I died today. A lot.

It’s not a big deal. I was playing the computer adventure game, “Dungeons and Dragons Online” and I had bitten off more than my character could chew. Although I didn’t want to, I had to accept defeat and abandon the adventure I was in, allowing all the time and in-game resources I had spent to go to waste.

I had embarked on this particular adventure by myself because S and J had already completed this one and I needed to catch up with them so that we could do our next adventure together. When I clicked on the “door” of the meeting hall where the evildoers were gathering, I was presented with a decision. Should I choose the “casual” difficulty level, or the “normal” one.

I knew that the higher the difficulty level, the better the loot! Besides, even if my character was going in alone, my character’s ability level was significantly higher than the base difficulty level of the adventure, so I should have been fine. That was my reasoning when I clicked on the “normal” difficulty level rather than the “casual” level and began.

With each subsequent battle, I began to worry more. After I had “resurrected” myself over a half dozen times and my daughter S looking over my shoulder said, “What? You’re only at Tahmael?” I knew I was in trouble. Clearly I had a long way to go to complete this adventure and I was already thoroughly outmatched.

Having died the eighth time, I hit the “release” button which allowed my character to abandon the adventure and to re-materialize in a tavern where he could rest up, heal, and repair his battered equipment.

Looking back, I recognize that when I was given the choice of difficulty level at the beginning of the adventure, I had forgotten why I was doing the adventure in the first place. I had forgotten that what was most important was to finish it so that I could then play the adventure’s sequel with my daughters. I was tempted by potential for better loot. I was distracted by the shinys.

Anyone will tell you that I can be a very slow decision maker. I abhor discovering later that I should have gone left rather than right, or that I should have chosen whole instead of low fat. What I have discovered recently is that when I focus on the here and now more than the possible futures, I tend to make choices that I’m happy with more often than not.

Today, if I had focused on my primary goal as well as the promise of a fun group adventure with my daughters as soon as I finished my solo adventure, then I would have picked “casual,” probably finished the adventure (even if I still died once or twice), and I would have been happy regardless of the quality of “loot” I received along the way. As it happened, I started to think about how much stronger my character could be in the future if I found better equipment in this adventure, and that is what tempted me to choose the “normal” level and eventually to have to abandon the adventure altogether.

This experience was a reminder for me to never forget why I’m doing what I’m doing, especially when I’m being faced with a choice in how to go about it. When I allow myself that clarity, the “what” and the “how” generally follow easily from the “why.”