It is the end of yet another year, a time meant for reflection and celebration of the highs and lows. Since this is a column loosely aimed at exploring the relation of the game we love to the real world around us, it’s only natural for me to want to turn to this year’s change regarding my life-defining hobby. In the year most full of cynical intellectual property discussions, constant self owns by Wizards of the Coast, and a true stinker of a Standard set, I somehow fell back in love with the game; one I didn’t even realize I started to hate. The answer was simple. I rediscovered what makes Magic great in the first place.
I’ve played MTG since Return to Ravnica, which puts me in a fairly distinct group. I am distinctly in the second major wave of Magic players that coincided with a major boom in popularity and, according to online guesstimates, the first set that had something anywhere close to a modern print run size. Not early enough to experience any of the unique Magic of the first 20 years where the game labored away, just in time to experience things like Dragon’s Maze and the “two-block model” and “Friday Night Magic that isn’t Commander.” Many changes have come to the game since then, some I consider positively and some negatively. The most major shake up was my own relationship with the game. I went from playing multiple times a week in a small store with three to eight people pre-COVID, to exiting lockdowns with a gig in front of hundreds of thousands of people on a large Youtube channel called Playing with Power.
Since then, my engagement in that sphere has evolved, from cEDH to Youtube to finding my love of podcasting to getting the chance to write about Magic for real money. I’ve helped run Kickstarter campaigns for MTG fan artists and those with their arts on cards alike. Heck, I’ve started making merch. I’ve been traversing those different spaces, evolving in my own way from casual FNM standard player to a niche internet microcelebrity of yesteryear. Meanwhile, Magic itself has been going through major transitions brought on by the rise of Commander, effects that the pandemic had on organized play, the proliferation of Universes Beyond, and much more.
Work You Like is Still Work
I cannot overstate how drastically getting into the Magic Content game (derogatory) changes your perception of the game. Even when you’re having fun, horizon broadening fun, it still represents a form of sneakily soul-grinding labor. “Find a job you love and you’ll never work a day in your life” is nothing short of the most successful capitalistic propaganda of all time. Obviously, I am but one person but I know many people working on their dream job and their experience matches up with my anecdotes. Not only is it real work, but in an algorithm and social media-driven environment, the loudest and most negative voices are the ones that win out and are amplified. They encourage you to join the chorus, seeing direct reinforcement in the wrong statistical direction if you do not. Working in any hobby, but especially an all-life-consuming one like Magic, takes its toll on your psyche. Burnout is real and alive everywhere I look in space. I’m still mildly burnt out on writing despite having just taken an active two-month break from it. It lingers maliciously.
The reader may see this and realize that, obviously, this burnout would have translated over to my main hobby: Magic.
The reader must also realize that I am stupid.
Too Much Ice Cream
I have trod along for the last several years, slowly souring myself on this own pastime. I value it greatly, but continually engaged with less and less outside of the contexts where I absolutely had to. I put together a new deck for a recording. I planned on attending an event when I could also work it to make money. I never went down to the game store, or arranged a casual night of gaming, or traded on Arena. The shining light was occasionally seeing my friends and also discovering Forgetful Fish, also known as DanDan, and getting to share its gospel. It was a nice balm on whatever I had going on upstairs, but it didn’t fix it.
This created a vicious cycle of the stuff I was making getting worse. I didn’t meaningfully engage with the gameplay part of the hobby which made me feel worse about the stuff I made and – you get the picture. Especially as constant negative news cycles about the game, ones I did largely agree with and still do, drug me down, it became harder and harder for me to engage in a healthy way.
The secret for breaking out of this was, weirdly enough, a few people I knew personally getting into Commander and playing with them. Yeah. That was the solution. People near me, new at the game, joining up via what we all say is the worst way possible and seeing them have a blast. Also, I sold tens of thousands of dollars worth of cards, leaving myself with the stuff I only valued the most.
Cleaning up is good for the soul.
Child-like joy, for lack of a better term, is infectious. Most importantly, the experience wiped away some form of built-up drama I had in my head about the way I grew up with Magic. When it was new to me and there were things to explore, a new card or experience around every corner. It’s so easy to look back on how Magic used to be with a large overhanging of nostalgia.
When you’ve been around the block for a while, it’s easier to become pessimistic about things that, when newer, you view as cool or exciting. Seeing my friends getting excited about Spongebob and Spider-Man cards dulled the edge of Universes Beyond somehow.
Looking for Answers
I had thought I could fall back in love with the game by going to a prerelease or a MagicCon or a draft night or something – and those things did help, in a way. Many lovable things about the game are there. But I think nothing reminds me of what makes the game greatest than seeing a new player get excited by +1/+1 counters. Magic is at its best when it’s stripped down to its bare studs. Every Magic card is a masterpiece in its own unique way. But when you’ve seen 20,000+ masterpieces over the course of a decade, they start to run together and become part of the scenery rather than something that sparks joy.
Of course, I would still prefer that Magic release four sets a year and we stayed on the same plane for more than one set at a time. I would prefer that Universes Beyond exists and that everything stayed the same and nothing changed. I’m happy I found a new way to find enjoyment via playing the game with people who are new to it.
I started writing for Hipsters with a small treatise on how Edge of Eternities helped capture the segments of Magic that are still truly “real” to me. These elements have helped recapture my love as well. As I’ve been playing in a stripped-back, simplistic fashion at my own kitchen table with my friends, I’ve gained a new perspective on the sets as they release. Is part of it maybe a cope-filled “Magic is not for me” mentality as I engage only with the past and bask in my friends enjoyment of the new? Maybe.
This is where I look hopefully to 2026, staring down another bevy of Universes Beyond sets I am sure to not love, and resign myself to having fun at home with my friends instead. Also, there’s always the past for me to continue to explore. You would not believe how many nuggets of incredible Magic are buried there.
It really is that simple.
Callahan Jones (he/him) is not a content creator. He’s a Gamecube collector, DanDan fanatic and occasionally, very occasionally, has a thought to share about Magic: The Gathering. Follow his pursuits on Bluesky or on his personal Substack.