A few weeks ago I watched a clip from a podcast. I can't remember which one.
But I remember the theory they talked about, because I can't get it out of my head.
The 90/10 theory.
It says a lot of people leave a relationship that gave them 90% of what they wanted. Love, support, someone on the other end of the couch.
For the 10% that was missing.
And it doesn't happen overnight. First, the good stuff becomes normal. What the other person does for you stops being a gift and becomes just how things are.
Then the 10% starts making noise. A habit. Running late. Something they never do.
Until it's all you can see.
So you go looking for it somewhere else. And when you find it, if you find it, you realize the 90% stayed home.
And there's no going back.
I don't know how true it is for couples. For video games, it's dead on.
I know because not long ago I nearly did it.
Prince of Persia: The Lost Crown. I like it. The map, the pacing, going back to look where you hadn't looked yet.
But the further you get, the more it asks of you.
Then I hit a room. Walls, platforms and saw blades popping out whenever they feel like it. Miss once and you're back at the start of the room.
I missed. Went back. Missed.
On the sixth try, out came the line:
"I don't have time for this."
Sounds grown-up. Sounds like good judgment.
But it was the 10%.
All the good hours that game had given me had turned into normal. And one room full of saw blades was blocking out everything else.
I tried about ten times. And I made it.
The prize? A chest that didn't give me much of anything.
Didn't matter. The good part wasn't in the chest. It was pulling off something I'd been sure, a little while earlier, I'd never pull off.
I almost traded that "yes!" for an "I don't have time."
Because letting go of a game and running away from it look a lot alike. Either way, you end up uninstalling. And either way, you tell yourself the same line.
Mind you, sometimes that 10% isn't a detail. Sometimes it's the whole game telling you it's not for you, and then letting go is the healthy move.
The difference is what you walk away with. One leaves you at peace. The other leaves a splinter that sticks around for years.
We all have a game like that. The one we see on sale and it still bugs us.
In chapter 12 of my book I show you how to tell, in two minutes, whether you're letting go or running away:
For when…
…you want something flashy to play with the kid watching: Ratchet & Clank: Rift Apart. Platforming and shooting with ridiculous weapons, jumping between worlds through rifts.
There's no manual save, but it saves on its own, and often: when you enter a new area, cross a rift, buy a weapon. If someone calls you, pause. And if you come back three weeks later, you're back in within two minutes.
Not for you if you want a story that shakes you up: this is a playable cartoon, and it knows it. It's on PS5 and PC.
And if you've got one of those games you're neither playing nor letting go of, the one taking up more space in your head than on your hard drive, that's what the book is about:
P.S. Tell me your splinter game. The one you see on sale and it still bugs you. I read every reply.