My Analog Imagination: Exploring Digital Nature in Reality

I have always been described as a dreamer, and I wouldn't disagree. As an only child, I learned at an early age how to entertain myself. I acted out scenes with my dolls, put on theatrical productions in my living room, and was the proud artist of work featured on the fridge. Although I enjoyed these activities, my favorite was going outside to play. The outdoors held a sense of wonder for me; there was so much potential for new encounters with neighbors, new places to explore. Even in my suburban neighborhood, the patches of yard that had trees in them felt like the biggest forests, and I would spend hours making “potions” out of berries from my neighbor’s bushes, “houses” out of the tree branches, and losing myself in a land of pure imagination.

The world was so big and endless and, even back then, I loved the way I felt connected to the earth itself, like I was truly part of the land around me. I couldn’t identify why that was such a powerful notion to me at the time, but I have since learned that I was looking for something more. I wanted to feel like I was not just myself, but that I was a piece of something bigger, brighter, and more exciting. I wanted to feel like an extension of the world — powerful, magical, special.  

As I got older, I, like many other kids, got hooked on the wonderfully nerdy culture of video games. Although I enjoyed reading and writing, I found that video games were easier to navigate – I didn’t have to make the story and I didn’t have to re-read paragraphs when I zoned out in the middle of a chapter. I wanted to assume the role of a character with a defined purpose, to step into a world that was similar (or, sometimes, dissimilar) to my own, and explore it.

My escapist tendencies that took me outdoors to look for a more adventurous life slowly morphed into exploring the virtual worlds of video games. It is not much of a surprise, given my history of playing pretend outside, that I was attracted to games with natural elements in them. I played The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time when it came out in 1998, and at 10 years old it reminded me of playing in my backyard. I was enthralled with the kingdom of Hyrule, and when I turned the game off for the day, I would head into the yard and play out the scenarios I had just experienced inside. 

The shaded garden at the edge of my family’s property was perfect for getting lost in. I would find a sturdy stick and assume the role of Link, ready to defend my home from Moblins and Peahats as I picked my way through the “forest,” crossing over intricately interwoven tree roots and moss-carpeted stones. My “sword” gave me comfort as I imagined intense battles unfolding before me, and I swore I could hear “Saria's Song” being carried on the wind blowing through the treetops. My imagination let me relive digital scenarios, and because of my creativity the woods were magical and felt like home. In those moments, I felt like I really was a hero and could take on the world. 

When The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim came out over a decade later in 2011, the vast open-world allowed me to pick flowers and harvest herbs while climbing up and down hills in a first-person perspective. I was able to virtually assume the role of the protagonist in a way that encourage more exploration and discovery than ever before, providing a different escape than when I was a child play fighting fantasies. There was now a sense of tranquility and even healing that I found in playing, at least when I wasn’t being chased by a frost troll and running for my under-leveled life. The lines between the imagined and the actual were still evident, but the improvement in technology made graphics so much more detailed and realistic. Gone were the harsh polygons of the N64, replaced with rolling hills and flowers that blew beautifully in the coded breezes. Walking through the woods during a blustery snow storm felt like a real winter, minus the wind chill. I took my time exploring Tamriel, slowing down to enjoy the woods and appreciate the fresh details that my imagination didn't have to provide.

While outside, the forced break from work and the man-made city was helpful. In nature, I couldn’t wait and pass time until something exciting happened: I had to make things happen for myself. My real-life hikes turned into a game where I would point out similarities between the landscapes I was trekking through and those I saw in games. I found that when I took time to retreat into nature, I practiced mindfulness, my hikes becoming a walking meditation that helped me reset my mindset from stressed and chaotic to hopeful and determined.

I couldn’t always get out into the woods, I could always return to video games. I yearned for more interaction between the fabricated, constructed fantasy in games and the universe in which I physically reside. The opportunity to cosplay at conventions as some of my favorite characters was one way to blend the two. Yet, when a convention ended and my costumes were shed for the skin of my average, everyday self, I felt like I was boxing part of myself away. I wanted to be able to have my worlds overlap and feel like an adventurer without necessarily having to don a costume. 

It wasn’t until 2016 that I was presented with a way achieve what I’d longed for: Pokémon Go. As long as I had been playing games, Pokémon and all its iterations had been popular, and only ever grows more so with no signs of stopping. I wanted to play Pokémon, truly. I had a collection of the trading cards — not that I knew how to play with them, but that first edition holographic Machamp that everyone had was a staple in all nerdy circles. I could rap the names and knew all the evolutions for the original 151, yet, for the life of me, I could never truly get into the games themselves. I had played Pokémon Stadium’s mini games to death with my friends, and I owned copies of Pokémon Red, Blue, and Yellow. I thought, perhaps, one version would appeal more to me than another, but that was never the case. I still own my copy of Pokémon Blue, but I will not type out a numerical confession of how many times I gave up on playing before even reaching Pewter City. 

