Instructions: Life

You know, we've got ourselves into the most peculiar predicament. We walk around taking life so dreadfully seriously, as if the whole affair was some kind of final examination where one wrong answer could doom us to eternal failure. But what if I told you that this entire setup, this grand drama of existence, is nothing more than an elaborate game?

And like any game, once you understand the rules, you can learn to play it with remarkable skill and, dare I say, with a sense of joy.

Think about it for a moment. When you were a child, you played games all the time—cowboys and Indians, house, pretend tea parties. You threw yourself into these games with complete conviction. You were absolutely the cowboy, totally the mother serving imaginary cookies. But you never forgot, not really, that it was play. The moment your mother called you for dinner, you dropped the role without a second thought.

You didn't cling to being the cowboy. You didn't suffer an identity crisis when the game ended.

But somewhere along the way, we forgot how to play. We became what I call method actors in the theater of life. We got so absorbed in our roles that we forgot we were acting. We started believing that we really are the banker, the housewife, the success, the failure. And when you forget you're playing a role….well….. the game becomes a prison.

Now when I say life is a game, I don't mean it's trivial or meaningless. Games can be incredibly important. He plays with intensity, with passion, with everything he's got, but he maintains what we might call a light touch.

The first rule of this cosmic game is perhaps the most startling: you are not who you think you are.

The person you call by your name, with your particular history, your specific worries and dreams, that's just your character in the game. It's a mask, a role you're playing so convincingly that you fooled even yourself.

But who is the real you? This is where it gets interesting. (note: During divorce I hear constantly, “I don’t know who I am anymore.”)

The real you is the player….not the character. (You’re not the hero in the Xbox video game Fallout 4 or the Princess zooming around in Nintendo’s Mario Cart….you are the one holding the controller)

You are the awareness that can observe thoughts, feelings, sensations. You are the space in which all experiences arise and dissolve. You are, if you will, the stage on which the entire drama unfolds.

You are the movie screen itself, not the story being shown on the movie screen.

You are not your thoughts swimming around in an ocean. You are the entire ocean.  Those “thoughts” just happen to be there.

Once you see this—really see it—the game changes completely. (this takes time)

You realize you've been like an actor who got so lost in his role that he forgot he could take off the costume and go home. Suddenly, you remember you are not trapped in the character.

Think about it….which character have you been playing for the last year? 

A divorcee? 

Or maybe someone who went through a romantic breakup so now they refuse to move on because they can’t “see” when their new person is going to show up?

Ohhhhh!!!! Another good one!!  THE character who is sad for 7 years straight because the guy she wants just doesn’t want her.

Go ahead. Play it skillfully, enjoy it thoroughly, but you don't have to be imprisoned by it.

Here’s another rule most players miss entirely: the game has no final winning condition.

There is no ultimate prize, no finish line where you can declare victory and retire.

The whole point of the game is the playing itself.

We’ve been taught to think of life as a journey with a destination, but it’s much more like music or dancing.

You don’t dance to get to a particular spot on the floor…you didn’t run out on the dancefloor to race another couple around it….  you are at that moment holding “her” (or him). It’s the moment of “now”.

You don’t listen to a symphony to reach the final note. The meaning is in the movement, the flowing, the playing.

Yet we’ve turned life into a race.

We rush through childhood to get to adulthood.

We hurry through school to reach our careers.

We work frantically to arrive at retirement and then we sit in our rocking chairs….wondering where it all went.

We were so busy trying to get somewhere else that we missed the only place we ever actually were…… here.

The game is always happening now, not tomorrow when you’ll be happier, not yesterday when things were better, but right now.

Most of us are like people at a concert who spend the entire performance reading the program notes, trying to figure out what’s coming next, instead of listening to the music that’s playing right now.

Another fascinating aspect of this game is that it’s completely rigged in your favor.

How's so?

Because no matter what happens to you—no matter what role you find yourself playing—you can’t actually lose. You are not just your character; you are the entire game itself.

Think of it this way: in a dream, you might be chased by a monster and feel terrified. But when you wake up, you realize you were both the one being chased and the monster doing the chasing.

You were the entire dream. In the same way, you are not just one player in the cosmic game—you are the game ……playing itself.

