The Hidden Rules of Power

I’ve spent years observing the grind of commoners being a commoner—folks like you and me who pour sweat into their jobs, hoping for a fair shot at success. But the truth I’ve come to see is that the world doesn’t always reward hard work alone. There’s a game being played, one with unwritten rules about power, influence, and human nature. Recently, I delved into a conversation that peeled back the curtain on these dynamics, and it struck me how vital these insights are for hardworking citizens. Let me walk you through what I learned, step by step, and why it matters to us—the people who keep the world turning. Meeting elderly at their leisure is worth rejoicing for. It indeed brings wisdom.

First, I was struck by the idea that how we think shapes how we navigate life’s challenges. For me, as someone who’s always scribbling notes about the struggles of the working class, the act of writing by hand feels like a rebellion against the digital grind. There’s something raw about it—a direct line from your brain to the page. It’s slower, sure, but it forces you to focus, to feel the weight of your thoughts. I’ve found that when I’m wrestling with an idea, like how to advocate for better wages, handwriting helps me cut through the noise. It’s a tool for commoners to reclaim clarity in a world that’s always rushing us. Imagine if we all took a moment to write our frustrations, our dreams, by hand—might we find the focus to fight for what we deserve?

Then, there’s the concept of margins—not just in books, but in life. I learned about a style of writing where the edges of a page hold stories, fables, and quotes that talk back to the main text. It’s like the working class itself: often pushed to the sidelines but full of wisdom. I see this in the stories of hardworking citizens—janitors, factory workers, teachers—who are rarely the main characters in society’s narrative but whose lives are rich with lessons. I’ve started leaving margins in my own notes, jotting down the small victories of commoners I meet, like the single mom who negotiated a raise after years of being overlooked. These margins remind me that our stories, though sidelined, are a conversation with the world’s power structures. How can we make our margins louder?

One story hit me hard: a tale of a diplomat who, instead of directly criticizing a report, asked, “Is this the best you can do?” It pushed the writer to rethink and improve without feeling attacked. For the working class, this is a game-changer. Too often, we’re direct—laying out our grievances bluntly, like I did early in my career when I demanded better conditions at a job. It backfired; I was seen as a troublemaker. Indirect communication, I’ve learned, can be more powerful. If I’m negotiating for a coworker, I might say, “Could we explore options to make this shift more sustainable?” It invites collaboration, not conflict. For commoners, mastering this subtle art could mean the difference between being heard and being sidelined. Why don’t we teach this in our communities?

Here’s a painful truth I’ve lived: never outshine the master. Early on, I was so eager to prove myself at a retail job that I brought new sales ideas to my boss, thinking it’d earn me respect. Instead, it got me pushed out—my boss felt threatened. I didn’t know then that egos rule the workplace. For hardworking citizens, this is a bitter pill. We’re taught to work hard, to shine, but if our light overshadows the boss, we’re toast. I’ve since learned to frame my ideas as their wins: “I think your strategy could really pop with this tweak.” It’s not about dimming our light but directing it strategically. How many of us have lost opportunities because we didn’t know this rule?

I was floored to hear that only about 5% of people intuitively grasp these power dynamics. These are the folks who naturally know to say less, to listen more, to read the room. For the rest of us—especially commoners grinding in jobs where politics feel like a foreign language—this is a wake-up call. I’ve met workers who’ve been burned by not seeing the game, like a friend who was passed over for a promotion because he was too open about his ambitions. The 5% thrive because they see the undercurrents we miss. I’m committed to helping hardworking citizens join that 5%, not by becoming ruthless, but by learning to navigate the game. What if we could all learn to read these signs?

Another lesson hit close to home: avoid the unlucky and unfortunate—not out of cruelty, but self-preservation. I’ve known people who seem to carry drama like a cloud, pulling everyone into their chaos. In my advocacy work, I once got sucked into a coworker’s endless complaints, only to find myself drained and less effective. Studies back this up: sitting near a low performer can tank your own output by 30%. For the working class, who often can’t afford to lose focus, this is critical. I now choose my allies carefully, surrounding myself with people who lift me up, like the union organizer who always finds a way to keep fighting. How do we protect our energy in workplaces full of drama?