Pokémon Go was easy to understand and fun, which encouraged newcomers, Pokémon veterans, and those who fell somewhere in between like me to get involved. I downloaded the app when it was first released, and it was a little buggy. It was a cool concept, but I wasn’t blown away by it. About a year later, I tried it again. I went to a park near my house, and my mind was promptly blown. I was floored by the Augmented Reality (AR) features of the game, which used my phone camera to show me a Caterpie by the swing set ahead of me. Using AR did what Zelda and Skyrim couldn’t: it bridged the gap between virtual fantasy and physical reality. Pokémon GO finally let me merge the planes of existence. If I had my phone with me, I would always have the option of adventure. I was now able to achieve activities, tackle tasks, and become not only a hero, but a Pokémon master. 

Pokémon Go encouraged exploration, especially with the introduction of eggs. Depending on the eggs in your inventory, the player had to walk different distances in order to hatch them and discover what Pokémon was inside. These worked well with Pokéstops, which popped up everywhere to give me a sense of excitement by transforming I had been before into something different. The game allowed me to see the world with new eyes by traveling to new places to spin Pokéstops for items, challenge gyms, and catch different Pokémon. Pokémon Go was a communal experience: people would even make events to meet at certain places and walk together, friends would go out on Pokémon Go dates, and groups online were organized to trade gifts with people in other countries. Visiting different parks in the area, both new and old, resulted in me being able to share my enthusiasm with others in real time as we played together and made new friendships. 

While traversing the winding, wooden paths with my camera scanning the world, I could see an Eevee prance into view at my feet. If I placed my buddy Pokémon — which varied depending on who I needed to evolve, but Bulbasaur is my favorite — at the right angle, I could see it happily chilling on a tree stump. My friends and I would laugh when a Snorlax took up the entire walkway in front of us. The game effortlessly created the imaginary quests I sought out as a child and let accomplish them with real rewards. Getting lost in the woods had transformed from being a method of escape into an experience that I could savor in a new way.

After nearly 10 years since its first release, Pokémon Go has undergone several overhauls, expansions, and updates. It has fluctuated in popularity, never reaching the highs of its first few months, but I still thoroughly enjoy it. Heck, I’ve even gotten my husband to play it over the last few years when we go for our walks at the various local parks in our area. It’s provided such a great sense of both competition and camaraderie, and it has been a nice way for us to enjoy each other’s company. It's detailed maps have even helped us from getting turned around in the woods by showing the forest trails we’re on. Who needs GPS when you have Pokémon Go?

I’ve even overheard teenagers half my age talking about Pokémon while on my walks, hurrying to attend a nearby raid. Although I sometimes feel a little jealous that younger generations can go on these quests that I only dreamt of at their age, seeing them out in nature, exploring together and having fun, gives me so much hope. Pokémon Go has fostered more meaningful interactions with others, the earth around us, and even ourselves, than I think many people recognize. In my case, it has motivated me get off my butt and connect with people. I started teaming up with my friends on a hike to complete tasks while we talked and walked added a little extra fun to our endeavors. I now drag my husband around the block to use our daily incense and get some steps in.

Would I have otherwise done these things? Sure, but having the game as an excuse to connect with others, to spin Pokéstops together, to compare items has been an easy and casual connection builder. I think that the game being relevant so many years later is a great indicator that there is still excitement to be had using AR technology to blurs the lines of fantasy and reality. Steady new updates provide fresh, interesting ideas that help me maintain the main character energy I wish to embody as I find something special and exciting to add some fun to my daily grind.

I am so grateful to Pokémon Go for providing the experiences it has for me. I no longer need to play pretend or live in my daydreams. I am now the main character of my own story as it unfolds before my eyes. The intertwining relationship of reality and gaming will continue to evolve, I’m sure, but for now, the days of loading screens between areas are gone. For now, as I head into the woods, a cool breeze rains down multicolored leaves from the variety of trees high above me. As the seasons change and a new update is released, I find myself excited and ready to continue my storyline of self-discovery. All that’s left is the limitless potential of the future. 

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must go tackle the raid that’s about to start. Gotta catch ‘em all, right?