Playing the Game: Existential Authenticity in A System You Cannot Escape

Since young, I loved to run. When 10-year-old me first learnt about the Singapore Sports School, it was a no-brainer to commit 6 years to living on campus, training every day on weekdays, even during holidays. But most people then—and even now, but I believe less so—said that “In Singapore, there’s no future in sports”. 

Then, although STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering, & Mathematics) was considered to have the “best” job prospects in Singapore, I attended a liberal arts college and majored in Anthropology. When I first shared about “liberal arts” and “Anthropology” with my friends, relatives, and people I’ve just met, the general response falls along the lines of “Huh, what is that? What can you do with that?” 

During my masters in counselling, while I dedicated most of my time to exploring Existential Therapy, everyone was talking about Cognitive-behavioral therapy, Acceptance and Commitment Therapy, Trauma-informed Therapy, and Mindfulness, modalities that are “evidence-based” and hence considered more “scientifically credible”.   

And now, despite the psychologically-based therapy culture, I decided to join a practice primarily grounded on Existential Therapy, a therapeutic modality with a radically different set of philosophical foundation compared to its psychological counterparts. 

As I write out an abridged version of my whole life trajectory, I begin to feel quite amused. I’m not rebellious by nature—in fact, more of the by-the-book type—but my major life choices say otherwise. 

It’s almost as if, for my whole life, I intentionally tried to make my life difficult by doing the opposite of normality, shouting at society, “I refuse to play your game!” Talk about not growing out of teenage angst.

Jokes aside, as I grew older, how I live with the “system” of society and my stance towards “playing the game” radically shifted. 

When I was younger, I was a lot more idealistic. I held more strongly to a binary: I was right and the world was wrong. I tried really hard not to “play the game” of the system by isolating myself from the system and those who seemed to have conformed to it. 

A classic example would be trying not to care about grades. But I struggled to do so, even up till my master’s. Although a part of me genuinely believed deeply that grades don’t matter, I would still experience a sinking feeling in my chest whenever I didn’t do as well as I hoped. The opposite was also true: when I scored well, I would well up with excitement and pride. 

Regardless of how well I did, though, receiving results was always a disorienting experience. After so much reflection, I thought I’ve truly become someone who doesn’t care about grade—someone who doesn’t “play the game”. But there I was, clearly still stuck in the system, being so heavily swayed by numbers and letters evaluating my worth. 

Sometimes, I didn’t even notice that I was enjoying playing the game. And when I snapped back to reality, I felt embarrassed and ashamed. But I would quickly suppress those feelings, convincing myself that “This isn’t the real me.” It seemed like having those feelings meant that I’ve lost my sense of self—that I’m inauthentic.

But I knew, deep down, that I was just lying to myself. I didn’t want to acknowledge those feelings of anxiety and pride about grades. Perhaps, I was more afraid to acknowledge that I wasn’t the person that I claimed to be.

In all honesty, I didn’t know what was happening within me despite claiming to be a self-aware person. What does it mean to be “authentic”? Whatever I thought “authenticity” was, it was creating a mess inside me and bringing me further from the person I want to be. 

It wasn’t until I stumbled upon Existential Therapy during my master’s that I was introduced to an alternate perspective about authenticity and my relationship with the world. I realized my way of living then was broadly sustained by, in my own conception, three “existential delusions” about what it means to be human.

Existential Delusion No.1: “I could separate myself from the world.”

From an existential standpoint, human beings cannot live in isolation but, as a starting point, always in relation to the world. Existential philosophy calls this default way of being, being-in-the-world. The hyphens signify the inherent connectedness between the self and their world, both of which can neither be understood nor exist without the other.

That meant my attempts in the past to separate from the world were futile, even potentially detrimental to my well-being. Even isolating myself from the world is a way of relating since I cannot but be in relation at all times. 

Solely villanizing the system was my way of relating to it. The more I detest the system, the more I try to escape it. But all the more I felt frustrated because what I tried to do was existentially impossible. I realized what needed to change was my way of relating to the system to which I’m bound. 

