As many people who are closer “Here We Go Again”: Fallout, Fantasy, and Why Escapism Isn’t a Dirty Word

As many people who are closer friends with me know, I’m all about Fallout right now. Specifically Fallout 76, because it’s the latest in the series and still has some developing gameplay. Occasionally I’ll drop back into an older version — mostly for nostalgia, and maybe to remember when my reflexes didn’t suck.

 

If you’ve played the series, you’ll probably know the delightfully snarky robot Mr. Handy. (And if your brain instantly turned that name into something dirty — we’re probably friends already.) One of the first things he says — in that ridiculously fake British accent — is: “Here we go again.” Honestly, I find myself saying that phrase more and more these days.

 

So yeah. Here we go again — and welcome to my latest attempt to write something coherent about change, life, and how video games are sometimes the only reason I don’t scream into the void on a regular basis.

 

Since the subject was broached yesterday, I honestly feel like video games saved my life — specifically, in this case, the Fallout series.

 

I know, bold statement. There’s a clear difference between fantasy and reality, and I’ve never once lost sight of that. But in role-playing games, you assume a persona — often one you wish you had, not the one you’re currently dragging through reality with a questionable limp and unresolved trauma. When you log out, you return to the same cluttered house, same body, same grief, same you. And honestly? That’s a drag.

 

I’m not here to preach some “if you can dream it, you can be it” nonsense. That’s great for motivational posters and bad TED Talks, but in real life? I’ve worked tirelessly to change my reality. I’ve been afraid of it. But I also know that you can’t take a character you made in Fallout or D&D and turn them into your real-life self 100% — nor should you. Especially if that character lives in irradiated Appalachia and wears armor you have to fix every 20 minutes.

That said, role-playing games have been a powerful outlet for me for most of my life. They offer a space where you can build ideal situations — no judgment, no eye rolls, no one asking why your base is covered in taxidermy. Whether it’s Dungeons & Dragons, Fallout, or something else entirely, you’re handed a toolkit and told, “Here, make something.” And that kind of creative space? That’s not just a game — it’s survival.

 

Back in the ’80s, I remember a priest railing against the evils of D&D — because naturally, Satan lives in the 20-sided die. What I realized then was two things:

1. D&D is a fantasy and a tool for creative imagination.

2. Maybe I didn’t need church if their mythology was less believable than mine.

 

My mom didn’t freak out, probably because it gave me social interaction — the same kind I get now in Fallout 76. I play in a digital world, yes, but there are real people behind those characters. We talk about the game, but also about life. None of us know each other in person, and we probably wouldn’t recognize each other in public. But we still talk. Deeply. Kindly. Constantly.

 

During the pandemic, when real-world human interaction hit record lows, that kind of contact was everything.

 

There’s always been a tendency to blame video games for everything from apathy to violence. “He shot up a school — he must’ve played Call of Duty!” Never mind that millions of people play the same games without becoming unhinged murderers. The issue isn’t the game — it’s the person’s inability to separate fantasy from reality.

 

I’ve been immersed in games. I’ve gotten lost in them. But I always knew, in the end, the real world was waiting. A world without turrets or Power Armor. Just Mondays.

 

Video games aren’t mindless. They’re mental weightlifting. You want to strengthen your imagination? Use it. You want a moment to breathe? Step into another world. Escapism isn’t a failure — it’s a coping mechanism.

 

Even if only for a couple of hours a day, Fallout gave me that break I desperately needed. A place where I could recognize the bad guy, build my defenses, and stand my ground.

 

And now, since I promised: Call of Duty.

 

As someone who’s actually served, I have… opinions. Friends in the game say, “You’re too conservative — just run out and be a hero!” Buddy, I was shot at. You want to jump into fire to feel cool? No thanks — I’ll be hiding behind that damn wall like a sane person.

 

What bothers me more is the warped view of the military some of these games create — the toxic leadership, the glorification of combat, the fantasy that war is just a score screen and a victory dance. And don’t even get me started on the people who say military service would be “easy” because they’ve “played a lot of Call of Duty.” That’s not patriotism — that’s delusion.

 

Imagination isn’t the enemy. Video games aren’t the enemy. If anything, they’ve kept a lot of us alive, present, and functioning when everything else felt unbearable. They let us connect, build, grow — even if it’s in a vault, a fantasy tavern, or a glowing wasteland full of mutated cows.

 

So whether you’re wandering the desert with a laser rifle, looting a dungeon, or just planting corn in a pixelated field — enjoy the moment. Escape when you need to. Cope how you must. And as always:

 

Be the kind of person your dog and your mom hope you are.