting it. It’s true of listening to music, too. The emotional impact of music is so incommensurate with what people can say about it, and that seems to be very illustrative of something fundamental — that very powerful emotional effects often can’t be articulated. You know something’s happened to you, but you don’t know what it is. > > You’ll find yourself going back to certain poems again and again. After all, they are only words on a page, but you go back because something that really matters to you is evoked in you by the words. And if somebody said to you, 'Well, what is it?' or 'What do your favorite poems mean?,' you may well be able to answer it, if you’ve been educated in a certain way, but I think you’ll feel the gap between what you are able to say and why you go on reading." And I know I just shared a long quote, but I don't think I would have grabbed onto Phillips quote if i hadn't also read this little coffee letter I get with every bag from [Yes Plz](https://yesplz.coffee). The co-founder Tony "Tonx" Konecny writes a letter with every bag and this one was called "Deep." I wanted to pull out two paragraphs from the letter for you that I think pairs so well with Phillips' quote. You get one paragraph now and the other later. > [!quote] > Coffee is deep. I'm well over two decades as a professional coffee nerd and feel like I'm barely scratching the surface of the knowledge I should have. Botany, chemistry, physics, history, economics, anthropology, political science no end of lenses to see the subject through. Fortunately I'm blessed with enough curiosity (and cursed with a fractured enough attention span) that I will forever dig deeper. There was and is this compulsion inside my mind. Pages and pages are filled with maps and words trying to capture the immensity of islands shaped like monkeys, hidden inside a banana yellow cartridge's ***chunky*** megabytes. It didn't matter how confused for frustrated I may have become looking for the right collectible out of the *checks notes* 201 golden bananas, 3,500 colored bananas, 40 banana medals, 20 banana fairies, 40 blueprints, 8 boss keys, 10 battle crowns, 1 Nintendo coin and 1 Rareware coin. I think even that list from the Guinness World Records site is incomplete? Something happened to me when I sat criss-crossed-apple-sauce in front of the tiny CRT in my basement and warped into the tropical paradise of *Donkey Kong 64*. I had to explore that gap and dig deeper. Eventually though, that compulsion, that innate drive, puttered out for *DK64*. Perhaps my kid brain felt it had seen all that DK Island had to offer (it hadn't). Perhaps the frustration got the better of me (it probably did). Maybe my ADHD riddled brain found a new game to play (definitely). But the bridge between maps and games was solidified. There was no going back. Vast worlds were hidden inside cartridges and discs. I knew it. And I could discover them. And I wanted to explore as many as I could. And I hope this is coming through, but this drive was not from a place of just 100%ing a game or exploring every nook and cranny. It was to take these books and pair them with a compelling world. To translate a top-down 2D perspective and get to know the paths, hills, caves, and secrets for myself. To build my own connections with the game world beyond pros over at Nintendo Power. To make my own map, inside my mind and heart, of the games that I cherished the most. Eventually though, the maps went beyond the pages of guide books and the games themselves. The maps became seemingly infinite. Cartographers were everywhere, under the guise of online handles and plain-text FAQs and forum posts. With this flood of information came a whirlpool of myth and mystery, like playground rumors amplified by a thousand. What was real? What was fake? I wasn't sure, but I was determined to find out for myself. ## Chapter 2: A Sea of Cartographers I don't quite remember when I "got the Internet." I mean, I always understood that computers were neat things at the library (God bless those bondai blue iMacs). They'd let me play computer games like the *Backyard Baseball* and *Cap'n Crunch's Crunchling Adventure*. I distinctly remember my pal Phillip showing me GameFAQs and my world being rocked by the sheer amount of cheat codes. Beyond looking up cheats, I wasn't in deep with online guides. I preferred the books with their pretty pictures and maps, over the lost art of ASCII maps and plain text. The Internet sort of became my lifeline to the world of gaming and my friends when I moved to a tiny island at 12 years old. I was whole hog into the daily Dojo updates for *Super Smash Bros. Brawl* and I was trying to use a cellular laptop connectivity card to log into MySpace. I remember downloading MySpace IM to chat with my friends super late at night over a 3G-ish cell connection and being crushed that no one would/could talk to me. The Internet went from a side thing to a direct line to the world. And it was those days that I leaned super hard into video game coverage. The Dojo was an unparalleled time. But I also poured myself into researching *The Legend of Zelda* and *Pokémon*. You