Time Tension
There was a scene at the very end of Final Fantasy VII, a game that made a deep emotional mark on my soul back in 1998. After the parasitic powers of that Japanese RPG world had fallen, thanks to our party of rebel heroes, it set the fictional world on a new and better course. Then, before we transitioned to the end credits, this scene played out in its moreish ‘cut scene’ cinematic style. Red XIII, a fire-dog type character, is now old and follows his two cubs up some rocky terrain. As they reach the summit, the camera reveals their view, which is expansive, with rich forests and lakes as far as the eye can see.
Final Fantasy VII was a futuristic, almost dystopian departure from the game series’ more fantasy-based, slightly steampunk art style, and we spent most of the game’s story in industrial settings. It was cool, new, and helped to accentuate the glee this end scene brought about.
And strangely, recently, thanks to the way this formative experience tends to stay with us, that scene came to mind while trying to battle a bout of eco-anxiety. I tried to project my mind beyond my lifetime, to give me direction in my life here and now. What is it that I want to do with the remaining years of my life? This kind of thought process has been occurring more and more since turning 40 and entering twin-parenthood at 36. It’s no longer enough to strive for momentary wins in my career.
Often, I watch my kids as they do kid things, playing with an innocence that moves me, but also unnerves me on a bad day. My imagination will run with climate crisis stories and weave apocalyptic doom tapestries that paralyse me in my seat. It’s been a problem for a few years, something I’ve documented here as part of an ongoing effort to gain greater agency over my thoughts. Because whatever happens, we are mortal. Even without the news bombardment and damaging hyper-awareness, I’d find some threat to inflate. My nervous system is a defence mechanism designed to do that for my protection.
Intergenerational equity is a term I came across a few years ago, the idea that a society makes decisions with equal care for those who will live on after us, as we do for ourselves here and now. And that’s what I felt when I thought about this game scene. This idea that no matter what becomes of humanity, nature will find a way. After all, we belong to nature, and must play a better collective part than we have managed these last couple of hundred years.
As I allowed my mind to wander back to this scene, denying the urge to immediately take out my phone to see it, I felt a warm, hopeful something stir inside, and it helped to calm me down. This is at the core of things like the idea of ‘gratitude’ and meditation. Tools to direct our mind somewhere better than the rabble of subconscious chatter beneath the surface on a daily basis.
A friend of mine called a few days ago and asked if I’d noticed how troubled people appeared to be out in the towns and cities. I had. Being a keen observer, I had detected this social sickness, and having felt anxiety myself in recent years, I had sympathy and empathy towards their situation. When those thoughts take over, I imagine I look the same. Other observant friends notice and message me to check I’m OK.
But this scene is a reminder, both in the grandest sense depicted and in the smallest sense, that all storms will pass, and we must hold the rudders and think long-term, think big, and allow ourselves to dream of something that will benefit us all, especially those who must stay here longer than we will. It isn’t easy, and in this rabid, biting version of capitalism, there’s time tension because we all want meaning, purpose, and a role that contributes to a future we’d like to leave the next lot. So we must think short-term to pay the bills. I suppose the question is: how do we get by in this society while still leaving our minds and actions enough freedom to run up that rockface so we can peek at a lush scene on the horizon? That really is the challenge.