I have spent a lot of time playing video games. Using rough maths, it works out to almost two hours per day since the day I was born. This figure only accounts for time on record, courtesy of my steam and runescape accounts. If you add up absolutely everything, you might even push two and a half hours instead. All in all, the raw number has five digits, and doesn't start with '1'.
I want to elaborate on a specific feeling that these hours have granted me. "Granted", specifically, because they are a prerequisite. Not necessarily to be invested in video games, but rather in any activity that has any modicum of depth and breadth. Since I can't come up with a pithy word for this feeling, let's explore a bit the context from which the feeling arises.
The scene of the crime presents itself as oldschool runescape. The victim is me, with a lot of time available and no other interests or social obligations to fill this time. After a year or so, I had accrued enough in-game levels and wealth to take on the end game raid. It was by far the most engaging and profitable piece of content in the game. Once I had climbed the mountains on top of which the entrance to the raid sat upon, I unknowingly found a new in-game home for many months to come.
My life turned into the raid. When I wasn't doing it, I was looking at how others were approaching it and lurking in various communities for tips and tricks. In the community I frequented most, I was likely one of the best people at doing the raid. I took a lot of pleasure in both teaching people and offering in-depth analyses of people's performance. So much so, that even after I stopped playing and quit the community, I rejoined using an alt account to continue imparting my knowledge and experience with others. Some of the veterans in the community sussed me out and eventually outed me, but I had a fun time playing a sort of masked hero persona while it lasted.
With the scene set and all the actors cast, let me elaborate on the elusive, aforementioned feeling. It hit me while I was watching top players set a world record for the raid. The video included the voice comms, so you could hear how they coordinated. The catalyst for the feeling was twofold: on one hand, understanding every single thing that these turbo nerds were saying, and on the other hand, appreciating the ruthless efficiency they displayed while chasing the world record. It was a healthy mixture of awe, inspiration, pride and confidence, all at once. Because nothing unfolding before my eyes was foreign, I felt as if I could be part of the team setting the record. I was familiar with all the tactics, and I had all the in-game gear necessary. I only lacked refinement in execution and social connections to these top players. In that moment, I believe I had a taste of what near complete mastery of a set of mechanical skills feels like.
Since then, I've managed to shape my life in such a way that one singular time sink of a game does not completely hog it. I found fulfilment elsewhere, which snuffed my flame for high level MMO gameplay. Years have passed, and the meta for the raid has changed. Two new raids have contributed, among other things, to powercreep, which makes the current top strategies foreign and strange to me. I can still appreciate the mastery, but not to the same degree as during the peak of my obsession. Yet, there's still a little spark in there that gets stoked when I watch someone do the first raid.