From Plugging in the Atari to Shelving the Switch: A Lifetime of Loving Games Without Always Playing Them

My earliest gaming memory isn’t a high score or a game I beat — it’s the moment I connected the Atari 5200 to the TV myself. I was four, could barely read, but figured out how to hook up the RF switch and get it working. That was the spark. Before I understood what video games were, I understood that they were something I wanted to be close to.

From there, gaming became a lifelong companion. I got the NES and was introduced to Super Mario Bros. like so many others. And somehow, even today, I can pick up and play it like no time has passed. That’s the kind of magic we rarely talk about — the timelessness of some games, not because they look amazing or have deep mechanics, but because they met us where we were and still do.

In those days, arcades were irresistible. Street Fighter II, Final Fight, TMNT, The Simpsons, Wrestlefest — I couldn’t walk past them without dropping a quarter. I remember wanting a Neo Geo after playing Samurai Shodown in the arcade, even though I had it on SNES (and my brother had it on Genesis). That game became a personal benchmark. To this day, when I set up an emulator, one of the first titles I test is Samurai Shodown.

I went from NES to SNES, to 3DO (yes, really — shoutout to Road Rash), and Game Boy to Game Gear. Every generation of consoles added to the tapestry. But when the N64 came out and I got it for Christmas, something shifted. Around that same time, I got my first real PC. I started seeing games like Final Fantasy VII and Resident Evil running on my 3dfx Voodoo card. I had been a die-hard Nintendo fanboy (and even a 3DO loyalist!), so being able to play these “PlayStation-only” titles on my PC felt like a workaround that satisfied my stubborn pride.

Working at a game store during the Dreamcast era, I saw the hardware wars up close. I didn’t own a Dreamcast then, but I appreciated it — Crazy Taxi, Power Stone, Sega Bass Fishing. Even as I transitioned to being more of a PC gamer, I never stopped following console news, or being fascinated with what came next.

A couple times I picked up consoles late in their life cycle: GameCube, 3DS, Nintendo Switch Lite — sometimes out of curiosity, sometimes because I wanted to explore their softmod potential. I wasn't just playing games anymore. I was modding, backing up, reading the tech behind them. I collected games not just to play, but to preserve.

Now I look at my shelf full of physical Switch games — around 100 of them — and realize I rarely play most of them. And strangely, I’m okay with that.

There’s a quiet joy in just sitting near my collection, looking at the boxes, remembering the stories around the games. How I discovered them, who I played them with, what chapter of my life they belonged to. Sometimes the memory of playing is the experience — more than the playing itself.

🎮 When Gaming Evolves Into Something Else

These days, I’m more likely to throw on a Dead by Daylight stream than fire up a game. Or I’ll watch someone play through an old NES title on YouTube — someone else picking up the controller I once couldn’t put down.

And I’ve learned to respect that change in myself. Gaming isn’t just about interaction anymore. For some of us, it becomes curatorial. Archival. Reverent. We’re not less of a gamer just because we’re not chasing Platinum trophies. We’re gamers because games are part of us — they shaped us, taught us, brought us joy.

I still have all my childhood systems and games. Selling them never even crosses my mind. They’re a part of my history. And while I don’t get the same urge to play for hours on end anymore, I do feel a quiet contentment knowing they’re all still there — ready, waiting, eternal.

🧠 Final Thought

Gaming doesn’t have to stay the same for it to still matter. Sometimes it evolves from something we do to something we reflect on — and that’s okay. Whether you're speedrunning Super Mario Bros. or just watching someone else do it on a rainy Sunday afternoon, it's still part of who you are.

So here’s to the old consoles that still boot up. The games we’ve played a hundred times. The shelves full of stories we may never play again — but never stop loving.