The board in my uncle’s home has haunted me for years: 64 squares (black and white), 32 pieces, and a legacy of 1,500 years. Chess, a game of logic, creativity, and patience, can humble or elevate us. Since childhood, my uncle has wielded it like a machete, tearing through all of his nieces and nephews. Every Thanksgiving he has held it over my head waiting to dismantle my crude and unthought-out defense. But to me, the game is more than a weapon wielded by my uncle; it has been a teacher: a battleground where only losing creates real learning.
What really makes chess worthy of a person's lifetime is its disagreement with the norm. Modern games are designed for instant gratification, but chess demands patience. It rewards studying, punishes ego, and reveals character. I once smashed my head against my desk after losing on time with a checkmate on the board. When I first vowed to defeat my uncle, after the years of constant humiliation, I did not realize I was signing up for a multi-year crash course in humility. Online strangers dismantled my openings; puzzles had me guessing. I learned that being smart wasn’t enough; chess required some fluency. The game is like a language, filled with patterns yet riddled with exceptions. A move can either whisper a quiet message or resound across the board, forcing your opponent's rapid resignation.
Chess thrives on being both timeless and timely. A game played during the medieval ages and today is enjoyed by millions across the globe. It connects people who would otherwise never meet. During my phase of obsession, I would watch grandmasters meticulously dissect openings for 20 moves and several variations. Whether it be the “Accelerated Dragon,” “Englund Gambit,” or the “Ruy Lopez," I found it simply fascinating. Yet in all the complexity of the 64 squares, a pawn can still checkmate a king and a child can outsmart a veteran.
At school, chess became a craze. The athletes, the nerds, and the theater kids all played each other searching for some recognition. Some of us learned to change while others played the same way and lost the same way. We weren’t just pushing a piece of wood or blankly staring at a screen, we were connecting with others and exploring relationships between each other we had not realized existed.
My obsession with chess got a bit out of control. I neglected homework, dreamed of fantastical checkmates, and scribbled notation from my favorite openings in the margins of my math notebook. Through it all, chess taught me something vital: discipline turns frustration into fuel for learning. Losses became lessons. Blunders and mistakes became opportunities for introspection.
When I finally cornered my uncle’s king this past Easter, the victory felt even larger than the rivalry. It wasn’t just about outsmarting him: it was about the growth and the journey: not a finish line but a milestone.
I don’t recommend the game itself, but what it asks you to do on a deeper level. Chess is a destroyer of arrogance, a rewarder of the curious and adaptable. It punishes undue haste; it mirrors life’s balancing act between control and response.
It teaches negotiation: sacrifice a piece at the right time and seize the momentum, balance your pieces for attack and defense, or retreat to advance later. This negotiation is not just a strategy for a board. It can act as a framework for real life: send an email for a hasty response, meet in person to feel out another person's emotions, etc. The learning from the game is applicable for every decision you make.
My uncle still laughs about the Easter game. “Beginner’s luck,” he says. But as we all know, chess doesn’t care about luck. It cares about strategy: an unsolved game that has been played for over 1,000 years. The crispy cheese at the edge of a grilled cheese sandwich--a perfect tiny reward for patience-- is chess.
It is the satisfaction of struggling toward something that is uncertain. Even when you lose, you know you have gained just a bit more wisdom. It is a game that refuses to coddle you. It turns mistakes into mentors. And even when you are victorious, you realize it is not about winning. It has always been about learning to think.
Every move matters. Every decision you make is important. Chess is a playground to learn to make decisions. It is consequence free: Exploit that. Chess is the only place where you have time to analyze each move. Sure, you won’t learn the what-ifs from the different moves you could have chosen and how the game would have played out but you do learn how to improve.