Chess is a Mirror of Real Life

You’re angry. You’re tired. You’re desperately wishing for a time machine, or at least a way to hit 'undo' on the last ten minutes of your life. It’s a hollow, sick feeling in your gut and it makes you feel like you could’ve spent the day doing literally anything else. Sleeping sounds more productive than sitting in an uncomfortable wooden chair losing a game you should’ve at least drawn...

But here’s the thing: that miserable feeling is probably the most useful part of the whole experience.

When I was a kid, I was a pro at making excuses. I’d lose a game and immediately start the "Yeah, but..." routine. Yeah, but I was totally winning. Yeah, but he got lucky. Yeah, but I outplayed him most of the game. It’s a classic coping mechanism, a way to protect the ego from the fact that you just got outplayed. But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized that chess is one of the few places in life where the "but" goes to die.

When you lose a long, grueling game, the reason it hurts so much is that there’s nowhere to hide. You can’t blame the tools. You signed the scoresheet. You made the moves. That "wasted time" feeling is actually just the weight of radical ownership hitting you all at once. It’s the moment you realize your position on the board is a direct result of your own choices. It’s uncomfortable as hell, but it’s also a bit of a superpower. Once you stop looking for a time machine, you start looking at yourself.

It’s one thing to own your mistakes; it’s another to figure out why you keep making the same ones. For me, that meant looking at the clock.

I’ve never really been the guy to get into time trouble. While everyone else is hunched over the board, burning forty minutes on a single mid-game decision until their hair starts to turn gray, I’m usually moving. I don’t like to overthink. In my head, I’ve always framed this as a strength, “I’m decisive, I’m optimistic, I trust my gut”.

But if I’m being honest with you? It’s a bit of a double edged sword.

Caught Red-Handed by the Clock

By moving fast, I’m sometimes just disregarding the consequences of my move or overlooking the superior, more complex alternative . It’s easier to just make a move and see what happens than it is to bear the responsibility of a deep, complicated calculation.

I’ve noticed I do this off the board, too. Whether it’s a big purchase or a tough conversation, my instinct is often to just "make a move" so I can stop feeling the pressure of the unknown. Chess caught me red-handed. It showed me that what I called "decisiveness" was often just a lack of patience.

It’s a weirdly vulnerable realization. You start to see that your moves can be a reflection of your real life personality. If you’re terrified of sacrificing a pawn, maybe you’re a bit too risk-averse in your career. If you’re always looking for a flashy sacrifice that isn't there, maybe you’re chasing "quick wins" in your daily life.

The good news is that the mirror works both ways. If chess can diagnose your flaws, it can also help you fix them.

When you start consciously trying to get better (not just memorizing lines, but actually changing how you think) you’re basically doing reps for your character. For me, that meant forcing myself to sit on my hands. It meant learning to embrace the "uncomfortable" silence of a complicated position instead of rushing to resolve it. And, surprisingly, that started bleeding into my life away from the board. I found myself pausing before sending an impulsive message or taking an extra second to think through a big decision.

It turns out that practicing "patience" on a wooden board is a lot cheaper than practicing it with your bank account or your relationships.

Playing the Position You’re In

We often talk about chess as this intellectual pursuit, like it’s all about being a "genius." But I think it’s more about resilience. It’s about being able to sit in that uncomfortable wooden chair, stare at a disaster you created, and say, "Okay, what now?"

It’s about learning that a mistake doesn't make you a failure, it just makes you a person with a bad position. And in chess, as in life, you don't get to start over with a fresh board every time things get messy. You have to play the position you’re in.

So, the next time you lose a heartbreaker and feel like you’ve wasted your day, take a second before you throw the scoresheet away. Don't wish for the time machine. Look at the moves. Look at the "why." Because if you can figure out how to be a better player, you might just find out you’ve become a slightly better human being in the process.

And that’s a win, even if the scoreboard says otherwise.

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Thanks for reading my blog! I hope you learned something new :)

My name is Vidar and I'm a 19 year old FIDE-Master and university student from sweden. If you enjoy my blogs, make sure to leave a like and give me a follow <3 ️

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