see, I wasn't allowed to play those. And as an almost 13-year-old, aka the prime demographic of Nintendo's mass marketing machine for the Nintendo DS, I had to figure out how to play *Phantom Hourglass* and *Pokémon Diamond*. So I printed out pages and pages of what amounted to preview material to pitch my parents on why I was old enough to finally play these series. They agreed, probably to get me to stop printing so much paper, and I was in. One day we island hopped our way over to St. Tomas and ended up in one of the tourist-y shopping centers. I snatched up *Phantom Hourglass* and that was it. I poured over the manual and box the entire car and ferry ride back home. And then I poured countless hours into 100% the game. And guys, you draw on the maps. I was hooked, lined, and sunk. But it wasn't enough. My *Zelda* journey was just beginning. Coming back to to the States, I needed the game that proceeded *Phantom Hourglass*. I needed *The Wind Waker*. And what did I do while I waited to head back to the mainland? I researched the crap out of it. I learned as much as I possibly could through the power of the Internet. No doubt I was perusing the likes of GameFAQs and IGN, but the site I remember the most was Detstar.com. I have no clue how I found Detstar. I don't recall a search or a recommendation. I just remember it *existing*. That's the beauty of the old web (and a kid's brain)—cool places *just existed*. I was captivated by the "Interesting Stuff,' "Triforce Shards," and the Great Sea tabs. These little tidbits and Easter Eggs are engraved into my mind. And I had to see them for myself. When back in the US, we went to a GameStop in Florida and I found my prize. It was on a little shelf near checkout with the "old" GameCube games—*The Wind Waker* for a mere $18. But remember, I researched everything I could find. I was so dedicated to the idea of a complete *Wind Waker* experience that I had to get a GameCube Game Boy Advance cable to access the Tingle Tuner. GameStop did not have one of those, so we went down the street to a Circuit City were I got this knock off link cable to make my Tingle Tunin' dreams a reality. I was *all* in. And for all my research, in spite of my obsession, the sunken world of Hyrule and the Great Sea that covered it did not disappoint me. I could sail out on the those open waters for days. It was the first time I went on a quest. The world was dripping in lore, but not just the game world.; the real world too! I had absolutely zero ties to any other *Zelda* game besides *Phantom Hourglass*. That opening crawl depicting *Ocarina of Time* was a legend to me, a myth. I had no clue who the green garbed Hero of Time was. I had no clue of the previous threats and adventures. And so I could and did immediately latch on to this incarnation of Link, a young lad rolling along with tradition, hearing the stories of old. I could not even fathom the depths that the story would take me, physically and narratively. Just like Link, I started out just wanting to save his sister, but was sucked into a plot that predated the both of us. When you discover the hidden chamber where the Master Sword was sealed away, there are these stained glass portraits of the sages and heroes from *Ocarina of Time*. I wager the original intent behind this room was to have fans pop off at such a direct callback to the transformative game. But me? I was in awe. I had seen these colorful windows before, but only in a resolution of 132x98. In the game, they towered over Link and me. I knew I was in a sacred space and was overwhelmed by a history I didn't fully understand. I think this game and my exploration of it—both online and in the game itself—was formative in understanding the power of online guides. The possibilities became endless, just like they felt out on the Great Sea. But it was also a sign of obsession. Sometimes that desire to be educated in a certain way, to be able to answer the question, swells. Mine was seeded at an early age. I had a desire to play games and help people understand them better. Just check out this job posting I made back in February 2005—when I was 10 years old. I clearly meant serious business. In spite of my infinite business wisdom of trying to hire 8-year-olds for quarters, the real-life prospect of playing games and making money didn't occur to me until I was in high school and working at Kmart. By killing time organizing backroom shelves, I'd listen to podcasts and it dawned on me that this hobby I loved so much, could become a job. And in that back room of Kmart, surrounded by towels and chintzy bathroom decor, I made a solemn vow right then and there that I would not rest, I would not sleep for an instant until I was writing for IGN. But first, I decided to put a *Wind Waker* themed Wii U on layaway. ## Chapter 3: A Dichotic Breakdown Well, to cut a long story short, I did end up writing for IGN. I became a guide writer for the site between 2014 and 2019. I wrote stuff ranging from TellTale adventure games to the biggest open world games of the generation. There are two of those games that I want to specifically look back at. Just a couple a small