I woke up this morning with a thought that wouldn’t let go. It started with something as simple as watching the US version of Ghosts — you know, that show where spirits from different eras are stuck in a house together, trying to figure out how to spend eternity.

Here’s what hit me: these ghosts have been around for hundreds, sometimes thousands of years. They’re not worried about survival anymore; they’re already dead. So what’s their biggest challenge? Boredom. Everything they do is just trying to stay entertained, to find meaning in the endless stretch of existence.

And I realised: that’s not so different from us.

The Two-Level Game

We’re all playing life on two levels:

Level 1: Survival — We need food, water, shelter, and safety. This is the biological game, the one every living creature plays. It’s necessary, urgent, and non-negotiable.

Level 2: The Boredom Game — Once survival is handled, we’re left with consciousness, time, and the need to do something with both. This is where we create meaning, chase experiences, build relationships, and yes — try not to go insane from boredom.

Most animals play both levels too. Watch a cat that’s well-fed and safe; it’ll still hunt, play, and explore. It’s not just surviving; it’s engaging with existence itself.

The Thriving Trap

But here’s where humans got creative (maybe too creative): we invented thriving.

Thriving goes beyond survival and even beyond healthy boredom management. It’s the endless pursuit of more: more status, more stuff, more achievement, more everything. It’s what makes us buy into systems that promise fulfilment through accumulation.

Don’t get me wrong, some thriving is natural. We want to grow, improve, and connect. But somewhere along the way, thriving became this separate game with its own rules, its own scoreboards, and its own anxiety.

I think we’ve overcomplicated it.

What Epicurus Knew

The ancient philosopher Epicurus had this figured out. He wasn’t about chasing intense pleasures or climbing social ladders. He focused on ataraxia, a kind of tranquil contentment that comes from freedom from pain and anxiety.

He understood that happiness isn’t about winning some external game. It’s about playing the game of existence with skill and enjoyment, without getting lost in the scorekeeping.

The Game-Changer Realisation

Here’s my morning epiphany: Life is a game, and you’re already playing it.

It’s not a game of winners and losers, but rather a game of play—something you engage in for the sheer joy of engaging, something you explore because exploration is fascinating, and something you experience because experience is the ultimate goal.

When you see it this way, everything changes:

• Fear becomes less paralyzing (it’s just part of the game mechanics)
• Doubt becomes less relevant (whose rules are you doubting anyway?)
• Risk becomes more interesting (what happens if I try this move?)
• Failure becomes feedback (how does this affect my game?)

Playing Your Own Game

The beautiful thing about recognising life as a game is that you get to choose how to play it. You can play conservatively or boldly, solo or with others, for high stakes or just for fun.

The only real rule is that the game ends eventually. And knowing that, really knowing it, can make you more willing to make interesting moves, to go for what you want, and to engage fully with the experience of being alive.

Because ultimately, that’s all any of us are doing anyway. We’re conscious beings, trying to create something meaningful with the time we have, fighting off boredom, and finding our own version of happiness.

So why not play well? Why not take risks? Why not go for what you want?

The game’s already in progress. You might as well make it interesting.

What’s your take on life as a game? Are you playing it the way you want to, or are you following someone else’s rules? Let me know in the comments. I’d love to hear how you’re choosing to play.