By Robert Albrecht (from chalanteur.com)
It should be no great secret that Henry David Thoreau's economical and existential masterpiece was one of my greatest inspirations to begin on my journey of mindfulness and intentional living. I would go so far as to say that Walden: Or, A Life in the Woods was the straw that broke the camel's back for me, the match in the powder barrel, the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand. I knew that floating through life without taking any roots in the present was not the way I was meant to live. There was also within me a latent desire to understand our capabilities as humans.
In Concerned Ape's unbelievable success Stardew Valley, our protagonist's experience is more or less the same. Their's is a story of awakening and understanding of what it means to be happy. It's a game touted as a spiritual successor to titles like Harvest Moon. But I believe this one man-team was able to create something which speaks to players on a much more profound level than a mere farming simulation. Perhaps it is truly the brilliance in concept and design, or maybe I just found Stardew Valley at the exact right moment in my life. Regardless, there is something to be said about this game which has granted it a place in my heart alongside a literary classic like Walden.
I named my character Ron after the actor who plays one of my favorite movie personalities of all time, Peter Gibbons, and I will continue to refer to him as such for our purposes here.
The game begins with an image of an old man, Ron's grandfather, ostensibly surrounded by his family on his deathbed. To Ron he bequeaths a sealed envelope along with a message breathed out with his final breaths: "There will come a day when you feel crushed by the burden of modern life, and your bright spirit will fade before a growing emptiness. When that happens, my boy, you’ll be ready for this gift.” Ominous though his final words may sound, it turns out that this final act of compassion would prove to change Ron's life forever.
The day his grandfather described would not come until much later in his life, however. On that fateful day, amid the monotony and soulless nature of his occupation, he reaches into the drawer where he kept that sealed envelope. Inside it was a letter informing him that he was to inherit his grandfather's ranch in quiet Pelican Town on the Southern coast, nestled in Stardew Valley. Judging by the rapidity with which the scene transitions to his bus ride there, it would seem Ron knew that it might do him some good to leave his modern, sterilized corporate environment to discover the simple, mechanical motions of life. He is afforded an opportunity to return to not only his familial roots, but to a simpler time not as convoluted with stipulations, middle men and cynicism. The quiet sea-side Pelican Town would seem to be everything Ron was missing.
To be certain, Ron does not benefit from the organic beginnings which Thoreau sought, that it would be better to be "born in the open pasture and suckled by a wolf" than to inherit farms, houses, barns and tools. That has more to do with the extremity of Thoreau's two plus year experiment in understanding the rawness and core survival ability of the individual. Ron did not escape, or perhaps more aptly, play pilgrim to Stardew Valley with the same intent. He was seeking happiness and peace alone, whereas Thoreau fully intended on returning back to what he describes as civilization following his time in the woods.
In this way, it is perhaps our protagonist who more precisely embodies the lifestyle of which I am a proponent. By living intentionally, what I do not seek is to commit myself to anything arbitrary. I do not promote setting rules and adhering to any particular -ism. I simply want to see people living lives which bring them true contentment and eliminate unnecessary stress.
There is obviously a romance surrounding life on a farm: being awoken by the cock's crow, putting hoe to solid earth to expose it's fertility and robustness, the sweat of a hard day's work, and most importantly, and (forgive my Marxist undertones) directly enjoying the fruits of one's labor.
The idyll ringing in Ron's heart is quickly shattered when he discovers the overgrown state of Livingston Ranch, not to mention the dilapidation evident in his small farm house. There is clearly an inconceivable amount of work ahead of him before he even gets the ranch to an operational level. He does not, however, falter in his desire to commit to this lifestyle. He simply heeds Robin's words, the local carpenter who shows him the way to his home, to do his best to meet everyone in town. After tilling his first patch of soil and planting the parsnip seeds gifted to him, he does just that.
It is difficult to imagine the benefit of simply introducing oneself to as many people as possible without hope for a return. We view socializing as an investment of our time. Often times when offered options of Netflix or, to be completely fair, video games as a substitution, we are quick to latch on to whatever means will allow us to avoid human contact. Yet Ron decides to engage in his community. After all, there isn't much to distract him at the ranch save the mounds of work ahead of him. As is, his home is without a kitchen, contains no form of recreation to speak of with the exception of a TV that seems to have only have a weather and cooking channel available. There is simply nothing better to do for him than to meet the locals.
