Last year I wrote 365 essays and painted 102 canvases.
It was the Year of Creativity. A forcing function. A daily ritual. Show up. Produce something. Repeat. By the end, I wasn’t just making things—I had built an engine.
This year, I’m pointing that engine at my body.
Today begins the Year of Health.
Not the “download a pastel-chart app and quietly resent it” kind of health. Not the heroic crash diet that ends in a parking lot bargaining with a milkshake. I mean the slow, consistent, almost boring kind. More movement. More conscious eating. Less pretending urges don’t exist.
And because I cannot approach anything in a normal way, I built an RPG.
It’s called Dad Quest.
Yes, I turned my metabolism into a campaign.
Dad Quest is a personal health tracker disguised as a role-playing game. You don’t “log behavior.” You complete quests. You don’t “maintain discipline.” You protect your streak prestige. You don’t “fail a diet.” You encounter a boss that spawns around sunset.
The shift matters.
Most wellness apps measure outputs. Weight. Steps. Calories. They feel like spreadsheets that went to therapy. If you do well, you get a green checkmark. If you don’t, you get a slightly disappointed shade of beige.
Dad Quest starts with loot.
You open the app and claim a Daily Chest. Coins drop. Occasionally something rare appears. The ritual begins with reward, not guilt. Then you clear your Daily Quests: log meals (or honestly skip them), log at least one urge (or declare none), log sleep, claim your movement tier, and close the day by sealing the scroll.
Yes, sealing the scroll. This is important.
Movement is tiered because life is tiered. Tier 1 is any intentional movement. A walk around the block still counts. Tier 4 is legendary—10,000+ steps or serious active energy. The system recognizes reality. Some days you’re a ranger escorting your kid through enchanted terrain. Some days you’re a tired dad pacing the driveway while she scooters in circles. Both are wins.
And she is absolutely a party member in this campaign.
This isn’t “gym perfection.” It’s dad-and-kid movement. Park time. Bike loops. Jump rope in the driveway. If I level up, she benefits. If I keep the campaign alive, I show up better. That’s the real prestige system.
The true engine of Dad Quest, though, is the Urge Log.
Instead of pretending cravings are moral failures, you log them as data. Time. Intensity from 1 to 5. A few words. That’s it. No dramatic confession. No self-flagellation.
Just: 9:32 PM. Intensity 4. “Bored. Want something crunchy.”
When you log an urge this way, something subtle happens. You stop becoming it. You observe it. The craving moves from identity to encounter. It’s no longer “I am weak.” It’s “Interesting. The boss tends to spawn around sunset.”
Over weeks, patterns emerge. And patterns are power.
There are Perfect Clears. Complete all five categories—Meals, Urge, Sleep, Movement, Close Day—and you earn bonus coins. Chain them together and the rewards scale. Push your movement tier higher and the bonus grows. It creates tension without perfectionism. You can still win the day with the basics. But if you want legendary, you can push.
There are streaks. Of course there are streaks. Login streaks. Category streaks. Near-impossible prestige achievements for the obsessively consistent. Ultra-rare items like Streak Shields for when real life happens. XP for identity progression. Coins for reward choice.
It is absurd.
It is sincere.
It is deeply, unironically motivating.
And here’s the part that makes this more than a metaphor: I actually built it.
SwiftUI iPhone app. Local-first. Movement tier suggestions from Apple Health. Daily quests. Reconcile flow. Weekly review logic. It works.
It just currently looks like it was designed by a philosopher who hasn’t discovered color.
Which is ironic, considering I just spent a year painting 101 canvases. So yes, at some point the Creative Year will bleed into the Health Year and I will skin this thing with my own art. The app will not remain a grayscale monastery forever.
Underneath the game mechanics is something very simple: consistency.
I’m not trying to win health in 30 days. I’m trying to keep the campaign alive for 365. I’m not trying to eliminate desire. I’m trying to understand it. I’m not trying to become shredded. I’m trying to become stable.
Last year I proved I could show up daily for creativity.
This year I’m proving I can show up daily for my body.
And if loot and streak prestige are what it takes to trick my brain into long-term change? Then hand me the sword and point me toward the boss.
Quest accepted.