Role-playing games have been a huge part of my life and a huge

“Role-playing games have been a huge part of my life and a huge part of my training as a performer — learning social skills, meeting friends, and being a generally competent person — so I owe a lot to role-playing games,” said Matthew Mercer, a voice that has guided countless stories across the realms of imagination. His words speak to more than a pastime; they reveal a hidden wisdom — that within the art of play lies the art of becoming. The ancients spoke of the theatre as a mirror of the soul, a place where one could embody heroes and gods to understand what it means to be human. Mercer’s reflection stands in this same lineage, reminding us that role-playing is not mere escape, but training for life — a sacred exercise in empathy, creativity, and courage.

To role-play is to step beyond oneself — to live in the mind of another, to speak with their voice, to walk in their fears and triumphs. In doing so, the heart learns compassion, and the spirit learns flexibility. When Mercer speaks of “learning social skills” and “meeting friends,” he reveals how imagination becomes communion. Around the table, with dice and stories shared, the barriers between souls dissolve. Each player learns to listen, to cooperate, to create together — as in life, so in art. Thus, what begins as a game becomes a lesson in humanity itself: the art of seeing through another’s eyes.

In the world of ancient Greece, actors were seen not merely as entertainers, but as philosophers in motion. Through their masks and gestures, they explored the divine and the mortal, love and tragedy, fate and freedom. They understood that to play another role was to glimpse another truth. So too, in role-playing games, the modern seeker steps into the theatre of the mind. Whether as warrior, scholar, or healer, each player confronts the same questions all mortals face: Who am I? What do I value? How do I act when tested? In such questions lies the true training of a performer — not the memorization of lines, but the awakening of the soul.

Consider also the story of Robin Williams, the great actor and lover of fantasy, who found solace in the same imaginative worlds. It is said he drew strength and empathy from those moments of pretend — from wielding swords and spells in games of wonder. Through those stories, he learned to connect more deeply with others, to feel life’s joys and sorrows with keener sensitivity. His example, like Mercer’s, reminds us that imagination is not the enemy of reality, but its finest companion. Through it, we learn to understand the infinite shades of the human heart.

When Mercer says he owes much of his competence as a person to these games, he touches on an even greater truth: that the mind trained in play is also trained in resilience. Every quest requires problem-solving; every adventure, cooperation; every failure, persistence. The dice may fall unkindly, but the story goes on. So too in life: our plans fail, our roads twist, but if we learn to adapt and laugh — to continue the game — we grow stronger. The spirit of the player is the spirit of the hero: not one who never falters, but one who never ceases to imagine a way forward.

Yet beneath all of this lies a deeper virtue: connection. In a world often divided by pride and fear, role-playing games remind us that the act of creation is an act of unity. Every story told together binds hearts in fellowship. Every shared challenge becomes a bond. As Mercer learned around those tables, friendship forged through imagination becomes friendship forged in truth. The games that taught him how to act also taught him how to live — how to speak with kindness, how to listen with respect, how to find light even in the darker corners of the human story.

So, O seeker of wisdom, take this teaching to heart: Do not scorn play, for play is the workshop of the soul. Whether through storytelling, art, or conversation, dare to imagine. Step into the shoes of another and let your heart expand. Practice empathy as one practices a skill. Build worlds not to escape this one, but to understand it more deeply. As Matthew Mercer teaches, every act of imagination is an act of learning — every story told together is a small rehearsal for the grand story of life.

Thus remember: the role-player, like the philosopher, learns through creation; the performer, like the sage, grows through empathy. Keep your spirit open to wonder, your heart open to others, and your imagination unbound. For in learning to play, you learn to live — and in learning to live, you become both the storyteller and the story itself, forever unfolding across the boundless stage of existence.