I attended a real kick-off event at Murmó on Friday, January 18, which gave me a big boost and a whole lot of inspiration for 2019.

I was very excited about my first Murmó event, which took place as part of the free Thematic Parents’ Club series under the title “Teens in the Spell of Online Multiplayer Games,” supported by the Pro Juventa Foundation.

I was filled with anticipation and a sense that something special was about to happen—and I was not disappointed.

Erika Pap (clinical psychologist and the event’s speaker) captivated the participants—and us, the volunteers of the Pro Juventa Foundation, along with them—right from the very beginning of her presentation with her focus and expertise, blended with ease and directness. Her presentation drew on her own professional and, in part, personal experiences, which helped bridge the gap between the speaker and the audience amidst the technical content. She introduced online games, categorized them, and explored their dynamics—all while enriching this inherently fascinating topic with her psychiatric insights.

“My playmate, tell me, do you want to be, do you want to always, always play…”

I was never a real gamer, but during the lecture I smiled as I recalled my 9- or 10-year-old self, spending my afternoons several times a week playing offline computer games, so completely absorbed by that world that not a single aspect of my physical existence bothered me—hunger, thirst, headaches, or anything else. The term “flow experience,” which has become fashionable lately, came to mind, and one of the most fundamental ways to experience it is through play—it doesn’t matter at all what form that takes. I ran through the conditions in my head: clear goals and feedback within the game, maximum concentration, a sense of control, yet a loss of self-awareness, an altered perception of time, and the activity’s inherently rewarding nature. All of this can be fulfilled during an online computer game, meaning we can experience the optimal experience—which, of course, has the added characteristic that we want to repeat it over and over again. Why, then, do we—parents and young adults alike—feel that a computer cannot provide all that a online multiplayer games, an old and scruffy heirloom doll, a carved building block, or a red-and-white polka-dot ball can?

“As if it were written on it: This world is a playing card; They shuffle it, they deal it out.”

Although online games are constantly being updated, improved, and expanded, they still operate according to their own order. There is an algorithm behind them that, while capable of creating the illusion for us during gameplay that this “transitional world” (to use Erika’s words) is infinite, and that something new is always happening with no repetition—this is merely a mirage that fades over time and eventually shatters, since individual possibilities are finite, limited, and repetitive. For example, a character cannot drink a glass of water until the developers program that into the game. At the same time, the doll can sit down at the little table and have her own decorative cup, into which the child can pour whatever her imagination can dream up. Human creativity is truly infinite; pretend play requires the work of our imagination, and if the play is enjoyable, it creates its own boundless world.

Another thing the performance reminded me of from my childhood was playing together with my siblings. I grew up with an older brother and an older sister, so I got to know all kinds of toys, from dolls to toy cars to Legos, and I loved playing with them all. From the very earliest childhood, before we even learn our native language, there is a common language with the world, with peers, with siblings—play.

Looking back, my whole life was encapsulated in the games I played with my siblings: competition, jealousy, anger, fear, sadness, destruction, and of course lots and lots of laughter, cooperation, building, growth, trust, courage, beauty, and love. Almost all of these can be found in an online game; the only thing missing is the real encounter. That sincere, attuned connection, that pure bond, where physical space expands, where we are truly present together, where laughter and tears are contagious, where shouts ring out, where toys clatter on the ground, where, if you are the king, I am the queen, where our imagination together rewrites the physical nature of objects, where we see the smile and feel the embrace. Online play is merely an illusion that we are experiencing all of this right now, because when it’s over, the “transitional space” closes, and all that remains is a child, alone in the room with a darkened screen.