My introduction to Minecraft came through a friend who clearly loved the game. He showed me the vast landscapes he had explored, the tunnels he had carved through the Nether, and the bases he had already built. It was obvious how much enjoyment he found in it, and I could tell that for me the experience would be even more addictive than it was for him. As an engineer who delights in building systems and structures, I knew at once that Minecraft’s mix of exploration, survival, and creation would consume me.
At the time, it was the start of the pandemic. I was confined to a small apartment writing code all day, and Minecraft offered me a simulated wilderness to roam. Trees, rivers, dirt, and stone became the raw materials of a different kind of life, one where I could mine, craft, and shape the world.
So, I bought my own copy of the game and accepted my friend’s invitation to his server. I remember almost dying on my first login. I spawned a distance from my friend’s base with no resources, equipment, armor, or weapons. Night was closing in fast. I tried to make my way by following his verbal directions. Night fell, and zombies swarmed, but he rescued me by resetting the time so that morning sunlight would burn them away.
From there, he guided me through the essentials. He handed me iron armor, showed me his bases and Nether tunnels, and encouraged me to build my own nearby. Watching his constructions revealed how much artistry could live inside such a blocky, retro world. It was a sweet gift when he gave me my first fire-enchanted bow, perhaps even a rite of passage.