IAMday: A Quiet Revolution of Remembrance

One hundred years ago, in 1925, a woman in New York City sat at her desk and wrote down words that would ripple further than she could ever have imagined. Florence Scovel Shinn’s The Game of Life and How to Play It was not a grand thesis or a scholarly treatise. It was a simple, daring reminder that our thoughts shape our lives, that faith opens doors where logic sees walls, and that the words “I AM” carry the power of creation itself.

Her little book was born into a world between wars, in the shadow of uncertainty, when millions longed for something steady to hold. It carried no fanfare, no institutional endorsement. It simply whispered across the decades: “Life is not random. Life is a canvas. Speak what you choose to create.”

And here we are, one hundred years later, standing on the shores of our own uncertain age. The world is different, yes. Yet the ache is the same. We long to feel real again. We long to remember that beneath the noise, beneath the constant tug of urgency and division, there is something solid, luminous, and waiting in us.

IAMday is that remembrance.

It is not another holiday, not another campaign. It is a quiet revolution. It begins in breath, in presence, in the willingness to stop and hear the waves again. We gather not to perform, but to return. Not to consume, but to contribute. Not to win, but to awaken.

Each of us carries stories from the decades past. We have inherited both the beauty and the burden of those who came before. The civil rights marches. The peace songs sung on muddy fields. The voices of mystics and teachers who dared to remind us that we are more than what we produce. These legacies are not ornaments to admire—they are torches passed into our hands.

And now, the question comes to us: “What will we do with what we’ve been given?”

IAMday offers a place to live into that question. On September 24, we will pause together—not just as individuals, but as a global circle—on the centennial of The Game of Life. We will honor Florence’s daring. We will honor the Equinox, the balance of light and dark. We will honor World Peace Day, not with slogans, but with sincerity.

But most of all, we will honor the I AM presence within each of us.

Because this is not about one teacher, one book, or one voice. It is about the human family remembering what is already true: that our lives are sacred, our choices matter, and our being is enough.

So consider this your invitation. Not an invitation to sign up for another thing. Not a demand on your time or energy. An invitation to remember. To give yourself one day—one sunrise to sunset—of real presence. To feel your breath as your first prayer. To listen to music that awakens the forgotten corners of your heart. To gather with voices who are not selling you anything but reminding you of who you are.

What happens when thousands of us choose to do this together? When the “I AM” in you meets the “I AM” in me, across time zones and borders, across differences of language and creed?

We create a tide. A tide of humanity that refuses to be reduced to algorithms and headlines. A tide that says: I am awake. I am alive. I am here for this moment, and I will not waste it.

This is the revolution Florence began, perhaps without even knowing. A revolution of thought, of word, of presence. A revolution that does not shout, but quietly endures.

Now it is our turn.

On September 24, join us at IAMday.org. The schedule is there, the circle is wide, the invitation is simple. All we ask is that you bring yourself. Your breath. Invite a friend. And your willingness to feel real again.

A hundred years from now, another voice may tell the story of this moment. Of how, in a time of distraction and fracture, a people paused. A people remembered. A people began again.

Let us be worthy of that story.

IAM. You are. We are. Together, we awaken.