So how history and stories are as vital as data. For me, this resonates deeply. The working class has always learned through stories—tales of strikes, of victories won through grit. I think of the 1930s labor movements, where workers’ stories of exploitation fueled change. Modern data, like studies on workplace dynamics, confirms these patterns, but history gives them soul. When I advocate for commoners, I weave in both: stats on wage stagnation alongside stories of workers who’ve fought back. This blend makes our case undeniable. Why don’t we lean more on our collective stories to demand change?

I also grappled with whether those with darker traits—narcissists, sociopaths—understand these power games better. Some do, I think, because they lack the empathy that makes us second-guess ourselves. I’ve seen managers manipulate teams with charm, only to discard people when it suits them. But I reject the idea that we need to become like them. Hardworking citizens can learn these rules without losing our humanity. I’ve coached workers to spot these types—watch for the overly charismatic, the ones who never admit fault—and outsmart them with quiet strategy. Can we win without playing dirty?

One of the most practical lessons was about giving opponents a “golden bridge” to retreat. I once faced a shady employer who fudged numbers on a contract. My instinct was to fight, but I remembered this idea. Instead of suing, I said, “Let’s adjust the terms and part ways amicably.” They walked away, and I kept my peace—and some leverage. For commoners, this is gold. We often lack the resources for all-out battles, so offering a graceful exit can save us energy and build allies. I’ve seen this work in union talks, where compromise preserves relationships for future wins. Why don’t we use this strategy more?

The most underrated truth I took away is the power of observation. Too often, we’re so caught up in our own worries—am I doing enough? Will I keep this job?—that we miss the signals around us. I’ve learned to watch: the boss who bristles when challenged, the coworker who’s always late. These are signs of deeper truths. If someone’s desk is a mess, it might hint at disorganization that could drag me down. If an email feels sharp, I pause before responding. For hardworking citizens, this skill is our superpower. By observing, we can navigate office politics without betraying our values. How do we train ourselves to see these signs?

This ties to reading non-verbal cues. People’s words often mask their true feelings, but their body language doesn’t lie. I’ve noticed this in meetings: a manager’s crossed arms when I pitch a raise, a coworker’s fake smile when they’re plotting. Learning to trust my gut on these cues has saved me from bad deals and toxic alliances. For the working class, who often face power imbalances, this is a survival skill. I practice by watching people in public—how they stand, how they react. It’s like decoding a secret language. Why aren’t we taught this in school?

Then came a stark insight: fear is a stronger motivator than love in power dynamics. I’ve seen this in workplaces where a respected but firm supervisor gets more compliance than a beloved but soft one. For commoners, this isn’t about becoming tyrants but about commanding respect. I once worked under a foreman who was kind but set clear boundaries—if you slacked, you faced consequences. His team worked harder because we knew he meant business. I apply this now by setting firm expectations in my advocacy union work, ensuring people know I’m serious. How can we balance respect and kindness?

Now let's come to human resilience, sparked by stories of people surviving impossible odds, like a plane crash in the Andes. This hit me as a working-class truth: we’re tougher than we know. I think of the single dad working two jobs, the immigrant cleaning houses to send money home—these are our Andes survivors. Hardship unlocks energy we didn’t know we had. I’ve felt this when rallying workers for a cause, tapping into a grit I didn’t realize I possessed. For hardworking citizens, this is a reminder: we’re built for the fight. What untapped strength lies within us?

Finally, I was moved by the idea of finding inspiration despite limitations. When I’m stuck, I used to walk the picket lines or talk to colleagues to recharge. But sometimes, life boxes you in—maybe you’re exhausted or stuck at a desk. I’ve learned to force inspiration by shifting my mindset: reminding myself why I fight for commoners, listening to a worker’s story, or even watching my dog nap peacefully. It’s about feeling the purpose first, then acting. For the working class, this is how we keep going. How do we spark that fire when the world feels heavy?

This all ties to a bigger idea: finding the sublime in the ordinary. Life as a hardworking citizen can feel like a slog, but there’s magic in our daily grind—the camaraderie of a lunch break, the pride of a job well done. I’ve started seeing my work not just as advocacy but as a way to celebrate the extraordinary resilience of commoners. Being a factory worker gave me chance to taste the privilege. This perspective keeps me grounded and hopeful. What if we all looked at our lives this way? 

As I reflect on these lessons, I’m struck by how much power we, the working class, can claim by understanding these rules. From writing by hand to observing cues, from offering golden bridges to tapping our resilience, we can navigate a world that often feels rigged against us. But it starts with awareness and practice. So, I ask you,What’s one rule of power you’ll start using today to take control of your future?