This might sound like mystical nonsense, but consider this: every person who irritates you, every situation that challenges you, they’re all part of your experience. They exist within your awareness. In a very real sense, the entire universe as you know it…. is happening inside your consciousness.

You are not a small, separate being struggling in a hostile world. You are the world, looking at itself through the eyes of what you call “you.”

Once you get this joke—and it truly is a cosmic joke of the highest order—your whole approach to living changes.

You stop taking everything so personally. When someone criticizes you, instead of getting defensive, you might think, “Ah, here’s the universe playing the role of the critic. How interesting. What can I learn from this performance?”

When you’re facing a difficult situation, instead of asking, Why is this happening to me? you might ask,

Why am I happening to this?

Because if you are the entire game, then you are not the victim of circumstances. You are the circumstances appearing to yourself as challenges—to make the game interesting.

To keep the game interesting?  Yes, imagine playing chess with someone who always made the same moves, or watching a movie where you knew exactly what would happen next—how boring would that be?

The analogy I use is what if I were to tell you that we were going to play Tic-Tac-Toe 600 times in a row for more than three hours and that we were going to place our X's and our O's in the exact same squares—step step-by-step in order--every single game--without changing moves ever….AND that I would be beat you every single time….??...…..  would you sit down to play me under those circumstances? NO…because its the surprises, the plot twists, the unexpected turns—these are what make life an adventure rather than a tedious routine. When you stop needing to control every detail, when you develop what we might call a taste for surprise, you begin to find life endlessly fascinating rather than constantly frustrating.

Now, let me address something important. This doesn’t mean you become passive or indifferent. Far from it. When you know you’re playing a game, you can play it with tremendous skill and enthusiasm. You can care deeply about your moves while not being devastated if they don’t work out perfectly. You can love fully while not being destroyed if that love isn’t returned. You can work passionately while not being crushed if your efforts don’t immediately succeed.

The secret is what I call playing with a light touch. It’s like being a great jazz musician. You know the basic structure of the song, but you’re always ready to improvise. You respond to what the other musicians are doing. You don’t try to force the music into some predetermined pattern. You flow with it, play with it, dance with it. Most people approach life like they’re playing classical music with a very strict conductor—every note must be exactly as written. There’s no room for spontaneity, no space for creativity. But life is much more like jazz. The basic rhythm is there, but within that rhythm, infinite possibilities exist for improvisation and play.

Here’s one of the most liberating rules of the game: you don’t have to be consistent. You are under no obligation to be the same person you were five minutes ago. The character you’ve been playing with all its limitations and problems is not a permanent fixture.

It’s more like clothing you can change.

We spend so much energy defending our self-image, protecting our reputation, maintaining our personality. But what if you could be anyone you choose to be in each moment? What if, instead of being trapped by your past, you could reinvent yourself constantly—not in a crazy, unstable way, but in a fluid, creative way that allows you to respond freshly to each situation?

Children do this naturally. One moment they’re a princess, the next they’re a dragon, then they’re a race car driver. They don’t worry about consistency. They don’t think, “But wait, yesterday I was a princess, so I can’t be a dragon today.” And here’s the beautiful thing: every person you meet is you, wearing a different mask, playing a different role. That annoying colleague, that difficult relative, that stranger on the street who smiled at you—they’re all you, exploring what it’s like to be different characters in the great drama.

When you see this, compassion arises naturally—not the condescending kind of compassion that looks down on others, but the recognition that we’re all in this together, all playing parts in the same cosmic theater. This doesn’t mean everyone is the same on the surface level. Obviously, people have different personalities, different backgrounds, different ways of playing their roles. But at the deepest level, the awareness looking out through their eyes is the same awareness looking out through yours. We’re all windows in the same house, each with a different view, but all part of the same structure.

Now, let’s talk about one of the trickiest aspects of the game—the part most people find hardest to master:

How do you deal with suffering?

How do you play skillfully when the game seems to turn against you—when you’re dealt what appears to be a losing hand?

I am under no illusion as I write this part here, that it’s easier to give instructions. My spiritual advisor would say, “You then play the cards you were dealt by Life as if you had handpicked them yourself. The reality is that everyone is dealt a losing hand or ….losing hands. Gamblers themselves come to the table to lose or there is no thrill in winning when it finally happens.  My grandmother lost both her sons. She also had a Near Death Experience where she faced both her sons who had tragically passed away (each at a different age) and her husband was there beckoning her to cross the threshold into Heaven and come with them.

