A question I end up asking in 1:1s more often than not:
“Do you play any games? Board games? Video games?”
On the surface, it’s small talk — the gamer kid in me poking through. But really? It’s an opening.
To me, games aren’t just play. They’re practice. And the skills you grind in them? They transfer. Time management. Resource allocation. Strategy. Awareness. Emotional control under pressure. If you’ve played seriously enough, you’ve trained these muscles more than you realize.
The trick is to notice. To connect the dots between the skills you practiced for fun and the challenges staring you down at work (and in life).
Let the games begin.
Train
Growing up, I played everything. Playground games. Sega Genesis classics. PlayStation 1, Nintendo 64, PlayStation 2. Then computer games: Counter-Strike, Team Fortress 2, Overwatch. Later, PS4/PS5. And of course, more board games than I can count.
But the game I took most seriously? StarCraft II.
I probably spent more time studying StarCraft than actually playing it.
I’d watch professional eSport matches (not unlike how folks watch basketball), trying to spot the tiny moves the pros made. I’d dig through forums for build orders, print out timing sheets, and drill them until they were muscle memory. I’d spend hours in practice maps, just drawing boxes or running unit-control exercises to shave milliseconds off my response time.
Then I’d review my own replays like an analyst: 3 seconds wasted here, a forgotten scout at 5:15, supply blocked at the 10-minute mark. Every mistake circled, noted, filed away. Practiced. Refined.
It sounds extreme, maybe even ridiculous, if you’ve never touched competitive games. But for StarCraft players, this was, well... normal. And honestly, compared to the hardcore players, I was "a casual" (as the folks say).
Still—that discipline, that level of self-analysis, that obsession with tightening the smallest screws—it taught me more than the game itself.
Getting into StarCraft this way—training, drilling, analyzing—helped me understand the sheer skill it takes to play at a high level. Time management. Resource management. Memorization. High-level strategy. Low-level tactics. Calculated risk. On-the-fly problem solving, mid-battle, under pressure. Commanding units. Managing emotions. Mechanical execution. Patience. Persistence. Self-analysis. Self-awareness. Situational awareness.
One day at work, I caught myself mid-problem thinking: “If this were a StarCraft II match, how would I play it?”
And that was it. That was the connection. All those hours, all those reps—suddenly they weren’t just for the game. They helped the work fall into place.
Strategize
The goal of every game is to win in some way. And winning doesn’t always mean beating everyone else—it means achieving your objective.
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Sidenote: One of my favorite ways to play board games is to see how close I can get to breaking the game without breaking the rules.
To approach a brand-new game in a way that makes seasoned players shake their heads at the absurdity of my moves—moves that, somehow (sometimes), don’t turn out that bad. Every now and then, I even win.
Winning isn’t the point. Having fun in this obscure, sideways way is.
(Apologies to everyone who’s had to suffer through my nonsense.)
Back to the post.
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So as you’re facing your problem, imagine it’s a game. A game you know well. Maybe one you’ve logged an embarrassing number of hours in. Something strategic, competitive, slightly complex. (A little more than Candy Crush or Angry Birds—no shade to their fans.)
Stardew Valley. Pandemic. Dark Souls. Baldur’s Gate. Red Dead Redemption. Ticket to Ride. Overcooked. (Take your pick!)
Now think about the setup. What you know. What you don’t know. How much time you have. What moves are open to you. What’s blocked off. Who’s on your team. Who you can call in.
Lay it out like a game board: pieces in place, cards in hand, a countdown clock in the corner.
Then ask: given this setup, this turn, this moment—what’s the best move? Knowing that once you make it, the board will shift. The game state will change. And when your turn comes again, you’ll have to adapt.
Because here’s the thing: strategy isn’t a laundry list.
It’s not a stack of tech specs. Not a bloated doc of product plans. Not a deck of core values or some lofty mission statement. Those are tasks. Goals. Aspirations. Important, yes—but not strategy.
“Improve customer experience”? That’s not a strategy. That’s an intention.
Years ago, I stumbled across a Harvard Business Review talk from Roger Martin that finally cut through the noise for me. He said:
“A strategy is an integrative set of choices that positions you on a playing field of your choice in a way that you win.”
You don’t win by saying “I want more points.” You win by making choices with the cards, the board, the resources in front of you.
That’s it. That’s the whole game.
So the real question isn’t, “What are our goals?” or “What’s our mission?” The question is:
Given the playing field you’ve chosen, given the position you’re in—how are you going to win?
Play
Games teach us how to face impossible odds. How to stand in front of that boss 20 levels above you—the one that’s already crushed you 17 heartbreaking times. How to fall, respawn, try again, grind, and claw your way forward anyway, until something finally gives.
And life? Work? They’re just the higher difficulty setting. The campaign in hard mode, where the saves are fewer and the stakes are real.
Every problem you face is another match. Another dungeon to crawl through. Another board to puzzle over. Another tilted PvP game where your healer wandered off, your tank disconnected, and someone named dark_mage305 is AFK in spawn (thanks a lot, buddy).
But that’s the beauty of it—you don’t quit. You regroup. You zoom out. Lay out the board. Check your resources. Flip through your cards. Call on your team. Pick a strategy. Take your turn.
Because whether you realized it or not, you’ve been training for this all along.
And now... It’s your move.
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P.S. I’m not saying treat things like it’s just a game where nothing matters. Life ain’t Mario Kart. I mean it as a lens for problem-solving — a way to borrow the skills you’ve already trained in play and apply them to the work in front of you.