We Could All Use a New Civilization Right Now

Sid Meier’s Civilization VII starts how these things always do: a lone settler on an unknown map stumbling through the darkness. Their surroundings are as shrouded as their future, but at least those surroundings are knowable; as they explore the new ground they find themselves on, they start to get the lay of the land, its hills and valleys opening up around them. The future—the civilization they’re creating, and the culture that defines it—can be planned for, can be strategized, but there’s no guarantee anything will turn out how they hope it will. And when things go wrong, as they will, all the settler and their ancestors can do is react and try to make the best of it, even when the whole damn thing seems on the verge of collapse.
Seven times now I’ve played a Civilization for the first time, and never has it felt better timed or more necessary than with the new one. Like all the Civs before it, Civilization VII is a way to escape the real world that has a patina of accomplishment about it. I feel like I’m working on something worthwhile when I play Civ, even though I’m not, and although this medium and artform have matured somewhat since I first played Civilization on Christmas Day 1991 (not nearly as much as it should have over 33 years, but what can you do), shepherding my civilization from huts to the stars still somehow feels more meaningful than even the best game narratives or most ingenious design. I’m a sucker for history and archeology and the symbolic power of any man-made construct, be it tangible or merely an idea, that has lasted for generations, and since it’s currently impossible to feel even slightly upbeat about where humanity has taken itself, there’s a good chance I would’ve turned to Civilization even if there wasn’t a brand new one to play.
It’s not just that Civ gives me control, or an escape, or options, or any semblance of the agency that our real civilization is built to deprive most of us of. Part of the power of Civilization VII is that it lets us trash the whole goddamned thing the instant we want to. There’s a point that comes frequently when playing these games, where I’m tired or bummed out by how my civilization is going, and I just check out completely. I ball it up, clang it off the rim of the trash bin, and head back to the main menu to begin again. Normally just a mundane, unremarkable part of playing these games, right now feels pretty good to get to do that. Aspirational, even.