titles called *The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild* and *Red Dead Redemption II*. What was particularly neat about my roll on these guides, compared to say *The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt* or *Hitman*, was I wasn't assigned to cover the "Golden Path." The in-house team had advance copies and was able to "beat" and cover the game ahead of time. Freelancers like myself would be brought in to cover supplemental content and whatever was trending in the games. And for a brief period during my time with *Breath of the Wild*, my journey looked a little like this. Yes, I was one of the people out there hunting down and mapping out the 900~ Korok Seeds, by using this official player's guide map with its little dots and triangles and markers. I'd divide up the map by region, figure out roughly where I was, and then develop a sort of clockwise swirl of a route that went around and around and around until the Korok Seeds of the area were found, charted, and solved. I think I found and mapped 100+ for the guide before the Internet found out the prize was...gold poop. After that, I was assigned other tasks. But I had become a cartographer! I believe this was the first guide I worked on with an interactive map for the wiki. I was out there helping plop little markers to help other players find their way. To build their own connections with the game world beyond pros at IGN Wikis. To make their own map, inside their minds and hearts, of the game they cherished the most. Or just, you know, how to find a certain item. I had become the very thing that captivated me so fervently as a child. This whole guide assignment, which included crafting recipes, mini bosses, and chasing dragons, shaped my time and memories in this newly imagined rendition of Hyrule. When I think back on *Breath of the Wild*, my brain goes to standing on a tower and seeing Farosh for the very first time and feeling even smaller in this vast world. I was struck by its majesty and delighted by the revelation that there was so much left to discover. I think back to hunting those little Korok Seeds. I think of their cheekiness and tiny pockets of joy the puzzles produced. They rewarded curiosity and were often the answer to the question "I wonder what will happen if I do this?" I recall the experimentation of throwing ingredients in a pot; The inescapable notion of "just one more Shrine;" the thrill of the perfect parry against a Guardian or a Lynel. I was cultivating and curating curiosity—both for myself and for others—by exploring and helping people make the most of their time with *Breath of the Wild*. But being a so-called map maker, charting the uncharted for millions and millions of players, was—if I may force a saying here—a little like gaining the knowledge of fire. I could have fire and I could have fun, but with that came the knowledge of *everything*. Here is a map of New Hanover and the Surrounding States from *Red Dead Redemption II*. Man, what a game, right? A transportational game. You are sent back to 1899, when "the West had nearly been tamed." When "the age of the gunslinger and outlaws had almost passed into myth." I got the call to saddle up for the guide posse four days before release. And with such a momentous release, I decided to try a new system for tracking my gameplay—journaling. > [!quote] > "The idea of this notebook is to be a physical tool for guide writing. Beginning with Red Dead Redemption II. Time codes, goals, notes, ideas, etc. Let's see how this goes." — Me, dated 10/25/2018 I did use the opening pages of this notebook for guide writing and review notes. It started very technical and proper—181026_RDR2_1 *entry details* ~ 2hrs 17m 12GBs. Or entry #2 "Horse pooped during cutscene" That formality quickly faded and these *Red Dead* entries became a journal of my time through the story of Arthur Morgan. > [!quote] **Entry #19, dated Nov. 1, 2018** > After the [[Piranha Plant is a New Fighter in Super Smash Bros. Ultimate|Smash Direct news rush]], I feel drained. Makes me worried about bigger event reporting. I am out of practice though. > > As for *Red Dead*, heading back to see what trouble I can stir up. Abby has a hair appointment, so I should have more play time today. > [!quote] **Entry #20, dated Nov. 2, 2018** > Last night I was assigned to beef up the weapons pages to include which is the "best" & then make a dedicated page. It's all SEO driven. IGN even tweeted about it. Not mentioning it, but still, it is *my* work. > > This morning I also wrote a [[Toby Fox Says Deltarune is Not a Sequel to Undertale and It Will Take Years to Make|new Deltarune news story.]] Easing into the DualShockers flow. We shall see. For now, more *Red Dead*. > [!quote] **Entry #27, dated Nov. 4, 2018** > ...I was emotional when the Pinkertons charged us in the Swamp. I was filled with the same frustration, anger, & desperation that Arthur had. Arthur is sick? Tuberculosis. Apparently a bacterial infection. Sounds an awful lot like a certain mechanic/system/feature in the game itself, does it not? The in-game journal in *Red Dead Redemption II* is, in a