Beyond the board: life lessons from chess
3 lessons
Earlier this week, I delivered a speech on chess at a Toastmasters meeting.
It was warmly received and I decided to jot it down too, given how relevant the lessons I am about to share are to people across all walks of life, regardless of whether they know how to play the game.
I’m writing this in Istanbul, a city which, much like a chessboard, has been a witness to the grand spectacle of empires. It is both a chessboard and a piece on it — a mere pawn pushed and pulled to serve the vain whims of human ambition.
Chess, like many other games and sports, mimics life. All of us are in pursuit of some goal and deploy various means to achieve it. Yet unlike chess, which is governed by strict rules, life has few rules. Perhaps none. It lacks the fairness of a game with defined rules. On the board, a bishop can’t suddenly hop like a knight, but in life — well, you can never know for sure.
Anyway, there are many lessons I can pick out, ranging from the importance of patience to learning to anticipate moves. But I want to share something more personal, the lessons I have learnt unwillingly, through blunders and mistakes.
So here they are — the three key lessons chess has taught me.
1. Be prepared to sacrifice
It was 2014 and I was playing in the British Chess Championship. It was a crucial game and I knew I had to win. Pressure can melt the hardest of minds and although I can’t claim to be at the harder end of the spectrum, I made a blunder in the first few moves and knew the game was over.
But I told myself that the best I could then do was to make my opponent sweat. So I launched into an all-out attack, sacrificing pieces in a desperate attempt to generate attacking chances. Surprisingly, my opponent crumbled under pressure, making a mistake that turned the tide in my favour.
This experience taught me that in both chess and life, progress often requires sacrifice. You must give up something valuable to achieve a greater objective. Whether it’s sacrificing time, money, or immediate gratification, the willingness to give up is a necessary prerequisite to attainment.
No one can escape the grind. Those who do escape it soon tumble because of their inability to maintain what they have achieved.
2. Focus on the goal, not on gaining material
I have lost countless games because of greed. One of my recurring mistakes in chess has been focusing too much on gaining material rather than staying aligned with my ultimate goal — checkmating the opponent.
Just last week, I lost a game despite having more pieces and firepower because I was distracted from defending my king.
This serves as a powerful reminder that sustaining a razor-sharp focus on our goals is crucial. In life, getting sidetracked by short-term gains can make us lose sight of what truly matters.
It is easier said than done and quite natural to gravitate towards immediate gain. But having a rough plan leading towards your goals and rehearsing and visualising it regularly can help take the shine off the temptations dangling before us.
A clear, unwavering focus on our long-term objectives is vital for meaningful progress.
3. Understand the cost of indecision
Chess is less about instinct and more about making conscious choices. There is a pause after each move.
It’s not like football or cricket where the speed of your reaction can make the difference between winning or losing. In chess, you have got to think.
But thinking too much can be a problem too. The more you think, the more you spiral. This pause is both a blessing and a curse. While it allows for careful consideration, it also opens the door to indecision and doubt.
And doubt can paralyze you.
In the Hindu epic, the Bhagavad Gita, when the protagonist Arjuna is in a state of moral and emotional confusion about fighting the war, Lord Krishna reminds him of its consequences: “Saṁśayātmā vinaśyati” — a person full of doubts is doomed to destruction.
In chess, as in life, for any decision to be good, it also has to be timely. A decision is difficult not because the options are complex, but because the outcome is uncertain and the risk of failure feels tangible.
After twenty years of playing chess, these are the lessons that have floated to the forefront of my mind. I believe they are universal and enduring, applicable across time and cultures.
How have they helped me? At the very least, they have given me strategic clarity.
And few things in life are as valuable as clarity of purpose and clarity of goal.
