There’s something quietly magical about sitting across from someone, staring at a board of sixty-four squares and thirty-two pieces, and realizing that this ancient game still has the power to surprise you. For me, chess isn’t just a pastime or a hobby — it’s a mirror. It reflects patience, creativity, and resilience in ways that few other activities can.

I didn’t grow up surrounded by chessboards or grandmasters. My journey began when I joined a local club — just a small group of people who met once a week in a cozy community center. There were retirees who’d been playing for decades, students trying to learn their first opening, and everyone in between. I didn’t know it then, but walking into that room would open the door to a lifelong love for a game that’s as much about life as it is about strategy.

The Beauty of Strategy

Chess is often described as a battle of minds, but for me, it’s more like a dance. Every move matters, every piece has potential, and every plan must adapt to what’s happening on the board. You can’t just memorize a sequence of moves and expect to win — you have to think, evaluate, and sometimes improvise on the spot.

That’s what I love most: the strategy.

In chess, you learn to think ahead — not just about your next move, but about your opponent’s possible replies, and your reply to that reply. It trains your brain to juggle possibilities, spot patterns, and anticipate outcomes. It’s a little like solving a puzzle that keeps changing as you work on it.

The more I played, the more I realized that chess strategy mirrors life strategy. You can’t always control the position you start with, but you can control how you respond. Sometimes the best move isn’t the flashiest or the most aggressive — it’s the quiet one that strengthens your position for the future. The patience and foresight chess teaches carry over into everything else I do.

The Thrill of Competition

Let’s be honest — chess can be brutally competitive. When you sit down at the board, it’s just you and your opponent. There’s no luck, no teammates to share the load, and no way to hide behind excuses. That intensity is what makes it so thrilling.

I play both casually online and competitively over the board, and each setting brings its own flavor. Online games are fast-paced and convenient — you can play someone halfway around the world in seconds. But there’s something uniquely special about over-the-board chess. The click of the clock, the weight of the pieces, the silence that settles between moves — it all adds a kind of electricity you can’t find anywhere else.

In those moments, you feel every heartbeat of the game. Each move is a conversation between two minds, and each mistake feels like a lesson written in capital letters.

The Game That Teaches You to Lose — and Win

One of the biggest lessons chess has taught me is how to handle loss. You will lose. A lot. Sometimes you blunder a piece in the opening. Sometimes you miscalculate a tactic. Sometimes you’re just outplayed. But every loss carries a seed of improvement.

After every tough game, I used to go back over the moves, trying to figure out where things went wrong. What could I have done differently? Could I have seen that fork coming? Should I have simplified earlier? Little by little, those reflections built resilience.

And then, one day, I discovered something beautiful: the same way you can turn a lost game into a win on the board, you can do it in life.

The Comeback That Changed How I See Chess

I’ll never forget one particular tournament game. I was playing black, and within the first 15 moves, I was in serious trouble. My opponent had a strong attack on my king, and I felt like I was hanging on by a thread. I remember staring at the board, feeling that sinking sense of inevitability — I’m going to lose this one.

But then I took a breath and reminded myself of something my club coach used to say:

⁠“The game isn’t over until it’s over. As long as you have moves, you have chances.”

So I kept defending. I found one resource after another, countering threats, trading off attacking pieces, simplifying where I could. Slowly, the chaos quieted down. My position was still worse — but it was no longer hopeless.

Then, a few moves later, my opponent overextended. He pushed a pawn too far, leaving his king exposed. Suddenly, the tables turned. What had been a defensive struggle became a counterattack. I found a combination, delivered a series of checks, and before I knew it, I was the one calling “checkmate.”

That win didn’t make me a grandmaster. But it taught me something far more valuable — that persistence can rewrite outcomes. That lesson stays with me off the board, too. When life feels like it’s attacking from all sides, I remember that game. Sometimes, all you need to do is stay calm, find your footing, and keep playing.

Chess and the Art of Focus

In a world that’s always buzzing with notifications and distractions, chess is a rare refuge of focus. When you’re at the board, time seems to slow down. The only thing that matters is the position in front of you — the next move, the next idea.

It’s meditative in its own way. You learn to think deeply, to pause before reacting, and to trust your reasoning. I’ve found that the clarity I develop in chess often spills into my daily life. When faced with tough decisions, I think like a chess player: What are my options? What are the consequences? What’s the long-term plan?

The Universal Language of the Game

One of the most beautiful things about chess is that it transcends boundaries. It doesn’t matter what language you speak, where you’re from, or how old you are — the board is the same everywhere.

I’ve played games online against people from dozens of countries. We never exchange a word, but we understand each other perfectly through the moves. There’s a quiet universality in that. It’s a reminder that connection doesn’t always need conversation. Sometimes, a shared love for a game can be enough to bridge worlds.

Lessons Beyond the Board

Chess isn’t just a game of kings and queens — it’s a game of growth. It teaches you patience when plans fall apart, creativity when you need to find new ideas, and humility when you realize that even the best players make mistakes.

It’s also a powerful teacher of perspective. You can be completely lost, only to discover a saving resource a move later. You can feel certain of victory, only to miss a subtle tactic that turns the game around. The board humbles you. It reminds you that nothing is ever as simple as it seems — that success requires both skill and self-awareness.

Over time, I’ve come to see chess not as a competition against others, but as a dialogue with myself. Each game asks, “Can you stay calm under pressure? Can you think clearly when everything’s at stake? Can you learn from your mistakes?”

And every time I sit down to play, I try to answer yes — one move at a time.

Why You Might Love Chess Too

Even if you’ve never touched a chessboard, I’d encourage you to give it a try. Not because it’s ancient or intellectual, but because it’s human. It challenges your mind, yes, but it also nurtures your spirit.

You’ll discover things about yourself you never knew — your patience, your focus, your resilience. You’ll feel the joy of outsmarting an opponent, the sting of defeat, and the satisfaction of learning from it all.

And maybe, like me, you’ll find that chess becomes more than a game — it becomes a way of thinking, a way of seeing the world. Because life, in many ways, is just another board full of possibilities. And every move, no matter how small, brings you closer to your next victory.

Our top learners attended this sports lecture, focussing on the benefits and community upliftment that sport in general brings to the table.

Baie geluk aan ons eie Lyndon Julies vir die harde werk in ons gemeenskappe.