Letting Go of My Need to Win: A Board Gaming Lesson in Living in the Moment
Our usual Game of Thrones board game night was in full swing. As House Stark, I aimed to accrue the most victory points by turn’s end to claim the Iron Throne. Points are earned by controlling castles, strongholds, and entire territories across the map of Westeros.
In this particular game, I was feeling confident in my position. Winterfell seemed secure under my command, and I was eying expanding into new lands. But as the rounds progressed, I noticed Tyrion Lannister was making surprising strides.
Through savvy diplomacy and advantageous alliances, Tyrion had boosted House Lannister’s hold over the Westerlands and threatened to spill into the North. We all knew Tyrion wasn’t the most experienced player in our group. Yet there he was, steadily gaining power and inching closer to overtaking me in points.
That’s when the anxiety started to take over. I’d never live it down if quiet, joke-cracking Tyrion ended up beating me by the game’s end. As I sat fretting over my potential loss, scanning the board for any countermoves, an unexpected betrayal swung the tide entirely in Tyrion’s favor…
I was still reeling from seeing Tyrion’s progress when, suddenly, Robert Baratheon made his move. Claiming he was protecting Baratheon interests from the Starks, Robert boldly took two of my strongholds in quick succession.
I knew from past games that the Baratheons could be a ruthless bunch, but even this seemed cold-blooded from the king toward his best friend, Ned Stark. Though taken by surprise, Tyrion was quick to seize the opportunity. With a refreshed stream of resources, he expanded into yet more lands.
My cards were crumbling. The North went from a secure position to shambles in mere turns. I frantically played what few cards I had left for defense, but it was no use. On his next turn, Tyrion delivered the final blow — capturing Winterfell to claim victory in the North.
The game was as good as over. I slumped back, stressed and deflated by the sudden reversals. But glancing over, I didn’t see smug joy on Tyrion’s face. Only delight and surprise at pulling off the victory against steeper odds than expected. At that moment, the scale fell from my eyes…
I watched as Tyrion’s friends congratulated him warmly, genuinely happy to see him succeed. It was then that the absurdity and disproportion of my own stress indeed sunk in. This was just a game — the alliances and betrayals weren’t real.
More than that, seeing Tyrion’s underdog win cloaked in comradery rather than competition reminded me why we played these games together in the first place: to share laughs, tales of adventure, and the bond of storytelling, whether amid triumph or defeat. The outcome itself was secondary.
From there, the weight seemed to lift. I could joke along with the Lannister and Baratheon antics rather than silently stewing. And when the next round began, a newly refreshed perspective took over. I focused on living fully in the world of the game itself rather than being chained to just one narrow result.
It’s been years now since that night, and those lessons have persisted through many more games with friends around this table and others. Win or lose, it’s truly about the journey and finding joy in each other’s moments — not just our own. An anxiety-easing revelation that came from the most unlikely of places, in the halls of Casterly Rock.
In retrospect, it seems almost fitting that my shift in perspective came amid the schemings of the Lannisters — a family not exactly known for their good-natured sportsmanship. Though caught off guard by Robert’s betrayal, I have to respect the strategic savvy it took for Tyrion to capitalize on the opportunity.
While I licked my wounds from the stinging defeat, I noticed Tyrion immersed in celebration with the surviving players. Success and status meant little without a community to share the ups and downs.
This reminded me of why our own gaming crew had formed in the first place, years ago in our undergraduate days and long nights battling through Risk or Catan had given way to lively debates lasting long after the final votes were cast. Through countless strategies and shifting tides, the constancy was our friendship — a bond that transcended any one campaign’s winner or loser.
In the many games since, I’ve aimed to keep that perspective with me each turn — to live in each plot twist and experience each story unfold. While competition still has its place, the true wealth lies not in amassing crowns or conquest but in the fellowship built along each legendary journey. However the dice may fall, that will forever be victory enough.
Looking back, I’m grateful for that moment of clarity all those years ago. It set me on a path of looser, more appreciative play that remains to this day. When our crew gathers, I feel truly present in each unfolding saga, whether commanding armies or trading empires.
Surprises lurk around every roll of the dice, and alliances form or break in unexpected ways. But throughout it all, I take comfort in the steadfast fellowship around our table. Though the game may change, our joy is found not in who wins but in the shared wonder of imaginative worlds brought to life together.
Each time a new story unfolds, I feel thankful for the lessons gleaned in a past life as House Stark. The competitive drive has its place, but the true victory belongs to those who embrace the imperfect, communal narratives that games mirror and friends make real. May our tales ever find new shores to explore.
I’ve learned so much from sharing game nights with friends over the years. If you, too, have found tabletop tales that shaped your perspective, I’d love to hear about your experiences in the comments! You can also follow me on Medium for more gaming insights and strategies for living fully in the moment. Now, time to get back to planning my next campaign… Westeros awaits!
BoardGameNerd
