After eight months of Zooming, isolating and social distancing, by the time 5 or 6 p.m. rolls around every day, I am ready for a break — some way to clear my head, leave everything behind and relax. In healthier times, this is where I’d meet a friend for dinner or go for a roll outside.  But with those options mostly off the table, my new hobby has been exploring the picturesque highs and lows of Hyrule.

In Hyrule, I can meander aimlessly for hours, traipsing across verdant grasslands, stream-laden riverbeds or forested mountainsides. Sometimes I’ll just watch the sun set or follow a herd of deer roaming the fields. Wherever I go, I’m surrounded by the sounds of nature — an owl’s hoot, the rustle of the grass in the wind, or even the soothing pitter-patter of rain falling.

If you’ve been to Hyrule, you’re probably laughing and nodding your head at this point, and if you haven’t, you’re probably torn between thinking I’m insane and wanting to know where this magical land is. The good news is, Hyrule is accessible to everyone; the bad news is, it only exists in the world of Nintendo’s Zelda video games.

High on the short list of “good things” to come out of the pandemic has been the reintroduction of console-based video games to my life.  While I had played the occasional game on my iPad or computer in the 22 years since I was paralyzed, I’d avoided diving fully back into the pastime I’d so enjoyed as a teenager.

I used all the excuses. At first, the actual logistics of using a controller seemed out of reach. I’d seen the early sip-and-puff controllers, but that was more of a commitment than I was wiling to make. Then, as technology improved to the point I knew I could jerry-rig a working set up, I told myself I had better things to do. I told myself videogames were for kids, not 40-year-olds.

It took a global pandemic and the prospect of untold hours at home alone for me to finally stop making excuses and take action. I reached out to a friend to help me build a controller and I starting researching exactly what I needed to play the games I wanted.

When I finally got my controller in early April, I eagerly plugged everything in, fired up the system, and quickly realized that I sucked. The hand eye coordination I’d used to dominate my friends in high school had faded and the prospect of relearning everything seemed daunting.  But I didn’t quit, and over week after week of COVID nights, I got better.

Instead of worrying about which button was where, my quad fists instinctually moved wherever they needed to be to make Link, the hero of Zelda, do whatever I wanted.

One of my friends once told me that exploring Hyrule provided some of the same feelings and emotions he’d drawn from riding his mountain bike through the countryside prior to his spinal cord injury. Immersed in Hyrule’s luscious anime graphics and sounds, I understood what he meant.

Now, more than ever, we all need to find ways to stay sane and escape the often-overwhelming realities of our day-to-day lives. I never would have thought I’d find that escape in Hyrule, but I’m not complaining.