My first exposure to the Elite series was Frontier II on the Amiga. My father exposed me to it. My father passed away of cancer in 2004. I was 23. My father was a computer scientist (electrical engineer by education). He enjoyed games. He enjoyed bulletin boards and ran his own (I don't remember much about it except it was "Citadel BBS"). He is the reason I love computers. He is the reason my hobbies involve programming and electronics. I am awful at it compared to him. When he was alive, I fought against the desire to focus on computer related interests (beyond gaming). Since, I have spent countless hours exploring both programming and electronics projects.
When Elite: Dangerous was announced around 2012, I was so excited for it. It reminded me of childhood. It reminded me of that awe and wonder of exploring a galaxy based on reality just enough to be convincing. When it eventually went live, I was enthralled with it for so long.
Over time, I lost interest like I do with most games through no fault of the game.
I've found myself continually coming back to Elite: Dangerous for brief periods of time over the years. Maybe a year or so ago, I set a goal. I was going to make it to Sagittarius A*. When I set the goal, it was meant as simply an exploration goal to see the center of the galaxy. I gave up about 1,000 LY in. Multiple times since, I tried again and never made it more than 1,500 LY or so. It's a daunting task. I get distracted easily and there's so many other things to do than jump to a system, scoop for fuel, check for undiscovered locations and jump again over 1,000 times.
In December 2018, I set out again. I gave up again, but didn't head back. I logged out and did other things (to be fair, I moved cross country and was a bit preoccupied with life).
In March 2019, I logged back in and decided to commit. I wasn't going back to Sol. I was making it to Sagittarius A*.
I'm not there yet. I'm maybe halfway. I'm further than I've ever gone. I've considered going back. I am both awed by the scale of things and bored by it. I am motivated though and I refuse to turn back. I am motivated by my father. I want to make it there. He probably wouldn't have cared, but I can't help but feeling like making it to the center is somehow for him. I will make it, I will succeed. Each jump reminds me of him. He jump brings me closer to a feeling of accomplishment. It's trivial, but it means something to me. It reminds me of who he was and who I should be. It's silly. It's absurd. It's my story.
Safe travels to all the Captains out there finding meaning in their voyages.
When Elite: Dangerous was announced around 2012, I was so excited for it. It reminded me of childhood. It reminded me of that awe and wonder of exploring a galaxy based on reality just enough to be convincing. When it eventually went live, I was enthralled with it for so long.
Over time, I lost interest like I do with most games through no fault of the game.
I've found myself continually coming back to Elite: Dangerous for brief periods of time over the years. Maybe a year or so ago, I set a goal. I was going to make it to Sagittarius A*. When I set the goal, it was meant as simply an exploration goal to see the center of the galaxy. I gave up about 1,000 LY in. Multiple times since, I tried again and never made it more than 1,500 LY or so. It's a daunting task. I get distracted easily and there's so many other things to do than jump to a system, scoop for fuel, check for undiscovered locations and jump again over 1,000 times.
In December 2018, I set out again. I gave up again, but didn't head back. I logged out and did other things (to be fair, I moved cross country and was a bit preoccupied with life).
In March 2019, I logged back in and decided to commit. I wasn't going back to Sol. I was making it to Sagittarius A*.
I'm not there yet. I'm maybe halfway. I'm further than I've ever gone. I've considered going back. I am both awed by the scale of things and bored by it. I am motivated though and I refuse to turn back. I am motivated by my father. I want to make it there. He probably wouldn't have cared, but I can't help but feeling like making it to the center is somehow for him. I will make it, I will succeed. Each jump reminds me of him. He jump brings me closer to a feeling of accomplishment. It's trivial, but it means something to me. It reminds me of who he was and who I should be. It's silly. It's absurd. It's my story.
Safe travels to all the Captains out there finding meaning in their voyages.
