Who Created The Rules?

Every player starts with a hand they didn’t choose.

When we are born into this world, we don't know what to expect; we’re literal babies. Soft, dependent, and innocent little beings. I like to think of life as being forced to play a card game you’ve never played before with a skilled opponent who has played his same hand several times; the rule book allows him to. It's like we’ve been forced to sit at a table, and someone has placed cards in our hands. The one that sits before us has been in this world a lot longer than us. I like to call him the Joker. He’ll cheat to win, and he’s skillful because his card set never changes. Imagine being forced to play the game and only getting to read the rules of the game when you make a mistake. You mean to tell me that I not only have to play, but I don’t get a fair chance, and my opponent is quite skillful? How is that? Why should we be forced to participate in an unfair, unjust, seemingly impossible quest to victory? One might ask, what’s the purpose of it all?

I’ve come to learn this so far, and I’m almost certain that my many mistakes gave me constant access to the rule book. Remember what I said, the game isn’t fair. You can only see the rules and cheat codes once you make a mistake. Well, in this rule book, the player with the least experience has access to the dealer. Once you’ve lost a few rounds, there is a wild card is made available. You’d think now, whew, I have a fighting chance. And you actually begin to win. Then all of a sudden, your opponent is now able to read your moves, and you begin to lose again. The object of this game is to win as many rounds as possible, or at least that’s what it feels like at first.

Because when you first sit down at the table, everything feels like survival. Every loss feels permanent. Every mistake feels like exposure. Every wrong move feels like proof that maybe you were never meant to win at all. But something strange begins to happen the longer you stay in the game. You start noticing the dealer. He’s been there the entire time, quiet, watching, present. Not interfering the way you expected. Not stopping the Joker from playing his tricks. Not preventing your early losses. Just dealing and waiting for you to realize you can speak to Him.

See, the rule book never said the inexperienced player had to defeat the Joker alone. It only said the inexperienced player had to ask. At first, most players don’t. Some are too proud. Some are too ashamed. Some think asking for help means they’ve already lost. But the players who begin to win are the ones who finally lean forward across the table and whisper, “Dealer, I don’t understand the rules.” And that’s when everything changes.

Because the dealer doesn’t just explain the rules. He explains the purpose of the game. You were never meant to outplay the Joker with your own strength. You were never meant to rely only on the cards placed in your hand at birth. You were never meant to memorize mistakes as punishment. Your mistakes were invitation opportunities to ask, to learn, and to receive something the Joker never had access to in the first place.

The wild card.

Victory begins the moment you ask for help.

Not the kind the Joker uses. Not the kind that tricks or manipulates or deceives. This wild card rewrites outcomes. This wild card reshuffles history. This wild card restores rounds you thought were permanently lost. And the most surprising part is that the Joker can’t touch it. He can predict your habits. He can replay your weaknesses. He can pressure your decisions. But he cannot override the authority of the Dealer.

That’s when the player finally understands something life-changing. The game was never unfair. It was hidden. The Joker has experience, but the player has a relationship. The Joker has repetition, but the player has access. The Joker has a strategy, but the player has the Dealer.

Once the player begins to trust the Dealer instead of fearing the Joker, something powerful begins to unfold. The losses stop defining the story. The rounds stop determining identity. The table stops feeling like a trap. It starts feeling like training. Because the goal was never just to survive the game. The goal was to learn how to play with the Dealer beside you.

And then one day, the player notices something unexpected. The Joker is still playing the same hand. Still repeating the same tricks. Still using the same pressure. But it’s no longer working, not because the Joker changed, but because the player did. The player now knows when to reshuffle, when to pause, when to ask, when to wait, when to move, and most importantly, who created the rules in the first place.

The question was never whether we would play the game.

The question was whether we would recognize who was dealing the cards.

Written by Nina Woodard, Editor-in-Chief and Founder of The Social Addict LLC

Victory was never about beating the Joker at his own game. Victory was learning that the Dealer never intended for you to lose at all.