To play, find the game. To find the game, do what makes them laugh.
The game is all around us, and it’s simpler than you think.
I spent time with my baby nephew today. He’s always playing games.
The game could be saying “Funcle nap?” when Funcle is definitely not napping. Or “Squeeze?”, then cackling with glee when Funcle sprays you with water from a toy in the bath. Or “Bite?”, then laughing when the other person bites the offered food.
He’s almost two years old, and his favorite games include wiping the table, splashing water, and putting laundry away.
These games don’t have winners and losers. They lack purpose. They contain fleeting goals, aims, and players, but have no start and no finish.
They’re closer to a porous, playful interaction with the world than a clearly defined structure.
So what makes it a game? Nothing. Wittgenstein used games as his proof that some categories share no essence: some have winners, some have rules, some have neither, and they’re all still games. They’re a family, bound by resemblance, not by one trait. My nephew’s games involve a playful attitude, but almost no other obviously shared structure. They’re a word, a response, or a laugh. Sometimes they’re simply play with play, back and forth.
Most of his games are found, not created. “Funcle nap?” was a game only because Funcle had been previously napping. The audience tells him it’s funny via their laughter. He plays it again. The laughter writes the rules: say it again and you play it again.
With no start and no finish, where’s the game?
The game is all around us. You simply have to open to it.
Julian Wise 