In other word, I cannot not “play the game” but have to play a different way. And to accept my default connectedness to the system. Because if I continue to deny this existential fact, my energy will be spent doing something that will never be accomplished. With acceptance, I was opened to alternate ways of relating to the system.

Existential Delusion No.2: “I could define myself without being constraint by my circumstances.”

As expected of teenagers—typically more egocentric and less relational—I believed I could dictate everything about myself. True to the cliché naivety and romanticism of youth, I believed I could change the world and those around me. 

But there were just some things that I can neither change nor control, however hard I tried—such as my default connectedness to the world. In existential philosophy, these things that I cannot change are called my facticity.

For example, some aspects of my facticity include being born in Singapore, as a heterosexual male, to a specific set of parents. These remain facts that I was “thrown” into without my choosing, regardless of how I interpret them or what meaning I give them as I live.

What I did have control over was my attitude (e.g. how I communicate with my parents) towards facticity (e.g. my parents’ upbringing which influenced their attitudes about education). This, in turn, gave me some influence over the schools I eventually attended. 

But with every enactment of freedom and choice, I found myself thrown into a new set of facticity.

Although I had some choice over which schools I went to, I had no control over who my classmates and teachers were at that point in time, or what the school culture was like. These became my new facticity: unchangeable conditions I had to accept and make sense through an interpretation that would allow me to move forward.

Existential Delusion No.3: “I could be permanently authentic.”

What was most disorienting was feeling like I’ve lost myself. What happened to the authentic self I believed I’ve come to embody? I thought I’ve found my “true” and “real” self. 

Existential philosophy would first propose that authenticity isn’t a permanent state. Second, authenticity isn’t about being “real” or “fake”, which is how it is usually understood in a psychological sense. Third, authenticity is not better than inauthenticity. 

In existential philosophy, inauthenticity and conformity is the average and default way of everyday living. You fall into “anonymity” and, as if on autopilot mode, unreflectively follow accustomed norms, habits, and stances. 

Rather than falling into “anonymity”, existential authenticity is a mode of being where you acknowledge that your current situation is uniquely yours due to your facticity, and you actively take a stance about how you want to live. Authenticity, then, is about ownership.

But existential authenticity is never lasting. You embody this fleeting mode when you confront the existential reality—which we don’t usually think about—that you are going to die one day, that your life is your very own. You experience a visceral sense of what is at stake in your life. 

Being existentially authentic is filled with anxiety as it entails confronting how much of your life you have not owned, being open to possibilities and truths you’ve ignored, and how much time you have left before you die. When anxiety is too much to bear, which it often is, we fall back into inauthenticity.  

Importantly, unlike how society tends to valorize authenticity over inauthenticity, existential philosophy’s stance is that one way of being is not superior than the other. These are modes of being that together give us a better sense of where we are at in life and what we find as truly fulfilling and meaningful. Both are necessary.

Inauthenticity is not an immature psychic state that we should permanently eliminate. In a society of so many people, falling into norms makes everyday life easier in many ways. Without those norms, life would be messy and hectic. Neither can authenticity be or should be a permanent state, as we do not have total control over every aspect of our lives given our being-in-the-world and facticity.   

These existential insights have been life-changing. They gave me new “tactics” on how to better “play the game”, so that I move forward instead of remaining stuck. 

I once had a client who requested, during our session, to extend the time from the standard one hour to two. Since I had just begun my placement at that center and I was unfamiliar with its policies, I excused myself momentarily to clarify with my colleague if the extension was possible. 

When I returned to the office after the session, my colleague lingered around me in silence for a minute. I could tell they were curious about how my session went, but held back due to confidentiality concerns. 

Finally, without directly asking for an explanation, they pondered aloud—with eyebrows furrowed and arms crossed—several times, “Wow, I’m really curious why your client would want such a long extension,” before off-handedly concluding, “I wonder if they are here to vent or is there any real work to be done.” 

Under the white office lights, my colleague’s words felt even colder. The image of my client who was crying in that very session flashed passed my mind as my insides burst with anger. This is the same colleague who counselled my friend, and in the second session, outrightly confronted my friend, probing, “Why are you hiding your trauma from me?”

