How Final Fantasy Marked Every Stage of My Life

120 hours on a single save file—I had never seen anything like it. Several years ago, a good friend of mine let me borrow his PS2 to play Final Fantasy 10 after he went on and on about it and how much he wanted me to play it, just so we could talk about it. His main save file had more hours on it than I thought was possible in a game, but upon starting my own, I quickly started to realize how. This was a virtual world with the kind of atmospheric and emotional depth I had only dreamed of, and before long, I understood exactly why someone would spend that much time in Spira without even thinking twice about it. From that point on, my gaming palate was never the same, as Final Fantasy had effortlessly dug its hooks into me, and I wanted little else.

Fast-forward over two decades, and Final Fantasy has left an indelible mark on some of the biggest stages of my life. From the emotional highs and lows of high school to the ongoing responsibilities of adulthood, Square Enix’s beloved franchise has always been just as beloved to me. It has been both the reason I’m so happy and the reason I’m so tired, as late nights spent with it would carry over into early-morning marching band rehearsals. It has been there waiting for me after brain-frying cram sessions, practically begging me to skip class the next morning. It has filled in the slower, quieter moments at each day’s end with similar, unforgettable story beats. All in all, it’s wild to consider how far things have come since my first experience with it, but Final Fantasy has nonetheless managed to grow right along with me.

A Roadmap Through Twenty Years of Final Fantasy

Before diving into the games that had the most impact on me, it helps to lay out the path that brought me to where I am today. My journey with the series wasn’t a single explosion of discovery. It was gradual, moving through different eras of my life with each entry becoming a small landmark in my personal timeline. I don’t remember every detail perfectly, but I remember the order clearly enough to see the story it tells.

• Final Fantasy 10 was my first
• Final Fantasy 7 showed me games could make me cry
• Final Fantasy 8 and 9 filled long summer nights
• Final Fantasy 1 through 6 were tackled when life slowed down
• Final Fantasy 12 arrived during one of my most difficult seasons
• Final Fantasy 13 and its sequels gave me comfort in the midst of collapse
• Final Fantasy 15 lived in the coffee truck with my wife and me
• Final Fantasy 16 tied my entire history together through writing

I have played almost everything in the mainline Final Fantasy series by now, but four titles rose above the rest because they intersected with my life at moments where I needed them most. These four (FF10, FF7, FF13, FF16) defined whole seasons for me, and it all began with Final Fantasy 10.

Final Fantasy 10: My First Escape Into Something Bigger

It was two in the morning on a school night, and the sound of my parents’ bedroom door opening had me frantically pausing my game and staying perfectly still. I glanced over at my own door to make sure the towel covering the gap at the bottom was enough to prevent the light from my TV shining through. My dad’s heavy feet shuffled through the kitchen as he went to the fridge for a cold drink of water. I waited for what felt like an eternity until he finally went back upstairs to his room—and I started playing again. This was a common occurrence at this point, all thanks to the profound obsession I had with the iconic Final Fantasy 10.

After getting a taste of what it was like on my friend’s PS2, I had saved up what money I could before throwing it on the counter of a local pawn shop in exchange for my own. As a 14-year-old kid at the time, I didn’t have much money to begin with. Yet I knew I needed more of this incredible game in my life, and I didn’t want it on borrowed time. I wasn’t going to let anything stop me from getting my very first PlayStation console, along with what I thought at the time was the single greatest game ever made.

I was late to the Final Fantasy party, but it’s a party one is better late to than never. Final Fantasy 10 kept me up most nights during my first couple years of high school because I just couldn’t pull myself away from it. I was hooked on everything about it. The world, the characters, the music, the story, all of it pulled me in so completely that it felt like I was living a second life after everyone else went to bed.

