I know some folks are confused about why I'm so proud of a tiny little game like Gentle Rain when I've designed so many behemoths in the past, and let me tell you, friends, simplicity is HARD. It is the hardest thing you will ever do as a game designer.

But small, simple games can do magical things. They can reach so many more people, and they can have such a clear purity of vision in a way that big games just can't. I gave a copy of Gentle Rain to both nurses that gave me my 2 covid shots, knowing they could learn the game.

I've never had another published game where I could feel confident that pretty much anyone could learn, play, and potentially enjoy it. And that feels awfully special to me. This game could go anywhere and could genuinely help people. I've used it to calm anxiety attacks before.

It hits that part of the brain that I use to do jigsaw puzzles, which can distract me when I'm feeling anxious. There's an experience of thinking without thought - the brain is focused, but not noisy - which helps calm me down sometimes when I'm stressed.

I'm already hearing stories about it being just what someone needed in a rough patch. And that's amazing. As a game designer, it's hard to feel that what you do is at all important. You're not curing cancer or cleaning up the planet. But sometimes, games are a balm for the soul.

The first part of the rules, which expressly tell players to get comfortable and relax, isn't just there for a laugh. I mean, if it makes you smile or laugh, that's great, because it's helped put you in a better mood, but it serves a bigger purpose in my eyes.

It's there to try to help you get into a place where you're _receptive_ to the idea of being calm. Where you're not stressing over the score, and you're just letting the tiles flow and the minutes drift away. That part of the rules tells you expressly, "Hey, take a break."

There's a concept in game studies known as the "magic circle" or "circle of play". I first read about it in a book called Homo Ludens, which is a scholarly examination of games. The concept refers to the temporary, magical world that players agree upon when they play a game.

In this magic circle, actions take on new meanings (such as touching another player in tag), and strange rituals have power ("No tag backs!"). This is a tiny world created for shared make-believe, and it seems to be part of how games have that ability to carry us away.

In Gentle Rain, the first thing I do is tell the player, "the rules say you have to relax now", and some will laugh at that, but for others, it's _permission_. "Oh, I have to relax and roll the stress out of my shoulders. That's part of the ritual I'm agreeing to take part in."

This contract that the player agrees to with the game itself can be a powerful tool for a game designer, although it's only as strong as the players' desire to play along. Kids treat the magic circle very seriously, while adults may feel embarrassed by it. But it's still there.

Even a very serious businessperson might start to play Gentle Rain and think, "Oh, the rules say I should make a nice cup of tea and change into more comfortable clothes, how silly! ...That does sound kind of nice, though. Oh, what the heck!" And that's the game's win - my win.

Simply planting the idea into the player's mind that Gentle Rain is a relaxing activity helps make that idea come true, because Rules have Power in the magic circle. And so, in a lot of ways, that first rule ("Relax and get comfortable") is the most important rule of Gentle Rain.