The Status Game I Still Play

I was at lunch and a slightly annoying question appeared.

What am I actually working for?

Not in the dramatic existential way. More in the small suspicious way. The kind of question that appears when part of you notices it may still be performing.

Am I still trying to prove myself?

I have spent a lot of time working on this. Detaching self-worth from creativity. Detaching self-worth from work. Seeing the little ego moves. Laughing at them when possible. Not turning output into identity.

And still, there are traces.

A little status game is still being played.

The obvious version is wanting to be the best. The less obvious version is wanting to be seen as intelligent. Sharp. Original. Excellent. The person who gets it. The person who sees the deeper thing.

Slightly embarrassing.

Also very normal.

If I trace it back, it makes sense. I went to a very academic school. There was a collective belief system of excellence. Nurturing excellence. Rewarding excellence. Praising excellence. Comparing excellence. Excellence as the air.

Excellence is the hypnotic program.

And before that, in the family system, there was already some version of it. Intellectual performance mattered. Being bright mattered. Doing well mattered. Everyone meant well. Of course they did. It was love, anxiety, culture, protection, ambition, all mixed together.

But the child receives it as a program.

Be good.

Be clever.

Be impressive.

Be the best if possible.

Then adulthood becomes a long attempt to satisfy software that was installed before you knew you had a choice.

The funny thing is that before all of that, there was probably something much simpler.

A young child looking around.

Curiosity. Observation. Awe. Emptiness. No great personal brand. No standards to maintain. No need to be a serious person with a coherent philosophy.

Just looking at things.

A spoon is interesting. A leaf is interesting. A stranger’s face is interesting. The world is just there, and the child is just there with it.

Then the measuring starts.

School measures. Family measures. Friends measure. Work measures. The internet measures. Money measures. Brands measure. Intelligence measures. Even spirituality can start measuring, which is quite funny and also tragic.

And somewhere along the way, the mind learns a very simple algorithm:

If I win the comparison, I am enough.

If I lose the comparison, something is wrong.

That is a mad thing to install in a human being.

But it is also what most of us are swimming in.

Once you see it, status starts appearing everywhere. Not just in job titles and money. In taste. In ideas. In moral purity. In how little you care. In being above the game. In saying you are not playing the game.

Even anti-status can become a status game.

That one is especially annoying.

Because I can sit there feeling very wise about not caring what people think, and then quietly enjoy being the sort of person who does not care what people think.

Beautiful fuckery.

This shows up in material things too.

Take almost any branded object. Cover the logo. Now what is it?

What is the product quality? What does it actually do? How does it feel? Is it useful? Is it beautiful in itself? Or was I buying the little story it tells about me?

Sometimes the story is part of the pleasure. That is fine. I do not need to pretend I am a monk who only purchases based on pure function and value. That would probably become another status game within four minutes.

But it is interesting to look.

What am I buying?

The item, or the self-image?

And maybe the answer is both. Maybe there is still some little unconscious shadow that wants status. Wants taste. Wants to be seen. Wants the object to quietly whisper, “this person knows.”

Okay.

That can be laughed at.

The danger is not having the impulse. The danger is taking it completely seriously.

This is where the cosmic perspective helps, but only if it stays slightly silly.

I am a small ordinary person on a small planet for a tiny amount of time. I am not saying this in a profound way. It is just physically funny. The universe is extremely large, and here I am wondering whether my work proves I am clever enough.

There is some relief in that.

Not the nihilistic kind where nothing matters and everyone should give up. Things do matter at the level of lived experience. People feel pain. People need love. Money affects freedom. Work affects nervous systems. Words can help or hurt. This life is emotionally real while it is happening.

But also, it is not that serious.

Both are true.

That seems to be the balance I am interested in now.

Care, but not too tightly.

Work, but not to prove existence.

Buy things if I like them, but notice when I am buying a costume.

Have standards, but do not worship excellence.

Rest. Laugh. Move. Play.

There is also a loneliness in this kind of perception. Not everyone is looking at the same thing in the same way. And even when they are, they may not want to talk about it. That is okay. I do not need to convince anyone. I do not need to turn this into a doctrine. I do not need approval for noticing what I notice.

Maybe the work is just to see the status game when it appears.

Ah, there it is.

Trying to prove intelligence.

Trying to prove taste.

Trying to prove depth.

Trying to prove I am not trying to prove anything.

Funny.

Then return to ordinary life.

Eat lunch. Do the work. Buy the thing or do not buy the thing. Be kind where possible. Keep the grip light.

Maybe it is not something to defeat.

Maybe it is just something to notice and laugh at.