That game arrived at a time when I needed something that felt larger than my everyday life. I was 14, still figuring out who I was, still awkward, still trying to make sense of a world that felt too big one moment and too small the next. Final Fantasy 10‘s characters and world gave me that. Tidus was insecure and frustrated, just as I still can be, and he questioned everything around him. Yuna’s humility and confidence, on the other hand, hit me in a place I didn’t have words for at the time. She carried this extreme weight of responsibility, knowing what was expected of her, yet she chose to be patient and kind, and I remember wanting that kind of strength without really understanding why.

There were nights when school felt overwhelming or when I felt like I didn’t fit anywhere. Spira became a place of escape for me, where I knew I wouldn’t be judged or made fun of, and I could live vicariously through the heroics and charismatic leadership of characters like Auron and Wakka. The music helped with that as well, and I became so fond of Final Fantasy 10‘s soundtrack that I ordered my own copy of it from Japan and kept it in my CD player so long that I’m fairly certain I ruined it. I didn’t know how to describe it back then, but Final Fantasy 10 was a safe space for me where everything outside the game could pause for a while.

Looking back, it’s funny how much that game ended up shaping that whole season of my life. Final Fantasy 10 gave me something to look forward to when school felt long or when things just got stressful in general. Granted, it did get in the way of homework at times, but I don’t know any other Final Fantasy fans who could blame me. Tidus and Yuna’s journey stuck with me in a way I didn’t expect, and even now, it’s hard to separate those years from the countless nights I spent wandering through Spira. It was the first time a game ever felt that big to me, and it set the standard for the kind of stories I would crave over two decades after.

Final Fantasy 7: When Games Became Emotional

Then came Final Fantasy 7, which I got into during a time in my life when I had more freedom. I was 16 then, driving myself to school and still staying up far too late because my mom’s only rule was that I make it to school on time the next morning. That small bit of freedom lined up perfectly with the moment I started Final Fantasy 7. I played it with the confidence only a teenager has, convinced I could handle anything the next day brought as long as I reached a save point before legitimately falling asleep on my controller.

The same friend who had lent me his PS2 before always talked about how Final Fantasy 7 was the best in the series, saying Sephiroth was by far the most evil villain in gaming history and the story overall was fantastic. He wasn’t wrong either, as Final Fantasy 7‘s story eventually became my favorite narrative of all time, being the first game that actually made me shed tears (I didn’t know games could do that at the time).

Final Fantasy 7 just felt different from the start. The game looked older than Final Fantasy 10, but the story still took me by surprise. Cloud might have been brooding on the surface, but beneath the facade was someone who was confused about who he was—similarly to how I felt at 16, when I was still trying to figure out what kind of person I wanted to be.

Tifa’s loyalty to Cloud and others made me think about the kind of person I wanted to be to my own family and friends. Barret’s anger, humor, and awareness of personal responsibility showed me what it looked like to be mature and strong. Underneath all the angry shouting and jokes was a man who cared deeply and carried more than he could say or even what could be written on his low-polygon face at the time. And then there was Aerith, one of the kindest, most gentle characters I had ever seen in a video game or otherwise. I’m sure I wasn’t the only teenage boy who was thinking, “This is the kind of woman I could marry someday” either.

The moment that changed everything for me is the same moment that changed everything for so many others. When Aerith died in Final Fantasy 7, I sat there staring at the screen, controller in hand, not sure what to do next. I had never felt that kind of shock from a game before. I didn’t know a video game story could just suck the air out of your chest like that. But that’s why I remember Final Fantasy 7 so fondly. It showed me that even games, which adults around me often called “stupid,” could explore serious life parallels with the same impact as any movie or book I had ever seen or read.

I poured countless hours into Final Fantasy 7 before moving on to Final Fantasy 8, then Final Fantasy 9, and even the first 6 games when I found the time. The series would carry me through my final years of high school. When classes were stressful, when friendships began and ended, when I felt unsure about where my life was headed, the worlds Final Fantasy gave me always felt like somewhere I could run to for stability or just to calm my nerves.

