I could work on my Light level.
This is the thought in my head. It’s 5:30 a.m. on Friday morning, and the house is dark. I am alone. My wife is away at a conference, and my daughter is sleeping. The dog has heard me stirring and stands listlessly outside the door.
Most mornings I wake up around five to sneak in some private time for reading and writing. I can’t inject Scripture quotations into conversation at obnoxious moments if I don’t study Scripture, and novels, sadly, do not write themselves. My morning quietude is an important time for me. Getting in work when everyone else is asleep grants me a sense of accomplishment and restores sanity. It also sets the tone for the rest of the day.
You’ve done plenty of writing this week. You can get in a little this afternoon anyway. You should play now to eke out your level before trying the raid again. These are my thoughts as I pull a chair up in front of my TV at 5:40 a.m. and take the controller in my hand.
Eh, you can write tomorrow morning. I’ve just put my daughter down for her afternoon nap. This is my time to tie up any loose ends from my morning writing and work on various other projects. I get to work in Destiny 2 trying to squeeze a few more points into my Light level.
Technically, “Light level” was the number for the player’s overall strength in the first game. This has been replaced by “Power level” in the second, but no one seems to have taken to the new nomenclature yet. The player’s Light level dictates how powerful they are and which in-game activities they may participate in. My Light level is currently 278, a mere two points away from 280—which is when certain items become available that let you bump your level up even more (albeit incrementally). 280 appears within my grasp but remains maddeningly elusive.
The reason it’s so difficult to make progress is due to the random nature of it all. I am thwarted by a series of invisible dice rolls: one to see if I am rewarded with an item at all for performing a task, a second to see which of eight slots the item will go into. A third to see what “quality” that item will be, and a fourth that determines if the item comes equipped with a “modification.” Lastly there is the roll that determines what that modification might be. I have none of the behind-the-scenes numbers with which to calculate the odds of receiving the exact combination of rolls that would enable me to hit that 280 goal, but I would be surprised if the odds were greater than 2%.
I ponder the coincidence that the game sells, for real life dollars, packs of random items that have a low chance of dropping legendary mods.
You know, I could work on my Light level.
It’s 5:21 a.m. on Saturday morning. The house is dark. My wife and daughter are asleep. The dog hears me rolling in bed in search of my watch.
I’ve had a hard time sleeping. Every time I close my eyes, gray and white diamonds (the on-screen symbols that guide a player through Destiny’s levels) appear in my vision. I shuffle to the kitchen, put on the kettle, then turn on the television.
I can write tomorrow morning anyway.