Life as a Game

Life often unfolds like a game—an intricate series of moves, calculated risks, and outcomes that seem unpredictable. From my earliest years, I have engaged with rules, competition, and challenges, whether on the playground, on a board, or before a screen. As I have grown, the games have become more complex. Now the arenas are corporate boardrooms, office politics, and social negotiations. The stakes are higher, but the mechanics remain familiar to me.

I reflect on a particular moment from my time as a Deloitte consultant. In a firm defined by its vast structures and competitive culture, I decided to "play my resignation card" as a threat in 2017. The move was not without consequence. It opened new doors, landing me my first overseas project—a venture that broadened my perspective. Yet, despite this gain, it did little to move me up the ranks. After a second failed attempt at promotion, I resigned for real. I remember the conversation with the consulting partner. I told him, "I’ve already played my card." He responded, "Life isn’t a game." Oh but it is for me, and at that moment, I knew it was time for a different level. 

What does it mean to view life as a game? In seeing it this way, I find freedom from the tyranny of outcomes. I can approach challenges with playful detachment, recognizing that defeat is not an end, merely a shift in direction. Nietzsche’s idea of eternal recurrence arises here—if every moment is destined to repeat, would I still embrace life as it is, again and again? The metaphor of a game offers a path to mastering our approach, focusing not on victory but on the act of playing.

But is there another side to this? If I treat life solely as a game, do I risk reducing its deeper dimensions to mere strategy? Kierkegaard would argue that this perspective might strip life of its authenticity. For him, existence is not a sequence of moves to be won or lost, but a question of immersion and responsibility. Am I merely a player, or am I also a creator, shaping the meaning of my life through each decision, each sacrifice?

The dilemma takes shape: to see life as a game is to step back, to analyze, to remain unattached to outcomes that might otherwise overwhelm me. But in this detachment, do I risk losing touch with the very things that give life its depth? The game is exhilarating—the challenges sharp, the rewards satisfying—but can it capture the fullness of existence, or is it simply a mask, concealing a deeper reality?

As I reflect on that moment, stepping away from the familiar arena where I once played with all my skill, I wonder: In life’s grander game, is wisdom found in mastering the strategy or in letting go of the need to strategize at all?

Note: this was wirtten with the aid of ChatGPT.