I remember lights dancing in front of my eyes as I gazed at the rising sun's reflection along the East River in New York City. The year was 2011, and I was invincible. 

 

In June of 2020, through a service that matches Dungeons & Dragons players with Dungeon Masters, I met a delightful couple from the United Kingdom. We still play DnD regularly and, along with other folks in the community, have become a rather ragtag group of online friends. They're younger than me, which doesn't matter, but I see in them a familiar spark. It's more than youthful devil-may-care; they seem to be mining for discovery. Inspiration has no rules. Its catalyst can come from anything, anywhere, and anybody. I welcome the inspiration they provide.

 

"Do you want to go see the new Transformers movie later today?" I asked my friend. There was no response to that, but he did inform me that this area of the East River is called Hell Gate and that sometimes there are whirlpools that can swallow ships. I doubted that but slowly nodded as the idea of a ship being claimed by the water was somehow poetically appropriate for me as I sat on this bench, in this city. I allowed my head to drop back as I looked into the sky, trying to gaze beyond the blue. Up to this point, I've never been up for 24 hours straight. Never again. "I need to reapply deodorant," I thought to myself.

 

To make it in this world requires a bit of hustle, luck, and sticktoitiveness. My UK friends know this, and in a short amount of time, they not only started a Twitch channel but quickly became affiliate streamers. They chose to celebrate their achievement and the community that stuck by their side in a way that only Twitch would appreciate: a 24-hour stream. In addition to no sleep for 24 hours, they would also be streaming content! I'm at a loss for how I would emcee 24 hours of little-ol'-me doing something (hopefully interesting). They didn't let this herculean task put them off, they put a schedule together and planned everything. I was lucky enough to be a part of their stream (only for seven hours- we played DnD), but even as I was there, I never was able to dismiss from memory the sledgehammer-body recall of sleep deprivation. 

 

"Joe!" my friend said. "You fell asleep." I didn't fall asleep, at least I don't think I did. My eyes were open, right? "We should probably get something to eat, then call it a day," he continued. Completely sober -but sleeplessly drunk- we stumbled to a familiar diner and had a breakfast with far too much grease than was appropriate. Damn, it was good, though. Most of that meal was consumed in silence. We were both struggling with the acidity of the coffee. Why did we stay up so long? Why did we think it was a good idea? The truth is, we stayed up because we stayed up. As the hours went on leading up to us sitting in that diner, wearing sunglasses inside, we periodically looked at each other like a coach looking at a pitcher on the precipice of a perfect game. Neither of us wanted to give voice to it. We didn't want to jinx it. Who really won when our bodies lost? We stayed up for 24 hours. 

 

I'm a married man and, while I wanted to accompany my intrepid friends on their 24-hour pilgrimage for longer than I did, it wouldn't have been the prudent thing to do on a sunny weekend day. The profundity of their task was not lost on me, and I wanted to see them across the finish line. Later that night, from the comfort of my bed, I popped in my AirPods, dimmed the backlight on my phone, and watched them roll credits on Titanfall 2. I stayed active in the chat with the specific goal of keeping them talking and in a general zone of wakefulness. They were about to pitch their perfect game and I would bear witness. 

 

I signed the undulating hieroglyphs on my copy of the receipt and we stepped outside into a world of people who hadn't just stayed up for 24 hours. How would I ever relate to any of them? Our feat ended with a whimper as we gave each other a half-solute and went our separate ways. I was not going to suffer the damp air of public transportation during a New York City summer. I made my way along Central Park North and up to Harlem, the entire time seeing people and vehicles and strollers and pigeons go past me, like I was walking in molasses; each step I made thundered in my ears. Suddenly I felt the buildings bending over, blocking my path, stopping me from reaching my apartment. New York City knew what I just did and it didn't want to let me go. Somehow the curbs and sidewalks became uneven, each stone a continental divide between me and Shangri-La. 

 

They did it. I watched the clock tick past 24 hours. My friends did their first 24-hour stream, and I was there (mostly). In those final two hours, yes, I saw in their eyes fleeting consciousness, but I also saw relentless determination. They weren't going to give up. 

 

Video games bring with them endless entertainment potential. Whether they're played in private or for an audience of thousands, they bring with them an invitation that says, "Hey, come see what I can do." 

 

A package waits for me downstairs. Not now. I've got to get upstairs and into bed. I crane my neck as I notice that two more stories on my way up to my apartment have materialized. I'm so close. Sweating, I cross the threshold of my apartment. I'm Sampson as I hold myself up in the doorway to my bedroom. Songs begin and end as I flop jealously into bed; the sheets are angel's wings and I'm enveloped. With one shoe successfully off, I foolishly fight my eyelids. I'm invincible. 

 

I lose. 

 

But, I've won, right? 

​

I'm invincible.