what happened to the gifted kids?
on chaos games and the path to clarity
Growing up, you were told that life is a simple game: work hard, play smart, and you’ll be happy.
For 22 years, the rules never changed:
study, test, repeat.
The scoreboard was grades,
the path was clear,
and the win condition was obvious.
Then graduation hits — and the board flips.
The rules vanish.
The scoreboard disappears.
The win condition?
Nobody can tell you what it is.
Every year, a crop of gifted university graduates leaves the comfort of the educational system and steps into what the annoying adults affectionately call the “real world”.
And suppose you’ve spent enough time in the Bay Area or New York. In that case, you won’t run out of people who get through life by “min-maxing” — a practice embraced by ambitious teenagers (or overzealous parents) to maximize their output in ways that put them ahead in the battle for the few coveted spots in the most prestigious colleges or lucrative jobs.
Min-maxing in itself isn’t bad — it worked.
After all, they got into great colleges and their (or their parents’) dream jobs.
The only problem?
It doesn’t generalize well.
chaos games
In game theory, one learns about the concept of complete vs. incomplete information games.
In a complete information game like Chess,
all pieces and moves are visible.
In an incomplete information game like Poker,
the key variables are missing — your opponent’s cards, for example.
The one thing they have in common?
The rules and win conditions are clearly defined.
Those who excel in academics, through a combination of hard work and intellect, thrive in these environments.
“If I work hard enough, I’ll inevitably be good at it.”
In school, the feedback loop reinforced that belief: apply your mind → get better grades → win. slack off → get worse grades → lose.
But life is what I’d call a chaos game —
Like Poker, you don’t have all the information, but to make things worse, the rules and win conditions aren’t even clearly defined.
To the eyes of children who have become used to enduring pain for the promise of success, the sheer unpredictability of the chaos games becomes soul-crushing.
“I’ve sacrificed everything and worked hard, but why can’t I get what I wanted?”
Unlike in school, where a bad grade would (simplistically) be attributed to not studying hard enough or making a sloppy mistake, in life, people fail from variables that are often entirely outside of their control or barely comprehensible.
Knowing how to adapt to this new chaotic reality is one of the biggest hurdles that many often struggle with.
To make things worse, the fundamental abstractness of the chaos game makes it difficult for its players to form a semblance of a feedback loop — as a result, people develop maladaptive philosophy, strategy, and personalities as a coping mechanism to the chaos game.
“Don’t dream too big, you will be disappointed.”
“They are just lucky. Their parents must be rich."
“It’s the fault of the government.”
Regardless of its manifestation, all of them share a commonality:
An admission that one has truly lost control of one’s life; a refusal to participate in the game and explore what life has to offer — the birth of a tortured genius.
the path to clarity
The path to clarity starts with acceptance: just because the game has unclear rules and win conditions, it doesn’t mean that the game is not worth playing.
If anything, it is what makes the game beautiful: an opportunity for you to define your own win conditions.
Just imagine waking up one day and being told that “your life’s purpose is to pass butter”.
A reality where you have no control over destiny and every day is the same as every other one: no surprises, just routines. Imagine how depressing life would be.
This pursuit of defining your win condition and learning how to bend the emergent chaos to your will is what I call the metagame — the game above the game.
And unlike the chaos game, the rules of the metagame are clear:
Fall in love with variance — they make life beautiful.
Don't agonize when shit happens — your brain will overfit on noise.
Don’t play a game you don’t want to win — play stupid games, win stupid prizes.
The win condition is yours to define — no one is watching.
Enjoy it — after all, you only get one chance.
— Have fun playing, Player 1.