Game On- Playing by New Rules
Playing by New Rules
By: Joe Nichols and Richard Walter
Note: Be sure to read to the end of the post to see how one IAMday subscriber is reconnecting with her granddaughter.
The first discovery: there are manuals everywhere, printed in invisible ink. How to stand in an elevator. How to apologize on a delay. How to want what the ad already chose for you. You follow them because everyone else does, and because no one remembers authoring them. Today, let us hold each page to the light and write in the margins.
1. The Elevator Manual
It says: face the door, watch the numbers climb, pretend the other travelers are furniture. A small correction: turn, greet, notice the book in a stranger’s hand, let the floor you arrive on include a human exchange. You will not disturb the machinery. You might restore the ride to something other than transit.
2. The Queue Manual
It insists: wait, complain silently, accept the time tax as fate. Revision: invent a tiny common. Share a joke. Trade recommendations. Ask the cashier how their morning is going and listen for an answer. If time must be taken, let it return interest.
3. The Discount Manual
It declares: buy what is cheaper, even when it costs you something you cannot price. New clause: acquire only what belongs to your story, not theirs. A shirt can be a sentence. A book can be a path. A bargain can be a trap with a ribbon.
4. The Apology Manual
It recommends: later. Later is polite, tidy, bloodless. Replace with: now—before the echo fades. Speak the repair while it is still warm enough to mend.
5. The Career Manual
It promises: climb, accumulate titles, watch the ladder narrow. Replace ladder with bridge. Replace title with practice. Replace climb with build. Let your work be a verb, not a badge.
6. The Opinion Manual
It shouts: pick a side, swear eternal loyalty, never change. Insert an asterisk: revise in public. Let people watch you think. Curiosity is not treason against yourself.
7. The Celebration Manual
It instructs: wait until the funeral. Flowers are more photogenic beside portraits. Substitute: praise in present tense. Buy the book while the ink still smells like risk. Tell the singer she reached you before the encore becomes an archive entry.
8. The Productivity Manual
It measures: hours, clicks, calories burned while pacing beside the phone. Rewrite: count pages read to a child, moments of attention given without a screen between, mornings where you wrote one honest paragraph instead of ten hollow ones.
9. The Fear Manual
It whispers: stay small, stay legible, stay predictable. Cross it out. Draft a page that asks a larger question. Risk being misread to be real.
At the end of every manual there is usually a seal, a referee, a rule about rules. Ours ends differently. The last page is blank, followed by another blank, and then another. Not because anything goes, but because the next move is particular to you. Write a rule that applies to one afternoon only. Write one that expires when the season changes. Write another that lives for as long as you breathe, and then dissolves gently, like paper in rain.
Life may be a game. If so, the clever act is not to win by their scoring system, but to notice how many games are happening at once, how many boards overlap, how many players never consented to play. The new rulebook is not a fortress. It is a living sheet you edit as you learn. Keep a pencil ready. Keep the eraser close. When you meet an instruction, you did not choose, hold it to the light. If it vanishes, it was never yours. If it stays, write your initials beside it, and proceed.
Meet us on the board at IAMday.org join in and rewrite your manual…
“Inspired by IAMday, I found a way to reconnect with my granddaughter and help her see her own value.”
Yesterday, I created a simple, meaningful activity using the IAMday themes of presence and self-awareness. I made a small game with index cards—each featuring a word like “Brave,” followed by two to four reflection questions. For example:
I Am Brave – because yesterday I climbed a hill I was once too afraid to try.
The intention is to help her reflect on who she is, build her inner sense of value and self-image, and spark ideas for things she wants to try in the future.
I’ll include a short note with the cards to explain the inspiration behind IAMday—its vision, and how she can use the cards as a journaling prompt or a fun game with her family.
My plan is to send her about twelve cards every ten days. It’s a small but hopeful step toward opening more lines of communication—with persistence, courage, and love.
And that’s something I deeply value. — Anne J.