You double-click that familiar Steam icon, and your library loads. Hundreds of games spread out before you like a digital banquet. It’s a feast of entertainment. RPGs, shooters, indie masterpieces, epic strategy games, and that one horror game you bought on impulse three Halloweens ago.

You scroll down. Then you scroll back up.

You click on Cyberpunk 2077, glance at the "Install" button, and your brain flashes to the 100GB download size and the mental effort required to relearn the key bindings.

Pass.

You look at Elden Ring. You think about the suffering, the high blood pressure.

Not tonight.

You keep scrolling. 15 minutes pass. The pizza arrives.

A frustration known as "Choice Paralysis" washes over you like a bucket of ice water. So, you do the most unthinkable thing.you close Steam, open YouTube, and watch someone else play video games.

There is no plan here, only accumulation. If my Steam library were physical discs, I wouldn't be able to open my front door. I’d be buried under a mountain of plastic cases, clutching a copy of The Witcher 3: GOTY Edition, waiting for a rescue team to dig me out.

How did I get here? Why does our generation spend more money buying games than time actually playing them?

The number one culprit is our lord and savior, Gabe Newell, and those evil Seasonal Steam Sales.

We have a specific part of our brain that short-circuits the moment it sees a green "-85%" tag. I call this "Gamer Math."

To an outsider, this logic makes no sense. To us, it is gospel.

You see a bundle. It contains the entire BioShock collection, all DLCs, remastered.

Price: $10.

Original Price: $60.

If you don’t buy it, you are essentially throwing $50 in the trash! This is what we call "rounding down to free." To ignore this discount would be fiscally irresponsible!

You see an indie game on sale for $3. You think: "Hey, that’s cheaper than a latte at Starbucks. Even if I only play it for 10 minutes, that’s a steal."

So, I buy it. I buy five of them. I spend $15 on five games that are "cheaper than coffee."

But the coffee actually goes into my stomach and wakes me up. The games? They sit quietly in my library, icons grayed out, status "Uninstalled," silently mocking me. They are digital ghosts.

It’s a psychological gut punch to admit this, but often, I’m not buying software—I’m buying a possibility.

When I bought the Civilization VI Anthology, I wasn’t just buying a strategy game. I was purchasing a fantasy: the fantasy that I am the kind of intellectual, calm strategist who has 8 hours of free time on a Sunday to micromanage a virtual empire.

The reality? I get off work at 6:30 PM, I’m tired as a dog, my brain is mush, I have laundry to do, and I have to interact with real humans.

The biggest enemy of my backlog is The Comfort Game.

The games I play the most are Skyrim, League of Legends, Minecraft, or The Sims.

Starting a new game involves huge psychological friction. You have to learn the mechanics, understand the plot, build emotional connections, and survive the tutorial. It’s exhausting. It requires brain power.

The Comfort Game, on the other hand, is like that pair of worn-out pajamas you’ve had for five years. They might be pilling, they might be ugly, but my god, are they comfortable.

No thinking required. Muscle memory takes over. You know exactly what level the diamonds are on. You know Garen is hiding in that bush. In this cold, chaotic world, it is your warm safe harbor.

Every time I look at my backlog and face a choice, 90% of the time, the old pajamas win.

Since we’ve established that my Steam library is essentially a museum, let me take you on a tour of the exhibit halls. I’m sure your collection has similar wings.

The "Charity" Wing: Games I acquired as "bonuses" when buying something else. I spent $12 for one AAA title in a Humble Bundle and got 11 indie games I’ve never heard of. I don’t even know the genres. Maybe one day I’ll accidentally click one and wonder when I bought a text adventure about "pigeons falling in love."

The "Peer Pressure" Wing: "Bro, you HAVE to get Helldivers. We’re gonna squad up tonight, it’ll be insane." bought it. Played all night. Three hours of joy, followed by dead silence. Never launched again.

The "For the Culture" Wing: These are critical darlings. Everyone says they are masterpieces. I bought them to support the developers. I installed them. I played 20 minutes. Was it worth the money? Hard to say.

The "Modding Purgatory" Wing: This hall contains only Skyrim and Fallout. You spent 15 hours browsing Nexus Mods. You installed 200 mods. You spent another 5 hours fixing conflicts and crashes. Finally, the game runs. You close the game. You didn't do a single quest. Installing the mods was the game. You beat it.

There are many guides online: "The Alphabet Challenge" (playing A-Z), or using a random number generator to decide what to play.

I’ve tried them all. They don’t work. Turning gaming into a "chore" or a "challenge" defeats the purpose. Gaming is for pleasure, not a second job.

I realized I am not a lazy gamer. I am a curator.

I am a collector.

I am a patron of the digital arts.

Does anyone yell at a stamp collector for not sticking their stamps on envelopes and mailing them?

Does anyone criticize a wine collector for not immediately drinking every bottle in their cellar?

No.

My Steam library is not a "to-do list." It is a library in the traditional sense. It is a Collection of Possibilities. I like that feeling.

If the zombie apocalypse ever hits, I have enough content to last several lifetimes.