I honestly don’t know which is worse—having a failed game show host as president, or watching people try to create “meaningful” YouTube videos. Most days that needle swings 180° so fast it feels like I’ve got a ceiling fan spinning over my head.

Like almost everybody, when I need to figure something out, I say the magic words: “Hey Google.” The all-knowing voice then serves me up a list of YouTube videos from folks who have braved the digital stage to demonstrate whatever task I’m trying to learn.

To be fair, there are plenty of people out there who are skilled, careful, and know exactly what they’re doing. Unfortunately, some of them are about as exciting to watch as a wet mop and about as monotone as my fifth-grade math teacher. Still, if I actually need something done right, that’s often the type of video I have to sit through.

Recently, I’ve been wandering down YouTube rabbit holes for inspiration to bring my old pop-up camper back to life. (Okay, fine—it’s been more than a few days; let’s just call it a “week-long expedition.”) There’s a weird little subculture of folks who love pop-up campers, and I guess I’m one of them. I’ve seen a lot of solid information—until I stumble onto channels where the instructions get buried under…scripture readings.

One guy in particular is extremely talented—his craftsmanship is obvious—but every step is paired with Bible verses and a “holy mission” narrative about fixing this older woman’s camper. Look, I’m a live-and-let-live guy. If tying daily tasks to scripture makes your day brighter, that’s great. But if your channel is about fixing pop-up campers, maybe label it “Pop-Up Campers with Multiple Scripture References.” Some things connect, and some things don’t. Like Fallout, medicine, and grief—they shouldn’t work together, but somehow they do.

The problem for me was that I couldn’t focus on the repairs while also trying to process the ongoing sermon in the background. Maybe I’m simple, but I came away more distracted than informed.

I get it—people come across hashtags for this blog and think, “Oh, it’s about Fallout,” only to find me rambling about grief, nursing, or whatever else is rattling in my head. And those coming here for grief support probably don’t want to hear about taming a Deathclaw. Fair point. Sometimes subject matter focus really does matter.

Still, I’ll say this: even in the world of esoterica, there are connections to be made. You can talk about grief while swapping recipes for Radstag steaks. You can pull life lessons from video games, classrooms, or even spirituality. And when a subject isn’t your thing, there’s usually someone else out there who can give you what you need.

For me, Fallout has been one of those unlikely teachers. In the last six years of my marriage, it gave me a safe escape my husband couldn’t take from me, and it gave me friendships and moments that reminded me I mattered. And I did matter. I still do. My dog and my mom make sure I remember that—and I know yours do too.