For those painful years of lockdown, video games were a renewed source of comfort for my friends. As gaming was my main hobby, this worked well for me. When the evenings rolled around, there was an availability, a longing for connection by any means, and online games delivered like a balm for our social wounds. A shared hardship rerouted the course of our routines and careers and families, but I felt closer to my friends than ever. We were not alone, just apart.

As we grew more accustomed to virtual hangouts as third places, new games emerged. Some single player games, like The Berlin Apartment or Blue Prince, seemed at least partially influenced by and grounded in that lockdownesque claustrophobia. VR, a platform already familiar with exploring grand ideas at room scale, found its champions. Meanwhile, a genre of indie games that we [lovingly] call friendslop prioritized fun and palatable price points over enduring, let alone stable, gameplay.

These games seemed to release at a sprinter's pace, capitalizing on our increased appetite for them, but Big Walk chose to... well, it's in the name. And it is something decidedly different. This is a game of connection with a peculiar mission statement. It is a game that brings people together by nudging them apart.

Big Walk cannot be played on the couch beside your friends. The joy of its mechanics leverage a very intentional use of spacial audio and physical gesturing. On this massive island of realistically-detailed bushland, large, colourful puzzles contrast the landscape, their sheer size doubling as points of interest. The puzzles start out as simple team communication challenges, introducing deeper concepts and player controls, but they all serve an almost sinister purpose in making you more comfortable with the idea of isolation.

When you're exploring the backcountry, virtual or not, a primal wisdom within you screams that splitting the party means certain death. But there are no health or stamina bars in Big Walk. There are no predators stalking you, or any wildlife for that matter. It does not endeavour to scare you. Even still, you can't completely shake the fear while hiking the woods in near darkness.

But approaching up ahead are the bouncing lamplit silhouettes of your friends, and they're doing impressions into a pair of walkie-talkies they found. Player characters are goofy birdlike creatures, a delightful abstraction of Pingu and a triple scoop of ice cream. It puts you at ease. The sun rises within minutes. You take a moment to admire where you are, and you carry on.

God forbid another global event frays our social fabric, where our loved ones down the street are once again worlds apart. But circumstance will put distance between you and those you love. You may ache for quiet connection: to sit on a beach together and let the tide press wet sand through your toes; to hike to the tallest place you can find and watch the sun repaint the sky; to drink a frosty pint on a patio, because man, that's what life's all about.

But I am relieved to know that Big Walk now exists as a third place for me. The tension and release in this game is finding comfort in being lost and celebrating the moments you reunite. It resonates strongly with me now. I can't imagine how it would have struck me in 2021.