word—immaculate. I loved it so much that I [[My Favorite Part of Red Dead Redemption 2 is Reading the Journal|wrote about it at DualShockers]]. The way that Rockstar interweaves your moment-to-moment gameplay in with larger narrative beats all from the perspective of everyone's favorite cowboy is profound. Like I wrote six years ago, the journal became my version of Arthur’s final days, giving my playtime a personal, lively touch that I had never experienced in a game before (or since): Arthur’s story and mine intertwined. I experienced a rare *freedom* in the guide world to play the narrative at my pace. It's one I'll savor forever and redeems the work that began to creep into the journals I was keeping. Because, when I think back to the magnum opus that is *Red Dead Redemption II*, my first thought isn't about Arthur's story or how I chose to spend his final days. I think about this spot and this spot and, of course, this spot. In early November, I was given the assignment of hunting alllllllll the animals. Perfect Pelts Pages and legendary animals galore. Pad out the guide with SEO-able pages and then fill them in. It's important to point out that I was in an unhealthy relationship with my work. I had spent the past 5+ years blogging and freelancing to make it as a full-time, real-deal IGN staff writer. And by end of 2018, I was feeling defeated. I slaved away on guides. I'd work obsessive hours to appease a potential employer. But I felt like I was stuck in mud, being unable to afford life out West and seemingly not slipping out from underneath the weight of guides. That's why, it shouldn't surprise you that I took my PS4 with me on a Thanksgiving vacation back north to Indiana so I could hunt down those suckers and not delay my work even further than I was already going to have to. I weaseled my PS4's way into the hotel TV and played and wrote when I could. I was with my wife and family to visit more family we hadn't seen in years. I didn't skip those events to be a cowboy; I had no agency there, but I was thinking about those Perfect Pelts Pages. And I did all this on my own. IGN never dictated I had to work over vacation. Not once. I did this of my own volition, my own scared and desperate volition to make something happen that never was going to happen. And because of this obsessive behavior, inside my brain is this strange dichotomy with *Red Dead 2*. On one side, I feel for this epic, haunting tale of a dying man and a way of life for people trying to desperately hold on to or run away from, both succumbing to the consequence of choice and the march of time. And on the other side, hunting down a white moose inside a hotel room in Indianapolis during my Thanksgiving vacation because I was too scared to take time off from the demands of wiki work. Now, I think I owe you that second paragraph from Tonx; > [!quote] > I'm often introduced as a "coffee expert" which—beyond my already high baseline of imposter syndrome— is a title I'm not willing to claim. At best I know *a little* about a lot. I have my own hard-won approaches to some of the creative and culinary challenges around making coffee better, I've earned some unique perspectives. I've found some amazing allies. But I'm still learning. In a strange way, I am reminded of Trevor Rainbolt, who I just found out about from a [New York Times profile](https://www.nytimes.com/2024/06/19/magazine/trevor-rainbolt-geoguessr-google-maps.html). I've known about GeoGuessers for a bit. I think I became aware of this mad skill when Shia LaBeouf's "He Will Not Divide Us" flag was found from a camera feed looking only up at the sky. Since then, it's just been a "Internet skill" I was aware of and , of course, there is someone out there that is "the best." This profile from *The New York Times*, in part, focuses on how Trevor sold all his possessions and began to explore the world he had memorized from Google Maps. One excerpt was about how he journeyed to his favorite road, which happened to be in Laos. The sight of this place in the flesh moved Trevor to tears. I tried so hard to be the "video game expert;" to be a genuine video game reporter and commentator—a real one, not some "lowly blogger." Blogging was just a means to an end. But I spent all my time alone. I didn't savor the games. I didn't fully experience what the industry had to offer. I spent my time working on guides while trying to figure out the path to my end goal. I was guiding others, but couldn't find my own way. It's this example of going from a place of rapid-fire learning, memorization, and repetition to a place of rediscovery, experience, and newness. From being educated a certain way, with the flowery language and the knowledge of fire, and going back to exploring the gap. The gap between what you are able to say and why you go on reading, writing, composing, geoguessing, playing, editing, cooking, pursuing, and the infinite other possibilities that compel your heart and mind. This all points to one fact; one undeniable, experiential fact. The map is *not* the territory. ## Chapter 4: The Map is *not* the Territory My relationship with *Death Stranding* started out as