One of the oldest clichés in tabletop gaming is that it is not about the dice, it is about the friends we made along the way. Which is ironic, because most of us started rolling dice because we did not have many friends along the way at all. We were the ones who lingered in game shops, scrolled late-night forums, or hunted for convention schedules just to find someone, anyone, who spoke the same strange dialect of imagination we did.

And then, slowly, we did.

Tabletop games are little connection machines. They work whether you are sitting across a kitchen table, huddled in a convention ballroom with two hundred other people, or chatting through webcams on opposite sides of the planet. They give us excuses to gather, shared languages to use, and stories we can all lay claim to.

I have lost track of how many people I have crossed paths with through gaming. Some at conventions, where you sit down with strangers, roll up characters, and by the end of a four-hour slot you have collectively survived a dragon, and pulled off a daring rescue that no one will ever forget. Some connections come from the slow burn, chatting with the same folks at the local shop every other week until you have got inside jokes and the occasional after-game coffee. Others live entirely online, forged on Twitter, Instagram, Threads, Bluesky, and YouTube. These are people I may never meet face to face, but who cheer me on, share their ideas, and remind me that our hobby is bigger than any one table.

Most of these are loose acquaintances. Not every dice-roll buddy becomes a lifelong confidant. But even those thinner threads matter. There is something strangely comforting in the casual nod from a familiar face at a con, or a quick reply on a social post from someone who knows what it is like to wrangle rules and wrangle players at the same time. These small moments pile up, and suddenly you are not a lone gamer anymore. You are part of a web.

It is easy to downplay those kinds of connections. We are told friendship has to be deep and lasting to count. But honestly, I think of them more like constellations. Some stars burn close and bright, others are faint and far away, but together they make the map we navigate by. Even if I only talk to someone once or twice, the fact that gaming brought us into each other’s orbits is meaningful.

And sometimes, unexpectedly, those loose threads tug tighter. Maybe the person you played one hilarious one-shot with turns up in your comments six months later, and suddenly you are co-creating something together. Maybe the person who was just the GM at that con table becomes someone you check in with regularly when life gets messy. Gaming leaves the door open for those surprises.

There is also the way games connect us to parts of ourselves. At the table, you can be bold when you are shy, clever when you are tired, heroic when you feel small. The character sheet becomes a bridge between your inner world and the people across from you. You show up as a dwarf warrior or a goblin rogue, and yet it is still you reaching out, being seen, and being remembered.

Of course, connection is not always easy. Humans can be… let us just say challenging. Misunderstandings happen. Con drama happens. Some days it feels like everyone online is just looking for a fight. On those days, I am tempted to roll a natural 20 on launch into the sun. But the very fact that we keep coming back to the table, even after the hard days, says something about how powerful these connections really are. We put up with the mess because the magic is worth it.

When I look back at my years of rolling dice, what stands out is not the critical hits or the epic campaigns, though I treasure those too. What stands out are the people. The laugh-snorts at midnight. Long conversations between games about character backgrounds and “off screen” interactions. The simple joy of sitting shoulder to shoulder with people building something imaginary together.

That is what connect means to me in gaming. Not just best friends forever, though if you find those at the table, hang on tight. But also the looser, lighter ties. The nod across the con hall. The comment on a post. The fleeting, fragile threads that, woven together, make up the community we share.

Because at the end of the day, dice clatter and stories fade, but the connections, big and small, are what make all of it matter.

Thank you for being here with me today. I appreciate you. Keep it real, but please strive for positivity, too. Please embrace the things that bring you the most joy in your life.