Good morning Reader—
And welcome to the 21st issue of The FAM.
We all play games we didn’t design.
They start early—the game of success, the game of image, the game of being right. We learn the rules before we even know we’re playing: work harder, get ahead, defend your worth. And before long, we’re measuring our lives by a scoreboard we never agreed to.
A few days ago, I collided with someone caught deep in that game. We were in our coworking space, and after some small talk, he said, almost exasperated, “My wife’s on me again—says I can’t do anything right.”
The frustration—even despair—in his voice was thick, like a weight he’d been carrying for a long time. I asked if he wanted to talk about it. He did.
What followed was raw. He spoke about how no one understood him—not his wife, not his coworkers, not even other drivers on the road. He admitted he drinks too much, that he’s unhappy at work, that he’s angry most of the time. But as he talked, it was clear that in his eyes, the problem was always somewhere else. The world had conspired against him. He was losing a game he didn’t even like, but he wasn’t ready to stop playing it—because the game gave him someone to blame.
At one point, I asked him a question that caught him off guard: “Is there a shred of truth in what your wife says?”
He paused—not long, but long enough for the truth to flicker across his face. Then came the same line I’ve heard from so many who feel trapped: “I don’t know anymore.”
That’s the tragedy of the game—it convinces us that life is happening to us, not through us. It teaches us to focus on what’s wrong with everyone else instead of asking who we are becoming in response. The longer we play by those rules, the smaller our world gets—until all we can see is the scoreboard of resentment, frustration, and unmet expectations.
This man was losing himself in the game; he was building his entire identity around it. An identity he didn’t like but resigned to being. He had made anger, blame, and resistance his strategy for survival. And like so many of us, he was waiting for validation—for someone to tell him that his pain was justified, that the game of life really was rigged against him.
But truth is, the game itself was never designed to make us whole. It rewards defense, not discovery. It fuels judgment, not joy. It asks us to keep score instead of keeping faith.
We can spend a lifetime playing for meaning, waiting for someone else to change the rules, never realizing that the game we’re playing isn’t the one that leads to aliveness. It was built for mere existence and survival, not for the vitality of the soul.
The Truth: The Game Wasn’t Designed for Aliveness
After that conversation, I couldn’t stop thinking about how many of us are caught in the same loop — living by the world’s rules, trying to win a game that can’t make us whole.
And it’s not just a cultural trap. Even some of the most noble philosophies reinforce it.
When my coach, Brian Johnson, begins a year-long coaching program, he starts with a question he calls the absolute starting point, “What is the ultimate game we are playing?” To provide the foundation of self-mastery, he points to Aristotle’s answer—Eudaimonia, the “good soul.” Then, rapidly to prove the point, he also shares how the founder of The Positive Psychology movement, Martin Seligman echoes with his definition of human flourishing.
They’re both right. These are worthy ideals. But the problem isn’t the destination—it’s where we begin.
Because when we start by asking what the ultimate game is, we immediately frame life as something to be won. We start scanning for strategies, outcomes, and metrics—ways to win the game that society is telling us we are playing. A good soul becomes another goal. Flourishing becomes another finish line. The inner life quietly turns into a new competition—the spiritualized version of achievement.
That’s the subtle danger of the “ultimate game” mindset: it keeps us focused on an outcome. And once life becomes about winning—on the final destination—we lose the deeper question that actually makes us alive.
That other question —the one of I have come to believe is foundational to the self-empowered life, to living fully alive: “How do I want to live my life?”
Because there’s a world of difference between asking “What’s the ultimate game we are playing?” and asking “How do I want to live my life?”
“What’s the ultimate game?” is about external rules—about the field, outcomes, approval.
“How do I want to live my life?” is about internal alignment—about integrity, intention, and authorship. The first demands a scoreboard. The second invites a compass.
The man I met at the coworking space was chasing Eudaimonia as if it were a trophy—something to prove, something he was entitled to—not realizing it was meant to be a practice, a way of being. That’s what happens when we begin with the wrong question. We stop living and start performing our way through a game that’s not ours.
Because life was never designed to be won and done.
It was designed to awaken your best self.
And that awakening doesn’t begin by defining the game.
It begins by defining how you want to live your life.
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