Why Do I Choose Mindless MMOs Over Great Single-Player RPGs?

In my leisure time, I often immerse myself in video games. It’s not exactly an earth-shattering admission. However, I recently decided to try something a bit out of the ordinary. I revisited the single-player RPG, Cyberpunk 2077. I had played it at its original launch and didn’t finish my journey. I recalled the hype surrounding its release and the immense potential it showcased, despite the turmoil of its initial launch. After numerous updates and improvements, the game has now evolved into one of the most respected RPGs in recent times. Thus, I made the decision to give it another chance.

One hour later, I shut it down and stepped away.

Cyberpunk 2077 is undeniably an exceptional game. The graphics are breathtaking. Night City feels vibrant and alive, brimming with intricate details. The voice acting is top-notch, the storyline is engrossing, and even the combat—which is normally not my preferred style since it’s a first-person shooter—is engaging enough to capture most players’ interest.

So what seems to be the problem with me?

This isn’t just an issue with Cyberpunk 2077; it happens with nearly every single-player RPG I try to dive into. I feel an immediate sense of overwhelm. The instant control is handed over, I freeze up. My mind refuses to slow down enough to truly connect. Instead of pushing through, instead of allowing myself to settle and find my groove, I retreat to the genre that never stifles me: MMORPGs.

Indeed, MMOs—the genre often ridiculed for being repetitive, sprawling, and lacking narrative depth—serve as my comfort zone. Whether enjoying my cherished MapleStory, or even RuneScape.

But why? After all, MMORPGs typically have more content, more systems, more chaos, and many more players than any single-player RPG could accommodate. Yet somehow, they don’t feel as burdensome.

In an MMO, I don’t feel the weight of making the “right” choices. I’m not required to deliberate on dialogue options or worry about missing a crucial character arc. I can easily accept a quest, read the opening line, and dive right into action. Whether it’s slaying ten rats, gathering five mushrooms, or escorting a merchant through the woods, there’s something beautifully mindless about it. It feels safe, familiar, and most importantly, predictable.

Strangely, this satisfies the same urges that single-player RPGs aim to fulfill. I’m still advancing. I’m leveling up. I’m acquiring gear, gaining power, and witnessing numbers rise. The difference is that in an MMO, progression feels seamless. It doesn’t demand much from me. It doesn’t require my undivided attention or emotional engagement.

This realization is frustrating. I know I’m missing out on something far more enriching. There are single-player RPGs that are masterpieces—works of art capable of delivering unforgettable emotional experiences. These games can challenge me, inspire me, even reshape my worldview. They aren’t merely entertainment; they’re profound experiences. Yet, I can’t seem to find the stillness required to let them resonate with me.

Maybe it’s linked to my current lifestyle—always online, perpetually multitasking, constantly scrolling through something. Single-player games require a level of focus and patience I no longer seem accustomed to providing. They ask me to block out everything else, to be present. And that’s difficult.

In contrast, MMOs have a passivity that fits into my routine. I can switch windows every few minutes. I can watch a YouTube video or check Discord simultaneously without missing anything critical. I can be in the game while only partially being present, and that simply feels easier.

Nonetheless, I aspire to break this habit. I yearn to feel invested once more. I want to lose myself in a game and emerge transformed, just as I did in my youth before the Internet’s distractions became overwhelming. I am aware that single-player RPGs are worth the investment; I just need to relearn how to meet them on their terms.