Who is in any position to judge someone’s issues as “real” or “legitimate” enough to wish for care from another human being? Worse, my colleague had never even met my client to make such judgment. 

Past Gary would villanize my colleague and the clinical system of therapy culture, immediately quote prominent practitioners of existential therapy to argue with my colleague, quit the center altogether, and completely dismiss other psychological therapeutic modalities. 

But quoting others would be inauthentic since I’d just be following what others say. If I did, I’m sure I would’ve stumbled on my words because they were not mine. My words wouldn’t flow because, at that moment, I wasn’t sure about what I truly thought about the therapy culture. Quitting the center and dismissing other psychological therapeutic modalities would be to deny my being-in-the-world and facticity. 

Instead, I went home and really asked myself: What kind of therapist do I want to be? Not just what the therapy culture says is more “credible”. What is the reality of the therapy world? Not just that small part that my petty ego wants it to be, but the whole thing.

I had to accept that I was part of the dominant system of the clinical therapy culture. I had to also accept that psychological therapies have their merits and are certainly effective in specific cases. 

Although the philosophical foundation of psychological therapies may increase a therapist’s tendency to objectify a client, my colleague’s judgmental attitude and careless application of therapeutic concepts reflected more of their character and professional competency than any inherent limitations of psychological therapeutic modalities themselves.

Before I officially started work, I thought a lot about my experience with that colleague and the existential insights I’ve gained. How do I want to live with the system and “play the game”?

For many, entering the workforce, which usually symbolizes adulthood, is a particularly existential transition. In this transition, you often confront the existential reality of your life. As work occupies the majority of one’s life, your decision about work could be life-changing. In other words, you’re confronted to take a stance, to be existentially authentic, about how you wish to live.

Honestly, I wasn’t entirely sure about joining Encompassing because I felt anxious about not doing well as an existentially-oriented therapist within the clinical culture of therapy in Singapore, amongst other concerns. 

So, I asked my friends and mentors for advice. At some point, though, I realized I was just constructing rationalizations based on others’ advice as to whether I should take up Mag’s offer to work at Encompassing. 

I wasn’t taking a stand about my unique situation. I delayed my response to Mag’s offer because I was avoiding my anxiety about potentially being an imposter and being “unfilial” for taking a risk without certainty. I felt overwhelmed by the weight of the responsibility of being a competent therapist and a filial son.

Then, there was no time left. I had to make a decision. Like before, I really sat with myself and thought about what kind of therapist I want to be and what kind of life do I want to live.

Rather than focus on parts of my anxiety about self-doubts, I focused my anxiety towards a life-enhancing direction: What was my anxiety saying about what is important to me? On my deathbed, as I look back on my life, what would I hope for present-me to do? 

It is then that I’ve come to a genuine acceptance—one that I thought I had already reached—of how deeply existential therapy and existential thought matter to me, both as a therapist and a human being living life. 

I realized there’s much wisdom to learn from 10-year-old Gary whose love for running might seem naïve and idealistic in the eyes of adults. Unbeknownst to him, he was already existentially authentic by taking a stance about what he wants despite everyone’s doubts, and he committed to his stance by trying his best to make it work. He confronted the system, lived with it, and “played the game” his way.

Although he didn’t manage to fulfill his sporting dream, secondary-school Gary had to, for the first in his life, acknowledge his facticity—the limitation of his physicality—and his world that isn’t the best environment for grooming sportsman, and re-evaluate his life course. Over years of such re-evaluations, here I am: living with the system and “playing the game” in a way my secondary school and university self would never have imagined.    

In some sense, I never stopped running. I just learnt where and how to better place my feet—not to run away from life, but to run towards what truly matters to me.

About the Author

Gary Wee

Hello, I’m Gary: A recent Anthropology graduate from Yale-NUS College, and an incoming student pursuing a Masters in Counselling. If I were to describe myself in a sentence — which is impossible, but I’ll try nonetheless — I’m currently someone who’s in a perpetual existential mood!

I invite you to join me on my journey of writing to make sense of that mood, myself, and this crazy, complex world. I’m not following a fixed structure, so I don’t know what I would come out of this conviction — I guess we can only find out as I write!