Why do I own games I never play anymore?

One day Nasreddin bought the finest copper teapot in the market. He wrapped it in soft cloth and set it high on a shelf. 'For special guests,' he told his wife. Years passed. Guests came, guests left, and he served them tea in old cracked cups. When someone finally asked why he never used the good pot, he said, 'What if it breaks?' The pot stayed clean, whole, and empty. So did his shelf of good intentions. Your games are the teapot. Each one was bought for a night with people — laughing, arguing over rules, staying too late. Somewhere the plan to play got replaced by the fact of owning. Now the box sits there as proof you once wanted joy, instead of a tool for making it happen. This is not really a you problem. It is a group problem wearing a shelf as a disguise. Games need more than one willing hand. Fix the gathering, and the shelf empties itself.