The Curse of Endless Desire
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Tantalus was cursed by the gods to stand in a pool of water, surrounded by fruit trees.
But every time he reached up, the fruit pulled away.
Every time he bent to drink, the water slipped from his fingers.
His name is where we get the world 'tantalize'—to forever hunger, forever thirst, always one inch away from satisfaction.
Tantalus' story is a great example of a twisted wish from an evil Djinn—one of my favorite parts of running D&D is twisting wishes in some Greek tragedy way…
Greek myths are a great place to shop for strange and creative punishments if you're in the market for that sortof thing. Stuff that doesn't just break the body or mind, but the spirit.
Tantalus did some really heinous stuff, so the gods made an example of him…
His agony wasn't just thirst or hunger—it was the ceaseless torment of being so close to satisfaction, yet forever denied.
Sound familiar?
Unlike Tantalus, you probably don't deserve this.
And yet… you're still in it.
Endless grasping.
Too many ideas.
Not enough time or energy.
Forever close, never caught.
Why is Greed a deadly sin?
Because you're greedy without even realizing it.
And it always ends the same way: exhaustion, frustration, and the crushing weight of all the beautiful things you never finished. Trophies never acquired. Moments never celebrated.
Chasing Too Many Rabbits
You're probably not greedy in the obvious ways.
Especially if you're creative or nerdy—you share ideas freely, offer help generously, and collaborate readily. (Jolly Cooperation)
If you're anything like me, your creative folders are filled with outlines, dream projects, sketches, endless notes, scribbled brainstorms, and abandoned drafts.
Not because you’re lazy.
Because you’re curious. Hungry. Lit up by every spark of inspiration.
That’s the trap. It's the will-o-wisps guiding you away from the true path through the bog.
We think inspiration is a gift.
But too much of it—untamed, unfiltered—is a curse.
It's called "shiny object syndrome."
It's really just greed in a clever disguise.
"The man who chases two rabbits catches neither."
We know this story well.
Fitz from The Farseer Trilogy learns this the hard way.
Trying to serve his king, his mentor, his love, his past—it pulls him in too many directions.
He can’t commit. And it breaks him.
Boromir wanted to save Gondor and wield the Ring’s power for good—but in trying to grab both, he lost everything.
Yes, he died a hero, saving a couple hobbits, but how many hobbits could he have saved if he had stayed locked in?
Aesop's The Dog and the Bone is one of my favorite examples:
A dog was crossing a river with a bone in his mouth.
He saw his reflection in the water and, thinking it was another dog with a bigger bone, snapped at it.
The real bone slipped from his mouth and sank into the river.
In trying to grab more, he lost everything.
Gandalf understood this principle.
He deliberately limited his interventions.
He knew the power of focus. He turned his focus on specific, crucial moments rather than trying to solve every problem himself.
His focus and restraint, not his mana pool or 9th level spells, made him effective.
Humility is the only way forward
Successful heroes learn the secret—
Victory—real victory—requires something unsexy:
Humility.
When it was time for a feast, Artemis, didn't roll through the forest on an ATV firing buckshot into the brush.
She pursued with singular intent, each target stalked, each arrow aimed with absolute precision.
Odysseus had a hundred chances to lose himself. Sirens. Storms. Sorceresses.But he never forgot Ithaca.
Kaladin (Stormlight Archive) doesn’t become a legend by chasing glory.
He becomes one by protecting one person. Then another. Then another.
Step by step. Choice by choice.
True victory, true fulfillment, comes from patient, deliberate pursuit.
To catch many rabbits, you must humble yourself enough to catch them one at a time. (I'm writing this to myself, of course)
Setting The Trap
Here's your quest to escape the curse of endless desire:
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Choose one rabbit
Pick one.
Let the rest go.
Not forever—just for now.
By the time you catch this one, you won't be the same person.
You'll see the other rabbits differently. Some won't matter anymore.
That's growth—not loss.
-
Commit to the hunt
One to four hours.
Deep work. No distractions.
This is the work that moves the needle—not busywork, not “getting ready to get ready.”
Do it early in the day if you can.
If not, do it when you feel most alive.
Build your day around your mind’s peak.
Protect it like a sacred window.
-
Set your traps
This is where you recover—without stopping.
Admin. Notes. Reading. Meandering thoughts. Maintenance mode stuff.
All the “non-essential” stuff still matters—just not as much.
Let the mind wander. Let it digest.
But don’t chase anything new. Not yet.
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Finish what you started
No new quests until the current one is complete.
Unfinished projects drain your psychic energy like open tabs in your brain.
They haunt you like the spirits of the restless dead.
You feel them — even if you pretend they’re not there.
Every rabbit you catch strengthens your discipline. Levels you up.
Every one you abandon weakens it.
As you level up, you'll discover new rabbits to chase that you couldn't even have imagined before.
You'll quickly see how chasing all those rabbits at the beginning was a fool's errand.
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Practice patience
Gandalf waited centuries before making a move.He wasn’t slow — he was deliberate.
In a world obsessed with speed, patience is a superpower.
Zoom out. See the game.
Greed is a liar.
It tells you there isn’t enough time. That you’re falling behind.
That if you don’t chase everything now, you’ll lose everything.
Don’t believe it.
Even the noble Thorin Oakenshield fell for that lie—and it nearly cost him everything.
Honor the hunt
Humility. Patience. Persistence. One thing at a time.
That’s the formula.
That’s how you catch every rabbit —Not by chasing them all at once, but by honoring each hunt with the focus it deserves.
-Rex