I softly ran my hand through the smooth mahogany wood. I had felt this before. Closing my eyes to soak in the nostalgia, I smiled and caressed the intricate chess pieces that now lay before me. For a moment I was 9 again, excitedly sliding chess pieces against the board. I played even faster as the scraping of wood against wood punctuated my thoughts and brought to life the hours of theory I had had to memorize for this game. With blood pulsing through my veins, I took it one move at a time as each move drew me closer to my desired outcome—checkmate!
As I grew from a young boy into adolescence, I found the number of decisions I had to make concerning my future very frustrating. I always worried about whether I was making the right choice, and the future terrified me. The premise that there were a quintillion different possibilities of what could happen an hour from now was, in fact, very disturbing.
However, within this blur, I’ve always found chess to be therapeutic. Part of the reason is because very early one, I felt that I could draw parallels between this 8-by-8 checkered board game and this thing called life: from the first chess move until the last is a descent into chaos. After the first pair of moves, 400 different board setups exist. After the second pair of turns, there are 197,742 possible games. After 3 moves from each player, there are 121 million different possible game setups. The permutations increase exponentially from there. Having to get comfortable making tough, consequential decisions on the chessboard helped me learn how to calm down and think deeply. It’s helped me take things one move at a time—dealing with my anxiety and helping me coordinate my “pieces” to win.
When I started going to school tournaments, it was also fascinating to realize that no matter how much preparation I soaked in before a match, the exhilarating blend of excited and nervous energy had a lethal ability to throw me off. As I’ve gotten better, though, I feel like I’ve developed much more steel and backbone in my play. I feel like I’m a better emotional regulator, and that mental stability is something I hope to keep with me as I scale these hurdles life throws at me.
At 18, although the opening stages of this game called life are still being played, I am driven to take my choices one step at a time. Though I am no longer sliding mahogany wood pieces across the board as often as I used to, I am still creatively tackling problems and coordinating my resources to produce an optimal result. I’m continuing to strategise, to navigate through the ranks, to deal with my emotions, and to win.
I softly ran my hand through the smooth mahogany wood. I had felt this before. Closing my eyes to soak in the nostalgia, I smiled and caressed the intricate chess pieces that now lay before me. For a moment I was 9 again, excitedly sliding chess pieces against the board. I played even faster as the scraping of wood against wood punctuated my thoughts and brought to life the hours of theory I had had to memorize for this game. With blood pulsing through my veins, I took it one move at a time as each move drew me closer to my desired outcome—checkmate!
As I grew from a young boy into adolescence, I found the number of decisions I had to make concerning my future very frustrating. I always worried about whether I was making the right choice, and the future terrified me. The premise that there were a quintillion different possibilities of what could happen an hour from now was, in fact, very disturbing.
However, within this blur, I’ve always found chess to be therapeutic. Part of the reason is because very early one, I felt that I could draw parallels between this 8-by-8 checkered board game and this thing called life: from the first chess move until the last is a descent into chaos. After the first pair of moves, 400 different board setups exist. After the second pair of turns, there are 197,742 possible games. After 3 moves from each player, there are 121 million different possible game setups. The permutations increase exponentially from there. Having to get comfortable making tough, consequential decisions on the chessboard helped me learn how to calm down and think deeply. It’s helped me take things one move at a time—dealing with my anxiety and helping me coordinate my “pieces” to win.
When I started going to school tournaments, it was also fascinating to realize that no matter how much preparation I soaked in before a match, the exhilarating blend of excited and nervous energy had a lethal ability to throw me off. As I’ve gotten better, though, I feel like I’ve developed much more steel and backbone in my play. I feel like I’m a better emotional regulator, and that mental stability is something I hope to keep with me as I scale these hurdles life throws at me.
At 18, although the opening stages of this game called life are still being played, I am driven to take my choices one step at a time. Though I am no longer sliding mahogany wood pieces across the board as often as I used to, I am still creatively tackling problems and coordinating my resources to produce an optimal result. I’m continuing to strategise, to navigate through the ranks, to deal with my emotions, and to win.