![]() ![]() They were faerie crowns, they were clues in a murder mystery, they were signposts for travelers. Trails were to be followed, walls scaled, and any unusual object, from abandoned toys to simple garbage, had the possibility of being invested with magic. I am sure Liberty Hill Circle is neither as vast nor as magical as it was to my young mind, but to my memory Charlotte and I had great trees that breathed, forbidding encampments for imaginary tribal people, and “rivers” – muddy gullies in the woods between homes that sometimes had crude planks for bridges. ![]() I often mapped the woodlands of the neighborhood in which I grew up: a suburban Massachusetts loop of peaceful little homes surrounded by the kind of greenery I took for granted as a kid, not knowing yet how rare it was, how distant a memory it would be once the ruthless asphalt and metal of the big city became my adult home. As a child I was a cartographer of imaginary worlds, drawing maps by hand for my best friend Charlotte and I to play with. Nearly every time the subway stairs eject me blinking into the above ground sun, I don’t know which way is north I stagger for landmarks, and I am shaking my iPhone to dislodge the compass interference that will tell me which way to turn. I’ve lived in New York City for nearly nine years now, and yet I still can become so easily disoriented in the grids of Manhattan. By Leigh Alexander First published as “Gaming Made Me: A Colossal Cave Adventure” at, June 4th, 2011 ![]()
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