Refreshing Wind of the Spirit Island

Noah Perna came into the world at the tail end of 2017 and it was the greatest moment of my life. I saw my wife in his button nose, both his grandmothers in his beautiful blue eyes, and even saw a bit of me in a rarely observed genetic quirk where my left eye doesn’t open as wide as my right one unless I consciously open it. When he looked at me with that same slight squint – my heart expanded. This was my boy. My son. My first born. How was I supposed to know the ways it all would come unraveling days later?

We knew there were dangers when we started down the road. One of my wife’s medications was known for reeking havoc on babies, but we consulted with a host of experts who all said that we’d just have to change one pill and keep an eye on things. We scheduled the extra appointments and went shopping for nursery furniture. The pregnancy itself, however, went amazingly well. There were no mood swings, precious little nausea, and she even avoided weird food cravings – the trope of pickles and ice cream played out in a wave of Italian food and chocolate I gladly welcomed. We made it to the delivery day with only minor, common complications. And then we went home.

I will save you the details of the swirling vortex that lives where postpartum hormonal shifts meet bipolar manic episodes. But I will assure you that January of 2018 is the closest vision of Hell I will probably know in my lifetime. I was a new dad with a baby still counting his lifespan in days. My wife was stumbling through a nightmare none of us could help her walk through. Even with the help of a small army of family and friends – I still found myself retreating to the bathroom because I didn’t want to break down in front of Susan and add to her pain. My exhaustion was showing. Suze’s mother had gone with her to the emergency room. My mind was trying to be both with her and taking care of Noah at the same time. I hadn’t slept in days, but our friend still knew what speaks to my soul.

“We’re gonna play a game. What game have you been dying to get to the table but couldn’t get anyone to play it with you?”

I hadn’t had time to even crack the shrink wrap on my copy of Spirit Island. The familiar crinkle of plastic was a simple joy I didn’t realize I needed, and with it came the flood of memories about getting it. How Suze had masterfully asked me – in the midst of a conversation about my PAX Unplugged trip – what games I would want to get if I could. How I saw Thunderspeaker peeking through the wrapping paper on Christmas morning. How I tried to explain to my utterly confused family why I was so excited. It all came back.

In Spirit Island – you are not the conquering explorers. You are spirits trying to protect your native islanders, the Dahan, by driving away explorers and settlers as you try to heal the land they are steadily ruining. I took on the mantle of The Vital Strength of the Earth – a slow, lumbering spirit who’s known for being incredibly powerful only after he actually gets going. While my friends were playing characters that could pull off elaborate card actions almost immediately – I could do nothing in the early turns but wait, grow, and know that – at some point – I would turn the corner and unleash the full might of my fury on these invaders attacking my villagers. And did I ever.

Even when I had gained all my presence – my influence from which I could act on the island – I couldn’t play more than a couple cards a turn. However, with each play, I began devastating throngs of enemies. We taught them to fear us – a mechanic that not only gave us one-time powers that turned the tide of the game our way, but also lowered the requirements for us to win. The other spirits would move them into position, and I would crush them. Cities tumbled. With the edifices of their greed turned to rubble, we sent them packing. We actually won.

I looked at Noah, asleep in my arms, and whispered, “Hey buddy. We won. We made it!” He opened one eye, as if to say, ‘Yeah, Dad, of course we did,’ only to cuddle up and go back to sleep. My friends started putting the game away and I realized something. I was smiling again, and not the forced smile of a man putting on a good face for the sake of his loved ones. A real smile. The numbness that had overtaken me had dissipated. Not gone, but it didn’t weigh on me like it had. I could once again see things on a deeper level than how I was going to survive this.

I had picked Vital Strength of Earth because he reminded me of old stories of golems. Defenders, protectors, and warriors given life by God. A bit of Jewish folklore that I’ve always been drawn to. I was essentially playing a golem trying to save my family. I couldn’t act right away because it simply wasn’t possible – but when I could, when I could rally the energy needed to talk to doctors, endure the mental and physical strain, or even just smile when everything inside me was broken because she needed to see it, I would watch the towers of my enemies fall before me. By becoming a golem for a couple hours protecting the Dahan, I became human again and protected my family.

Spirit Island is my favorite cooperative game right now. Between the theme, the heavier nature of the mechanics that get my brain firing on multiple levels, the asymmetry of the various spirits that make me want to try them all. I can’t say a bad thing about it. But what will always stick with me about this game was the time it let me get away from the absolute despair I found myself in so that I could fight for my family. How it gave me a puzzle that reminded me how my brain is supposed to work. This year has been one of the hardest years in my entire life, January only being the opening salvo, but I have a small mountain of cardboard and an army of friends to remind me that even the darkest of nights end with a story of epic victories.