My day, expressed as today’s shopping list:

• One phone charger to replace the one I left at my hotel on Saturday.
• One external 2TB drive.
• Services and parts from Micro Center, for a laptop drive upgrade.

• One bottle of bubble bath.

* * *

As I type this, my laptop–my only development machine for my day job, Tinselfly and any number of other projects, is running a full backup. One of its drives has outlived its usefulness. I’m on vacation this week, but I’m not really going anywhere; I just have vacation days to burn and I’d planned to spend these days catching up on my game. But I cannot really do any work right now, and most likely not again for another day.

You might see this as terrible timing. I choose to see it as great. I, and my laptop, are overdue for a refresh.

* * *

A couple of weeks ago, I was feeling pretty overwhelmed with Tinselfly. So, I did what I always should do in these situations but haven’t done in years: I gave myself more work to do.

Tinselfly is a first-person 3D narrative adventure game. Think Life is Strange… but in a wacky, whimsical science fiction world… and with wacky, character-driven set pieces.

Gemslinger is a 2.5D mashup of the original Legend of Zelda and match 3 games set in a fantasy universe. You’re a magic user and casting spells means lining up gems just right.

Operetta is a 2.5D, bite-sized, 4x/top-down shooter mashup. You’ll colonize planets, research new technologies, and dodge beautifully arranged sprays of projectiles.

These projects are all quite different from each other, which is critically important: I can take a break from one project by working on another, using one set of skills while another set recharges. This has, as always, been immensely good for my productivity and mental health. And, in fact, Tinselfly itself is moving along faster because I am spending more time working on things that are not Tinselfly.

I’m not immensely good at taking breaks in any other way.

* * *

Last week, I went to GDEX, a nearby game developers’ conference. For the first time in years, I wasn’t showing Tinselfly or giving any talks; I was just there as an audience member. And it was exhilarating. I went in nervous that I’d never break into the games industry and left with concrete plans for doing just that. I tried to listen carefully to the advice of established professionals, and give the best advice and encouragement I could to those not as far along in their journey as I am. Most importantly, I tried to have fun.

In many ways, going as an audience member is more exhausting than going as an exhibitor. I found myself skipping talks I really wanted to go to, just so I would have time to digest the last two. To sit and think, but also, to do and think nothing at all for a while.

* * *

My experience of the world is very much about now. All there is, is now. There is no past, no future; life is just an endless series of moments. I don’t think about the future of my career at all, nor do I think much about how long it’s taken to get where I currently am. There is only now.

* * *

Productive as they are, my sessions of rapidly, intensely cycling through my creative work but be balanced with periods of absolute nothingness. Taking a break to watching TV or playing a game isn’t mind-emptying enough; what I’m talking about is long periods of having not a single word in my inner monologue, not a single conscious thought running through my brain.

The bath after my daily aerobic workout or cooking a meal I’ve cooked a thousand times before usually suffices.

* * *

For the last several years, GDEX has partnered with Origins, a board game expo. Your GDEX pass gets you into the Origins exhibitor hall, and this was the first year I saw it. There must have been hundreds of games, most all of them lavishly produced, with full color illustrated boards and full color illustrated tokens or lovingly sculpted miniatures.

Most of the time, the artwork on the boards and other game components is so lavish, and so beautiful, that I can’t tell what’s going on. There are tokens on the boards, but they get lost in the swirling colors of the boards themselves. There are cards, but I find myself struggling to find the text printed on them.

I’m in awe of these games. And I don’t want any of them.

I buy an Art Deco inspired Star Trek poster from one artist and leave.

* * *

On the last day of GDEX, some friends and I decided to go to Otherworld, a strange, surreal sort of art exhibit/amusement park that feels like one of those games where you’re stranded on an alien world with lots of puzzles. There are dozens of rooms to explore, with odd plant life, Alice-in-Wonderland-like imagery, odd machines to interact with and cryptic messages to discover.

About an hour in, I got separated from my group. And I started to panic. Without other people around to tie me to the real world, Otherworld was all there was. This bizarre, inscrutable universe was all I knew, yet I didn’t know how I was supposed to engage with it.

I’ve experienced similar levels of disorientation and anxiety while at Disneyworld, in museums, or when I’m separated from my family for long periods of time. All there is, is now.

* * *

Just before leaving for Otherworld, I decide to grab a quick bite to eat. On the way, I run into one of the GDEX presenters, who is promoting a board game at Origins. Mentally, I feel like I don’t have space to even look at another board game. But I look at the board for his and it’s colorful and it’s vibrant and it’s… minimalist and comprehensible. I can read it. I can see the empty spaces where the tokens go.

I tell its designer how refreshing his design is.

And I can see a wave of joy and relief come over his body.

I suspect that he’s put a lot of work into this, and few people comment on it. His GDEX presentation was all about making good game tutorials, controlling the flow of information. Making sure that players feel neither bored nor overwhelmed.

My last thought leaving GDEX is about how, as soon as I get back home, I want to pre-order that board game. The one that was beautiful in its simplicity. The one I could understand when I looked at it.

The one with the empty board, waiting to be filled.