The Mindful Roguelike

My mental health toolkit includes meditation, journaling, a bit of exercise, and — every day, almost without fail — about 45 minutes with a brutally difficult card-based video game called Slay the Spire. What started as a pandemic coping mechanism has evolved into an essential ritual that’s now woven into the fabric of my life.

If you’re not familiar with it, Slay the Spire is a deck-building roguelike where each run presents a procedurally generated path up a spire. You build your card deck as you progress, fighting monsters and making decisions that can either lead to glorious victory or (more often) crushing defeat. With permadeath as a core mechanic, each run is a complete experience with real stakes.

While I’ve modified my gameplay to make victory a bit more attainable, focusing on flawless boss battles rather than mere survival¹, the core experience remains intact: every playthrough is different, every decision matters, and the parameters of what’s possible are both clearly defined and endlessly variable.

Through thousands of hours climbing the spire, I’ve discovered some surprising things about myself and what makes my mind tick. Here are three insights that have emerged from this seemingly casual game.

Focused Engagement Through Puzzles

I’ve learned that my brain craves a particular kind of mental challenge — one with clear parameters but infinite variations. Each run of Slay the Spire presents a unique puzzle within familiar constraints. I know the cards, the enemies, and the potential paths, but the specific configuration is always new.

This discovery isn’t entirely surprising. Another favorite game, FTL (Faster Than Light), offers a similar experience: navigating from start to finish through randomly generated encounters and choices. What’s remarkable is how effectively this type of engagement absorbs my complete attention.

It’s not exactly relaxation in the traditional sense. These games can be frustratingly difficult. I’m making complex decisions, calculating probabilities, and strategizing constantly. Yet this intense mental focus functions as a form of mental escape. My mind becomes so thoroughly engaged with the immediate challenges that everything else — stress, global anxieties, personal concerns — temporarily recedes.

The demanding nature of the puzzle is precisely what makes it effective. When the stakes in the game are high (even if artificially so), my brain commits fully to the present moment.

The Alchemy of Perfect Design

The second insight came more gradually: I’ve discovered just how powerful a perfectly designed game can be in creating immersion. There’s something almost magical about how Slay the Spire’s specific combination of mechanics, visuals, pacing, and feedback loops aligns with my particular brain.

I’ve played many games that attempt to create this state of flow, but few succeed as completely as Slay the Spire. The way information is presented, the timing of decisions, the balance of randomness and skill — all these elements combine into something that feels custom-made for my thought patterns.

This has made me appreciate the artistry in game design more deeply. What appears simple on the surface represents thousands of careful decisions and adjustments to create an experience that can so thoroughly capture attention and engagement. It’s a reminder that great design often disappears into the background, leaving only the experience itself.

This intersection of technology and human experience fascinates me: how specific design choices can create such profound mental states. It’s a reminder that digital tools, when thoughtfully crafted, can serve deeper human needs.

“Casual” That Isn’t Casual At All

Perhaps the most surprising revelation has been recognizing how essential this supposedly “casual” gaming habit has become to my mental well-being. What might look like mere entertainment from the outside has become a vital component of my mental health toolkit.

Those 45 minutes of concentrated gameplay provide more than just distraction — they offer a genuine mental reset. I emerge feeling more focused, less anxious, and better equipped to face whatever challenges await in my work and personal life. By fully engaging one part of my brain, I give other parts time to process in the background. Often, solutions to problems I’ve been wrestling with will surface after a session, not during conscious contemplation but during this period of intense focus on something completely different.

I’ve come to respect that this isn’t just playing a game. It’s a deliberate practice that yields real benefits for my cognitive and emotional state. The fact that it’s enjoyable doesn’t make it any less valuable.

Finding Your Own Spire to Climb

My experience with Slay the Spire has transformed how I view gaming and mental breaks in general. When I meet fellow fans of the game, there’s an immediate connection — a mutual understanding that goes beyond just appreciating the same entertainment. We recognize in each other the particular satisfaction this type of engagement brings.

More broadly, it’s changed how I respond when others talk about their gaming obsessions. I understand, now, that what might look like simple distraction could actually be serving a profound purpose in someone’s mental ecosystem.

I believe everyone could benefit from finding their own version of this experience — whether it’s a game, a craft, or any activity that fully engages the mind within enjoyable constraints. Having a regular practice that demands your complete attention while still being inherently rewarding creates a valuable space for mental refresh.

As someone interested in how we learn and grow, I’ve come to see these focused engagement periods as a form of indirect learning. They create the mental space needed for deeper processing and connection-making that direct effort sometimes prevents.

The challenges don’t disappear when you return to them, but you face them with renewed perspective. Sometimes the best way forward isn’t to keep pushing against a problem but to step aside completely, climb a different kind of spire, and trust that your mind will keep working in new and unexpected ways. At least, that’s what 2,500+ hours of playing has taught me.