Final Fantasy 12 came out during my sophomore year of college and became a close friend during one of the darkest seasons of my life, when my roommate and high school best friend had dropped out of college, leaving me alone, and a girl I had fallen head over heels for broke my heart into pieces that I’m sure are still lying on the floor of the dorm tower’s lobby. I felt alone, unmotivated, and ready to quit, but Final Fantasy 12 was there to at least keep me stable—it and three girls who graciously went out of their way to include me in their movie and board game nights. Just three years later, though, life was on an upsurge again, and Final Fantasy 13 was there waiting to celebrate with me.

Final Fantasy 13: Collapse, Comfort, and Coming Back Up

Unlike today, when Final Fantasy 13 came out in 2010, I was ignorant of all the criticism it received. I lived in a happy little bubble, thoroughly enjoying a game that I had no idea so many fans of the series despised. Of course, I was notorious among my friends for finding joy in almost anything (and I still tend to attract that same perception), but a major part of the bubble I lived in had to do with the state of my life at the time. If nothing else, it’s just proof that, sometimes, games don’t have to be critically acclaimed to mean something to you. In the end, what really matters is how they fit into the context of whatever season of life you’re in.

For me, it was bliss. I was a 22-year-old, and I had moved to a different city to start my own life. I had my own apartment, had a great job, and was attending film school with the hopes of one day becoming one of the greatest directors in cinema history. I acted, wrote scripts, and even produced several short films thinking I was going to be the next Christopher Nolan. Between the demands of life, however, I was playing Final Fantasy 13 and getting lost in its world, its story, its music, and who I still consider to be one of Final Fantasy‘s best protagonists: Lightning.

I even traveled to Houston, Texas, a couple of times during this period of my life just to see the Houston Symphony on its Distant Worlds: music from Final Fantasy tour. To this day, Final Fantasy 13‘s battle theme, “Blinded By Light,” remains a favorite of mine when it comes to the series’ battle tracks—right next to Final Fantasy 7‘s, of course. I got to hear both of those pieces and many others during those concerts, and there was nothing like hearing them live. Life just couldn’t have been better.

But then the release of Final Fantasy 13-2 came in 2012, and with it, the beginning of a long downward spiral, where everything I had built over the previous couple of years began to crumble to the ground. I lost almost everything, including many people I considered friends at the time. I was alone, depressed, and on the brink of being broke, but Final Fantasy 13-2 helped hold together what pieces of me were still left. Fortunately, that season of life didn’t last long, thanks to a loving mother who helped get me back on my feet again.

When Lightning Returns: Final Fantasy 13 dropped in 2014, life finally felt like it was pointing upward again. Ironically, my attachment to the series was Lightning and her story, so to see her come, then go, then return throughout the trilogy was symbolic, in a way, of the way my own life ebbed and flowed.

I had met my wife two years prior, and we began developing a close friendship before things became romantic in 2013. We knew we were going to get married, so we went all in and opened our very own coffee truck because we wanted to introduce our city to high-quality brew. As it turned out, that alone sparked a wave of new coffee businesses coming into town, all with the same goal of offering something apart from Starbucks. Most importantly, though, my wife and I grew closer in that small space together every day until we finally tied the knot in May 2014.

Days in the coffee truck were long and stressful, but they also came with plenty of downtime. My wife, an avid reader, would bring books with her to the shop to keep her entertained during that downtime, but me? I brought a TV and my Xbox, along with Lightning Returns: Final Fantasy 13. The music (still one of the best things about that trilogy) then filled in the background for whatever story my wife was reading, to the point that she felt like she needed it on in order to properly enjoy her books. I was happy to oblige, of course, as it meant I had yet another excuse to sink more hours into one of my favorite video game franchises.

Time went on. Our marriage grew stronger, our business more prosperous. Final Fantasy 15 then launched in 2016, which I brought with me to the coffee truck as well. I enjoyed that entry immensely for its unique exploration, as well as yet another strong protagonist in Noctis Lucis Caelum. My wife and I attended the Houston Symphony’s Final Fantasy tour together after that, as she had become a huge fan of the music. In short, life was perfect, and somehow, it was still getting better.