one of circumstance. In October of 2019, my PS4 Pro bit the dust, leaving me Sony Pony-less right before Sheriff Hideo Kojima and Deputy Neil Druckmann rolled into town with the shiny new games. So, I ended up buying the *Death Stranding* PS4 Pro bundle alongside the collector's edition because I have a sickness. I looked like an absolute mad lad walking out of Best Buy that swampy Thursday evening. I probably looked like Sam Porter Bridges lugging those monstrous boxes and buckling them up in my car. Unfortunately, it didn't really take me long to dip out of the game. Was I really supposed to walk this much? Should I just tape down the triggers? What the heck is this story? But I had this stupid high monetary investment into the game and my identity with Norman Reedus and BB. My apartment was decorated with *Death Stranding* decor. I couldn't *not* be reminded of this weird hiking mailman game. I put the game down and just said I'd return to it someday. Someday turned out to be just a couple months later in the spring of 2020. During the lull before *The Last of Us Part II*, I returned to the United Cities of America and set out. By this point in the video, it shouldn't surprise you that I fell in love with *Death Stranding*. It's world navigation, map marking, and traversal lit up all the map-loving receptors in my brain. Plus, it's Kojima. There have to be Kojima receptors in my brain by now, right? You study the world map, fill in its edges by bringing locations onto the network. You plan routes, using markers to pepper the world with a digital overlay. Crevices and mountains force you to navigate around them or through them. And more often than not, you have to go back-and-forth to delivery locations. The entire game culminates in this cross country trek *back* across the entire game world. And on paper, before you get to that very moment, that sounds *dreadful*. I have to *walk* back?! Across the whole game? But it is a marvelous experience. You use your knowledge of the landscape and routes you'd spent hours upon hours navigating to make a swift journey. The world was once desolate and disjointed, but is now teeming with user-created shelter, tools, and bridges. You, along with all the other porters, reconnected America. As I approached Central Knot City, the game's starting location, I passed a small sign that I had planted back in November 2019. I realized how far I had traveled and how much I had overcome; both in the game and in real life. The map, in a video game or in real life, is just a representation of the territory. It's what the designers think is essential to communicate to the reader. Dreams, ideas, and goals are the maps of our lives. They are only representations of a territory we haven't even been to yet. You can have this big picture and perception of how your dream, your life, your project, your *thing* will go, but until you get there and actually navigate said thing, you'll never know and make your own map. You'll let some perception or worse, someone else, be the cartographer. You'll let someone else's view pluck out what is important to your life. You'll let that map come to define your reality and potential. You'll be limited by that view. Unless you go out there and map it for yourself. You need to go chart the uncharted. You need to become the cartographer. You need to go deliver the pizza in the timefall yourself. Because at the end of the idea, the project, life, when you look behind you and start the journey back, only then will you realize all the progress you made and what you are truly capable of. For years, I let a singular, tunnel vision goal be the sole standard. I was a success or failure by one measure. And when I failed that highly restrictive parameter, a parameter mapped out by myself and an industry, I viewed myself as a failure. I could never terraform the territory to mirror the map. A big part of that was steeping myself into being educated a certain way—to erase the gap between my knowledge and the source of my compulsion. Eradicating the gap cut off the source though. The knowledge processes and analyzes before I could experience or feel anything. The knowledge didn't bridge the gap: It buried it. And that almost killed the reason to go on doing the very thing I felt compelled in my bones to do. It wasn't until I hit pause, until I took a step back, that I realized I am not a writer because I work for a certain publication. I am not a gamer because I play the latest AAA hotness. I am not a podcaster because I have the biggest audience. I am not a dad because I have a daughter (okay, technically that does make me a dad, but my next point is a cooler reason to be labeled as such) I am a writer because I write. I am a "gamer" because I enjoy playing games! I am a podcaster because I podcast. I am a dad because I build an intentional relationship with my kid, this tiny, incredible person that my wife and I have the divine pleasure of knowing and watch grow up. I am a creator, a maker, a builder. I am a cartographer. And my map of my life is better and richer than anything someone else could draw up for me. [^1]: Duh. It's *me* guys.