One year ago, I was sitting in my boyfriend's apartment, waiting for him to come home from work. A late summer thunderstorm was rolling away, and as the last peals of thunder shook the building, an email arrived. It only announced itself with a single, underwhelming sonar sound, and patiently waited. There was no indication that this email was special -- and I suppose that, in itself, it wasn't. I had no inkling that it contained something as magical, beautiful, and crazed as the Irish folk tales I had grown up with or a violin tuned to sound like a swarm of angry bees.
Nothing warned me that my life was about to change.
I clicked on a link, and the next thing I knew, an approximation of me was standing in a gaggle of neurons. I knew then that I had blundered into something amazing. A year later, that sense of wonder hasn't lifted.
In those early days, I had no idea what I was doing, but I wanted to learn everything. And I tried my damnedest -- until the game went down for days at a time. I didn't understand why this had to happen, and I felt so sad and frustrated. There was a whole world to explore and so many new people to meet, and some stupid sign was blocking the gateway. I eventually found out a cold fact of life: That's just how beta works, and my only course of action was to scowl at my computer screen until my newfound wonderland was ready to accept visitors again.
It's been a tough year for me, as many of you know -- or maybe you don't, but that's fine. I know it sounds stupid to say, but I don't know how I would've gotten through it all. Not only did Glitch provide me with ample opportunity to escape from pain and worry for a while, but the community held me tight and made sure I was doing okay. I'm not sure if I fully understood until now, as I reflect upon it: We -- all of us; devs and players alike -- pour so much of ourselves into this alternate world. We mold and fashion it into the place we want to exist, and in a weird way, it sort of does. If just one person was missing, the entire equation would be incomplete.
I love every single one of you, whether we've actually met in the game or not. The helpful heroes, the deranged jesters, the crazy bastards, the drama queens, the know-it-alls and the know-nothings. Without you -- every single one of you -- Glitch wouldn't be nearly as amazing and awesome of an experience as it is. I'm overwhelmed with happiness that you're here.
So, as I blow out the candles on my imaginary birthday cake, I want to thank all of you. Thank you, devs, for your limitless imagination, hard work, and incredible vision. Thank you, players, for being the most breathtakingly, awe-striking, impish, and loving human beings in the entirety of two universes. Thank you, trees, piggies, chickens, sloths, foxes, rocks, gardens, Magic Rocks, Robot Butlers, untended patches, Giants, and gravity-smashing Street Spirits for letting me discover something new every single day. And, Rube: I still hate you and your box of terrible crap, but today I'll be nice and not try to set you on fire.
The further we go and older we grow, the more we know the less we show. -- The Cure, "Primary"