Thoreau speaks at length about his delight with the visitors who came to his cabin. Their meetings were not out of social obligation, but out of friendship and a longing for society. Like any good intentional liver, upon being visited by a caller, he was "ready enough to fasten [him]self like a bloodsucker to any full-blooded man that [came] in [his] way." In other words, when they came to see him, he made himself available to see them and to give them his full attention. You'll find that most locals of the valley are ecstatic to see you. Yes, this is a work of fiction, but it's certainly something to consider. When we remove ourselves from the constant, rushed flow of modern late-capitalist society and learn to enjoy the people who come into our lives, it can make a huge difference.
There's Harvey the doctor, Pierre who runs the general store, Marnie who sells livestock, Demetrius the scientist and his wife, the aforementioned Robin, and many, many more, each with their own distinct personalities and specialties. Though we may be tempted to chock the intriguing nature of these folk up to the fact that they are characters created by a writer, it also serves as a poignant reminder of how much we may be missing in our real lives by failing to know our neighbors. Each individual we come across has a story to tell, and one that will unfailingly enrich your life in some way. I am perhaps the most guilty person of this, and I'm working to overcome whatever hangups I have on making those unknown to me known out of sheer curiosity.
In Pelican Town, a place with an estimated population of about thirty people (including Linus the Hermit), it would be rude to NOT introduce oneself. Perhaps this is why we are hesitant to get to know our neighbors in more densely populated locales; there's no hope of us meeting everyone, so why bother at all? This would of course reflect our obsession with completionism, which is always a losing battle. Community and interdependence are the heart of Pelican Town--or at least it once was.
In an ironic twist, the corporation with whom you were employed prior to your Southward journey has recently opened a mega-mart in Pelican Town. Joja Mart represents the looming threat of modernity over the happy people in the valley, and Ron is given the option to support its existence by purchasing a membership or to forsake convenience for the continuity of togetherness in the town by working tirelessly to collect resources to rebuild the local community center. To us, this may seem an easy decision. Who needs the local blacksmith when you can just buy the newest mass-produced pickaxe, and more importantly, who needs to farm when you can simply fulfill your dietary needs with the individually packaged goods at Joja mart? It's also important to note that Pierre could never compete with their prices.
This for me is where we find the heart and soul of Stardew Valley. We choose to live on the ranch not because it's easy, not because it's convenient, but because it affords us intangible peace and purpose in our lives. It would be safe to assume Ron was making a much better living employed by Joja. He could have reasonably purchased whatever his heart desired with his salary. But this comes at a cost. It's a cost I believe no person would pay if they truly understood how simple and meaningful each moment of our life can be if we slow things down. In all fairness, not all of us will have an opportunity at attempting a simpler life as obvious as Ron; even Thoreau had to simply hope for the best and build his cabin as a squatter. But this initial hurdle to making drastic lifestyle changes should not prelude us from adopting small things each and every day.
This could be any number of things. Instead of going to the same chain restaurant you always do, try a family owned one in your neighborhood. Instead of buying everything in your house from Ikea, see if there's a local carpenter or furniture maker in your town and get to know them. Don't get me wrong, this is not about altruism and the blind mantra of "buy local". In the time of Thoreau, he really had no other choice. I see this engagement with one's community to be an entirely selfish endeavor. I want to be part of a community like that of Pelican Town because it makes life happier and more interesting. Mass production is convenient and by definition tremendously economical, but that's the danger in always thinking about the bottom line: we aren't machines. We are sapient animals with desires, curiosities, ambitions, moments of great joy and times of profound sadness. By living blindly in a society concerned only with what is efficient, we are depriving ourselves of what is fulfilling. In Thoreau's conclusion, he says, "there is an incessant influx of novelty in the world, and yet we tolerate incredible dullness". There is so much life to live and we are doing ourselves a disservice by buying into that dullness.
Stardew Valley is not a perfect game. There are many ways in which it fails to hit the mark in terms of the spirit I am lauding. The lack of any sort of hunger mechanic, for example, makes indefinite survival without anyone's help entirely possible (but hey, that's what we have modding communities for). But in a sense, it's exactly that my mind automatically jumps to this criticism that we all need our own version of Pelican Town in our lives. Why am I concerning myself with what is theoretically the most efficient means of survival? To simply survive most economically is not a happy life, but I feel as if we as a society place too great an emphasis on that materialistic philosophy. As pursuers of greater meaning, we seek to form community, we seek to form lasting friendships, we seek meaningful work not because we wish to continue living, but because we want to live happily.
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