Infinity Sickness

Shipwright

It took watching the newest Spider-Man movie to realize that the multitude of multiverses are boring and empty.
Infinity times infinity, infinity to the nth degree is meaningless.
Infinity does not make a story.
Infinity is the one thing you cannot tell a story about.
Imagine this is a story: “A man walks out in the desert. He keeps walking in the desert. He continues walking through endless desert. The desert is endless. The desert continues as the man walks “
It never ends.
So it is that the more movies about infinite universes and infinite characters and infinite iterations, the more empty they are.
It continues and continues.
We search for story after story after story and find nothing.

The antidote is limitation.
“And then one day…”
I’ve talked about limitation in relation to laws. Laws cut infinity down to size. Laws say “no“ or “few“ or “many“ or “only one.”
Characters are limitation. A person is themselves, and not another. They are connected to others, but separate. They are of their world, but not their world. When they die, they die.
A setting is limitation. A place as a place, not any other. A place is in constant flux. But it is always itself.
Limitation is essential. Nothing gets on without limitation.

Limitation is romantic.
A list of items retrieved from a wreckage. A book of thrilling histories. A cast of allies and villains.
One yellow rubber duck is romantic. A young toddler cradles a rubber duck in a supermarket, following his parents and blowing raspberries, imitating a bubble bath. Infinite yellow rubber ducks is a nightmare. A sea of identical duck bodies and faces drowns a city in a plastic burial. Two lovers by lit by a single candle is homely. Hundreds of lovers surrounded by thousands of tongues of fire is a horror. A single door promises mystery and adventure. A hall of many many many doors oppresses into futility.
Your character’s starting inventory is very much a romantic snapshot. You have a pet rat, a wooden plank, a pot, and six sewing needles to take on the dark caverns beneath the castle. The possibilities are many and thrilling.
Having everything in a role-playing game is a dullness of abundance. No debts, no outstanding warrants, no goals, no pressure. All the gold you want, maxed-out gear and skills, nothing can keep your attention.

Ever play a difficult video game on god mode? Fun for maybe twenty minutes. Then, nihilism and emptiness. Big numbers and invulnerability, big whoop. You move on pretty quick.
Switching from game to game, setting to setting, character to character can be so empty. Shiny gaming supplements and systems pull you from sticking with the same system.

Better to finish than start anew.
Finishing is commitment, satisfaction, the peak. To start again is to go back to the bottom of the hill with your rock, often willingly. Going back down the hill feels thrilling for a moment.
Switching creative projects is the same. That new system you want to make is a slippery slide, a fickle siren. You have other projects that called just as loud not a month ago.

To make progress, to be progressive, you must have an end state. If you wanted to build a megadungeon, you must build the megadungeon one piece at a time. Each room and monster and treasure adds to completion. As long as you keep doing this, you will get on.

Picking a new end state means forking over your momentum to the abyss. End states can change, but do not think all of your advancements will transfer to the new goal. Not all earned credits transfer when you move to a new school.

Pick a limit, pick a challenge.
Picking your own limits and challenge can feel like grabbing one marble out of a bag of hundreds. Arbitrary. “Should I pick D&D or Trophy Gold or Dungeon World or White Box or Into the Odd or Cairn or Blades in the Dark or or or?”
Limits and challenges foisted upon you can be better if you accept them. Meet them head on. “You don’t want to do a lot of math? Guess we’re playing a simple system, probably 2d6 opposed rolls. We’ll make do.”
Remember that you are no closer to achieving an end state just because your feelings fade or your mind changes. “Yeah, forget those last two sessions, let’s play a new game, new system, new setting. Hope you’re not sick of restarting.”

Infinity is a circular vortex, swirling and consuming. Endless change and novelty, constant scrolling.

Leave it behind. Be resolute, follow a singular creative project. Wrestle it every day in some small way. Put a reminder on your calendar. Curate media that inspires you to continue on the path. Be on the path with a destination, don’t just pick a direction.

You only have so far to get, only so far to go.
Today, today, today.

The promise of finality can inspire you like a dog inspires a rabbit. Let it.
Infinity obfuscates the end and promises tomorrow. There is no death in the multiverse. Nothing is over. Nothing is grieved. Move on, stay forever.
No. You won’t last.
Today, today, today.

You can change tomorrow cheaply and infinitely. Changing today, turning today towards a end state? Much harder.
Limit yourself. Acknowledge the limits existence places. Budget your time. Leverage repetition and reminders. Remember.
Today, today, today.