Life, Chess, and the Art of Letting Go

The 64 squares of a chessboard are often called a microcosm of life. Within that wooden frame, we experience the dizzying heights of ego and the crushing depths of despair. But the greatest lesson chess teaches us isn't a specific opening or a complex endgame technique; it is the fundamental truth of the tempo. Everything in the game, and everything in life, is in a constant state of transition.

Whatever is causing you worry or pain right now—whether it is a "blunder" in your career, a "lost position" in your personal life, or the suffocating pressure of an opponent you can’t seem to outmaneuver—remember the golden rule of the board: It will pass.

The Mid-Game Crisis

In the heat of a match, there is a moment every player knows well: the suffocation. You’ve miscalculated. Your pieces are cramped, your King is exposed, and your opponent’s pieces are swarming like hornets. The clock is ticking down, its rhythmic thump-thump echoing the pounding in your chest. In that moment, the pain of losing feels eternal. You feel as though you are a bad player, and always will be.

But look at the board through the lens of time. That "unbeatable" attack requires precise execution. If you breathe, sit on your hands, and simply find the best defensive move, the tension eventually breaks. The pieces are traded off. The board clears. The suffocating complexity of the mid-game gives way to the stark, quiet clarity of the endgame. The crisis was not a permanent state; it was a phase of the match.

The Agony of the "Ghost Move"

We often carry our mistakes like heavy stones. In chess, a blunder—dropping a Queen or missing a mate-in-one—can feel like a physical wound. We replay the move in our heads, a phenomenon players call "the ghost move," where we keep seeing the correct move we should have made. We wish we could reach back through time and move the piece two squares to the left.

Consider the legendary match between Garry Kasparov and Deep Blue. When Kasparov lost, it felt like the end of human intellectual dominance. The pain was public, sharp, and seemingly final. Yet, years later, that loss became a footnote in a storied career, a catalyst for new ways of thinking about AI and human collaboration. The "unbearable" sting of that defeat passed, replaced by new challenges and greater wisdom. Your current blunder is no different; it is a single frame in a very long movie.

The "Squeeze" of Personal Hardship

In chess, there is a strategy called the Prophylaxis, where one player slowly restricts the other's options until they feel they cannot breathe. Life does this too. Financial stress, health scares, or grief can feel like a "positional squeeze." You look at your life and see no "squares" to move to.

But even in the most restricted positions, the board eventually opens up. Think of the "Immortal Draw" or games where a player escapes a certain loss through a stalemate. Sometimes, the way "it passes" isn't by winning, but by the situation changing so entirely that the old rules no longer apply. The "squeeze" ends because the game evolves. Time heals by introducing new pieces—new friends, new opportunities, and new perspectives—that break the deadlock.

Why "It Will Pass" is a Strategy

In chess, there is a concept called Zugzwang, a German word meaning "compulsion to move." It describes a situation where a player is put at a disadvantage because they must make a move, even though any move they make will worsen their position.

When you are going through a period of intense worry or pain, you might feel like you are in a permanent state of Zugzwang. You feel that no matter what you do, the pain persists. But time is the one factor that moves even when you don't.

• The Pawn’s Journey: A pawn starts the game as the weakest unit, often sacrificed or ignored. But it moves forward, one square at a time. If it survives the journey, it reaches the eighth rank and transforms into a Queen. Your current "weakness" or struggle is just the early squares of a journey toward a more powerful version of yourself.

• The Clock Runs: No period of suffering has an infinite time control. Every tournament has a final round; every long night has a dawn.

• The New Round: In every Swiss-system tournament, no matter how badly you played in Round 3, Round 4 starts with a clean board and a fresh clock. You are allowed to start over.

The Stalemate of Grief

Grief and worry can feel like a perpetual check, where the opponent keeps attacking your King, and you are forced to move back and forth, trapped in a loop. It feels like you will never find a safe square. But in chess, a perpetual check leads to a draw—a cessation of hostilities. The "attack" of your current pain cannot sustain its intensity forever. Eventually, the opponent tires, the energy of the crisis dissipates, and the board falls silent.

Finding Perspective

If you are hurting right now, try to view your life not as a single move, but as a lifelong match. A single bad position does not define the player. The Great Masters—Tal, Kasparov, Fischer—all lost games that looked hopeless. They all felt the "worry and pain" of a collapsing defense. What made them masters was the understanding that the current position is temporary.

The sun sets on every board. The pieces are put back in the box. The adrenaline fades, the heartbeat slows, and the mind finds peace again. The worry you feel today is just a cloud passing over the board; it might dim the light for a moment, but the sun is still there, waiting for the sky to clear.

Hold on. Make your next best move. It will pass.