A notification pings my phone. A familiar name appears at the top of the screen, followed by the inevitable question: “Are you getting on soon?” It’s a seemingly simple question that I’m frequently asked by friends and teammates wondering if I’ll be free to get on my PC to play soon, but it’s often a question that provokes more reflection than expected.

By nature, I am someone who loves to get involved in the communities I’m a part of, and it stems from a desire to experience all that life has to offer. This way of life has led me to countless formative experiences and allowed me to explore many of my passions and interests as a college student. It’s led me to be a Camp Kesem Counselor, Datathon winner, Google Intern, Wiess Sophomore Rep, and so many other invaluable pursuits I would have never dreamed of accomplishing just a few years ago. But there’s another passion I have, a passion much older to satisfy a childhood dream but one that comes with an opportunity cost: a passion for gaming at the highest level and being the greatest at my craft. 

People say that gaming is a waste of time, a distraction from things that matter more. I came into college with this belief and did my best to stay outside my room as much as possible. Still today, I believe there is truth to that statement, but it’s not so simple anymore. Gaming has allowed me to reconnect with old friends, make new ones with shared interests, and given me ambitious goals to work towards. It’s something that has stuck with me since before I even knew how to multiply two numbers and it has given me many of my lifelong friendships. That is what makes this question so hard to answer. I feel torn between two worlds, forced to make a decision between my life at Rice and my ambition to pour time into improving my skills alongside close friends. 

I suppose that the most difficult part of this decision is knowing that my future self, once I am bogged down by real-world responsibilities and commitments, will no longer have the luxury of choosing. Gaming leaderboards are suddenly traded for tax brackets and assignments turn into job reports, making me weary of the possible regret associated with stepping off the gas in my pursuit, especially when I’ve come so close. That thought lingers every time I hover over the “Queue Up” button. If I was no good at games, just another casual player, the answer would be so much clearer. But I’m not. As of writing this, I am ranked within the top ~750 players in the world in Marvel Rivals, a game with over 3 million players, but only the top 500 are visible on the global leaderboard and only the top ~250 will ever have a chance at going professional, signing contracts with the biggest organizations and competing on the world stage.

I’ve proven that I have what it takes to stay near the top, just good enough to encounter well-known players but never great enough to make a name for myself. These next few months and years could be my final opportunity to change that. I sit at a crossroads—close enough to dream, yet still outside the gates of true recognition. Every hour I dedicate brings me a step closer, but it also means sacrificing something else in the process. 

When we’re kids, we dream of things like being an astronaut, a famous athlete, or a movie star–the possibility of being successful at something we love and enshrining our names in history. Whenever I open the game and compete against the best in the world, I get closer to fulfilling that childhood dream, my name on the global leaderboard for everyone in the world to see. On the other side, though, I would also hate to let it consume the other parts of my college experience, making me a less visible Wiessmen, someone who shirks their club duties, and is non-social. I deeply care about my communities and helping accomplish our goals of providing resources and improving students’ lives, so after many hours online, I can begin to feel guilty that I’m not going beyond the status quo as a contributor.

In essence, it boils down to time management, which depends on what I value. When I am asked, “Are you getting on soon?”, I’m forced to make an increasingly difficult choice of how I want to spend these four years at Rice–surpassing Stephen Strange himself as a master of the dark arts, making Wiess and Rice a better place by getting involved, or finding a way to balance both of these spinning plates simultaneously. 

So, the next time I get that familiar ping “Are you getting on?” 

I’ll hesitate. 

Because I know, this isn’t just a question–it’s a decision.