Personal reflection:
In the book I'm reading,
Thud by Terry Pratchett, the main character Sam Vimes makes a statement at one point that his new 14-month old son is more important than anything else to him. So much so, that this constantly working (in all the other books of the series) police commander MUST be home at 6pm to read to the son. So much so that at the end, it becomes his reason for being. I know this because I've readthe book before and know how it ends, but I like re-reading.
Pratchett's books are normally very humorous, with small side tones of morality where he lets the real world slip in. They are brilliant works. This one is a lot more heavy with the life-lessons than normal, but it doesn't bother me - I'm much like that, especially now that I've evicted the monkey.
When I leave work these days, I go home to my wife and kids. While I'd prefer to relax, more times than not, I'm soon outside playing catch with my son. To him, that is the meaning of six o'clock, the time I get home. My wife tells me both kids constantly want to know when I'm coming home. Yesterday I was too tired to play catch so he worked on his hitting. He's was still happy though - Dad was there to watch. 'Cause six o'clock is time for me and him. My daughter constantly will ask questions throughout the day of me, which I love, trying to answer questions and learn things. She moves through my life like quicksilver, in and out so fast I can't keep up. They just grow up too fast.
For the handful of former raid-game friends who read this, perhaps you'll understand now why I stopped. I used to rush home and bask in the LCD glow. Not as much as others, but far too often. I just can't do that again. I hope you understand.