Once, when I was a child, my mother took me to the playground.
At the playground, there was a group of kids playing together.
I remember the moment I saw them, every part of me wanted to be there, with them, part of them, inside the game they created.
It was clear they were immersed in their own world, as if there was a bubble within the playground that no one else could enter but them.
At some point, something about their game felt unsafe to me. I couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was—maybe a faint sense of aggression that accompanied it.
When they came over and invited me to join, part of me was thrilled at the chance to be included, but another part held me back.
I couldn’t explain it to myself, especially because deep down, I wanted so badly to be part of that bubble, and I felt incredibly lucky to have been invited.
My mother, who had been watching the interaction between me and the child who approached me, noticed that I stayed sitting on the bench, my eyes restless. She came closer, put her arm around my shoulder, and hugged me.
“You know, Iris,” she said,
“Not every game is right for you, especially not ones invented
My mother, who had been watching the interaction between me and the child who approached me, noticed that I stayed sitting on the bench, my eyes restless. She came closer, put her arm around my shoulder, and hugged me.
“You know, Iris,” she said,
“Not every game is right for you, especially not ones invented by other kids. It’s okay to just say, ‘No, thank you.’”
In that playground, I first encountered the dissonance between my love for games and the clear recognition that not all games were meant for me.
And now, let me explain how I see things:
You and your wife have a game.
As I’ve said, I love games.
In your game, each of you is free to explore and experiment.
And alongside that freedom, I assume there are clear rules that give you both a sense of relative safety within the boundaries of the game.
That’s how games work.
It looks like a fun game, and I imagine you’re enjoying it.
That said,
I’ve learned something over time:
Not every game someone creates is one I want to take part in.
It’s not because I have any judgment about the game or the person who created it.
It’s simply because the world is full of games.
Some are invented by governments,
some by private individuals,
and some by cultures and nations.
As for me?
At first, I played all the games.
But at some point I’ve come to understand
that even though I’m a game enthusiast,
and uncertainty sparkles for my soul the way a piece of gold glitters for a crow,
still,
and alongside all that,
not all games are meant for me.
And if you ask, How do I know which games are meant for me and which aren’t?
I’ll answer: It’s quite simple.
The world calls this feeling “I feel like it.”
And if I don’t feel like it, I don’t start twisting myself into the knots of overthinking. Instead, I remember my mother’s words:
“Not every game is right for you, especially not ones invented by others.”
And I say to the world: “No, thank you”