 She pulled her hand back though and came back to us.

Why?  (she had not seen her youngest son since he died at 4 years old tragically)

Because she had been blessed many years later with many grandchildren and even more great grandchildren. She had been dealt catastrophic losing hands….but she had also won the Lottery.  

She did what Jesus had instructed with her pain. 

“Pick up your cross and follow me.”

No one is getting out of this Life without Pain.

The first thing to understand is that suffering is not the same as pain. Pain is natural, inevitable. If you stub your toe, it hurts. If someone you love dies, you grieve. These are simply part of the human experience, part of what makes the game interesting and complete.

But suffering—that’s different. Suffering is THE STORY we tell ourselves about the pain. It’s the resistance to what’s happening, the demand that life be different than it is.

Pain says, This hurts.

Suffering says, This shouldn’t be happening. It’s unfair. It means something terrible about me or my future.

When you understand this distinction, you can learn to experience pain without adding the extra layer of suffering. You can feel sadness without the story that you should be happy. You can face challenges without the narrative that you’re a victim. You can encounter setbacks without the drama that your life is ruined.

Think of it like weather. Sometimes it rains, sometimes it shines. The sky doesn’t resist the rain or cling to the sunshine—it simply allows whatever weather is happening to happen. You can approach your inner weather the same way.

Sometimes you'll feel joyful, sometimes sad, sometimes confused, sometimes clear. None of these states are permanent—they’re all just part of the changing weather of consciousness.

Here’s another game rule that can save you enormous amounts of energy: you don’t have to have an opinion about everything. You don’t have to judge every experience as good or bad, right or wrong.

Sometimes you can simply say, “How interesting,” and leave it at that.

We’ve been trained to constantly evaluate, to always decide whether we like or dislike what’s happening. But this constant judging is exhausting. It’s like being a movie critic who can’t simply enjoy the film because they’re too busy analyzing every scene. Sometimes you can just watch, just experience, just be present without needing to have a position about it all.

The master player learns to hold their opinions lightly.

They might have preferences, but they don’t cling to them. They can enjoy their favorite food without being upset when it’s not available. The moment you think you have it all figured out, life will throw you a curveball. The moment you get comfortable with your role, circumstances will invite you to play a different part. Instead of resisting these surprises, you can learn to welcome them—they keep the game interesting.

Imagine playing chess with someone who always made the same moves, or watching a movie where you knew exactly what would happen next. How boring would that be? The surprises, the plot twists, the unexpected turns—these are what make life an adventure rather than a tedious routine. When you stop needing to control every detail, when you develop what we might call a taste for surprise, you begin to find life endlessly fascinating rather than constantly frustrating.

Now, one of the most liberating discoveries you can make about this game is that there are no real mistakes—only experiences.

What you call failures are just experiments that didn’t work out as expected. What you call successes are experiments that exceeded your expectations. But they’re all just data points in the grand experiment of being human. A child learning to walk doesn’t call it failure when they fall down. Yet as adults, we think we should be able to do everything perfectly on the first try. We treat mistakes as proof of inadequacy rather than as natural parts of the learning process.

When the child stumbles and falls, it gets up and Life goes on. Just the same way you did when learning to ride a bike. Remember falling? Whether you were a toddler learning to walk or a child learning to pedal a bike…the moment you fell, you did not declare that your life was forfeit and further demand that you be placed in therapy immediately.

We turn every stumble into evidence that we’re somehow deficient. But what if you could approach your whole life the way a child approaches learning to walk? What if every mistake was simply information—every failure just feedback? How much lighter would you feel if you weren’t carrying all that self-judgment about your imperfect performance?

Here’s something else about this game that might surprise you: the best players often appear to be playing the least. They move through life with a kind of effortless ease—not because they don’t care, but because they’ve learned to work with the natural flow rather than against it. It’s the difference between swimming upstream and floating downstream. Both require skill, but one is exhausting while the other is energizing.