Final Fantasy 16: When Everything Came Full Circle

Six years flew by in the blink of an eye, bringing us to 2022, two years after having our daughter and three years after getting my bachelor’s degree in mass communications and media studies. I had changed my major multiple times during my time in college and even took a break from it for a couple of years, but I finally graduated in 2019. Growing up, I was always commended for my writing ability, to the point that one of my college professors even told me that I was majoring in the wrong field when I was going to school for music education. According to her, I should have been focusing more on philosophy. “You could change minds with your writing,” I remember her telling me.

I took it as nothing more than flattery at the time, thinking I would never pursue a career in writing. Then December 2022 rolled around, and all I wanted was to become a journalist. Terrible timing on my part, I know, considering the field was right in the middle of a major transition, and it still is. However, I went after it, choosing to start small rather than pin my hopes on snatching up a senior-level position somewhere. With encouragement from my wife and a plan to get some experience under my belt, I applied to CBR.com to be a Gaming Features Writer, and it was just a few days later that I was in touch with HR, taking my first steps into the field.

I was officially brought onto the team at CBR in January 2023, and I poured everything I had into it. Late nights, countless edits, playing through games just to get my own screenshots, making my own featured images, and learning to navigate the politics of journalism as a fresh recruit in a team of people I knew I would never meet. All of it paid off, though, because just three months in, I was already being asked by my editors to review a game. That game was Dead Island 2.

I was ecstatic. To be asked to review a game this early in my career as a journalist was an honor, to say the least, but I simply took it as motivation to put out even more effort. During my time playing through Dead Island 2, I wrote down as many ideas as I could for guides and features based on the game, pitching them privately to my editors ahead of the game’s release so we could have them ready for launch. Then, on April 18, 2023, my review went live. It was undoubtedly a great day, and I was sharing my review with everyone in my life—but I couldn’t have expected what happened just a month later.

A private message to me from one of my editors popped up on our chat platform. “I’m in trouble,” I thought, but much to my surprise, it was the exact opposite. “Hey, Josh. Are you interested in reviewing Final Fantasy 16?” the message read. My eyes widened, an emphatic “Absolutely!” flowed through my fingertips onto my computer keyboard, and I immediately ran out of my office to tell my wife. I had been a journalist for only 5 months, and I was already being asked to review the next major installment in a franchise that had been with me for over 20 years.

Honestly, I don’t know that I’ve ever felt anything quite like it. I was sitting there in my little office, controller in hand, playing a brand-new Final Fantasy game early, fully aware that 14-year-old me would have absolutely lost his mind if he knew this was where things were headed. It wasn’t just the thrill of playing it early or the excitement of reviewing it. It was the realization that every late-night session spent with it, every intense, emotional story, every experience I had ever had with the Final Fantasy series led to this full-circle moment. It all mattered. All those years of loving something just because I loved it ended with me finally getting to do something meaningful with it, for it.

Writing that review felt like stepping into a version of myself I didn’t know I was allowed to be. At that point, I wasn’t just a fan anymore, or the kid who stayed up too late in a dimly lit bedroom, or the 22-year-old drowning out the chaos of life with “Blinded By Light” on repeat. Rather, I was a writer working on the kind of assignment I used to daydream about. I got to sit with a game I cared about deeply and put into words what it meant to me and why it mattered. That alone made every struggle to get there feel worth it.

Final Fantasy: A Constant in My Story

Final Fantasy 16 ended up being a powerful reminder of just how much this franchise has entrenched itself in every area of my life. It started as an escape, then became a comfort, then a companion, and eventually a doorway into the career I always wanted but didn’t know how to reach. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned from all of it, it’s that some stories stay with you long enough that they stop being just stories. They become markers. They become chapters of your life. They become the thing that guides you toward the person you end up becoming.

And for me, Final Fantasy has done exactly that for over twenty years.