A

“As a child, I considered such unknowns sinister. Now, though, I understand they bear no ill will. The universe is, and we are.” - Solanum I don’t enjoy endings. Endings are perpetual, any time something begins it also starts to end, to inch closer to it’s ceasing. (Maybe that’s why One Piece is my favorite show - the damn thing just won’t end.) Every ending I do experience leaves me with a bittersweet feeling in my throat. A feeling that clings to me and doesn’t give me respite. Oftentimes I stop myself just before I finish something, get out while I still can, just to avoid the feeling that comes with an end. The ending to Outer Wilds is something else, something notably separate from all the endings that came before. Unlike most endings where I try to get them out of my mind, try to forget, the more time there is between me and that moment at the end of this journey, the more I think about it. Outer Wilds is a game that changed the way I look at experience, the game makes you realize how valuable each experience is. The discoveries that can’t be rediscovered, the push to find something new, to solve a problem. I started my journey a fledgling explorer, my wings weak and new, my footing loose, and I got pushed from the nest. At first it was a struggle, an aimless clumsy mess trying to find some purpose for being. Like many other games, I searched for a quest, for an enemy to defeat, for some thing to do. So, I explored, I saw a moon and I went there, I met a man, we talked. But he offered me no quest, just a conversation, and so I left, still searching for something to do. I explored a universe of unique planets and slowly uncovered their secrets, I solved and searched and read. A cloud of information started condensing into something I could feel, something I could understand, but the gaps in my knowledge were still vast. I followed in the footsteps of those that came before me, those who had larger, stronger wings. I let their music guide me to places I hadn’t been brave enough to explore. The worlds were vast and empty, and as I awoke again I didn’t feel alone. The sounds of the instruments that surrounded me became more familiar, just as the planets themselves did. I stopped trying to push myself so hard to find something new, and for a while I just took the time to appreciate what I had already learned. When the cloud of information condensed into something physical that I hoped I would be able to sway the course. But the game told me that the universe is, and I was, and we were together but we were separate. Sometimes it’s okay to just experience, to learn and feel and make music together, to let the universe be, and to be. As the fireflies sputtered in the night sky, and the music played, and the campfire warmed my hands, I so much valued every step it took to get there.