When you understand the river currents of Life—when you learn to read the patterns of existence—you can accomplish much more with much less effort. This doesn’t mean being lazy or passive. It means being intelligent about when to act and when to wait, when to push and when to yield. It’s the essence of what the Chinese call wu wei, often translated as “non-action,” but more accurately meaning action that is perfectly appropriate to the situation.

It’s like water flowing around rocks in a stream. The water doesn’t try to fight the rock; it simply flows around it, and in doing so, it gradually wears the rock away. This is the power of the gentle approach—the light touch—the skillful player who understands that force is rarely the answer to life’s challenges.

Another crucial aspect of mastering this game is learning to play multiple roles simultaneously without getting confused about which is which. Each role has its own requirements, its own costume, its own way of being. The skillful player can move fluidly between these roles without losing their center. They can be tough in business negotiations and tender with their children. They can be a student in one context and a teacher in another.

Most people make the mistake of trying to be the same person in every situation. They think authenticity means never changing or adapting. But true authenticity is being appropriate to each moment, each relationship, each context. It’s like being a skilled actor who can play many parts convincingly because they understand the deeper truth that connects all roles.

And here’s one of the most profound discoveries you can make about this game: the rules are not fixed. They can change—and often do—based on how you choose to play. This is where the game becomes truly magical. Most games have rigid rules that everyone must follow. But the game of life is more like a collaborative improvisation, where the rules evolve as you play.

Your choices, your attitudes, your ways of being—all of these actually influence how the game unfolds for you:

·         If you approach life with fear and suspicion, you’ll tend to encounter situations that confirm your fears.

·         If you approach it with curiosity and openness, you’ll find opportunities and adventures.

·         If you play the role of the victim, you’ll find plenty of people willing to play the villain.

·         But if you play the role of the hero, you’ll discover your own capacity for courage and creativity.

This isn’t just positive thinking or wishful fantasy—it’s the recognition that consciousness is not passive. It isn’t simply observing reality; it’s participating in its creation. Your awareness, your attention, your choices—they are all active ingredients in the unfolding of your experience.

Here’s one of the most beautiful aspects of the game: everyone gets to win, though not in the way we usually think of winning.  (you have to let go of how you have been defining this)

The common idea of victory implies someone else’s defeat, but in this cosmic game, your triumph doesn’t require anyone else to lose. In fact, the more skillfully you play, the more you help everyone else play skillfully too.

When you are truly happy, you don’t make others miserable—you inspire them to find their own happiness.

When you are genuinely peaceful, you don’t create conflict—you help others discover their own peace.

When you are authentically yourself, you don’t diminish anyone—you give them permission to be authentically themselves.

This is why the masters—the truly skillful players—seem to be playing an entirely different game. They’re not competing. They’re not proving anything. They’re not keeping score. They’re simply playing for the pure joy of playing. And somehow, everyone around them begins to play better too.

Let me share one final rule, perhaps the most important of all: the game never actually ends.

What you call death is simply changing costumes, changing roles, changing the scenery.

The player—the real you, the awareness that has been watching this whole performance—continues. When you truly understand this, everything changes. You stop clinging so desperately to your current role. You stop fearing change. You realize that you are not merely playing in the game; you are the game itself—playing, discovering, exploring infinite possibilities…………….through countless characters and stories.

And so here we are, at the end of our little exploration together—though of course, there is no real end, just as there was no real beginning. There is only this eternal now, this endless game, this magnificent play of consciousness discovering itself through every possible form and experience.

The next time you find yourself taking life too seriously, remember what I’ve told you today. You are not a struggling individual trying to survive in a hostile universe. You are the universe itself—playing at being an individual, exploring what it’s like to seemingly struggle, seemingly succeed, seemingly fail, seemingly win.

It’s all play. It’s all dancing. It’s all music. And you are both the composer and the song, the dancer and the dance.

So play skillfully. Play joyfully. Play with that light touch that comes from knowing it’s all one magnificent cosmic game.

And remember—in this game, everyone gets to be the winner, because everyone is you, and you are everyone. We are all just one consciousness, playing at being many. The game never ends. It only changes form.

And what a delightful game it is.

(98% is from the teachings of Alan Watts, 2% explanations of concepts and a light touch from the Life and thoughts of Shannon Goertz)