The Psychological Struggle: The Adult Beginner Diary - Year 2: Month 3
Chess is pain.
This month's article is taking on a much different form than I expected it to when I hit publish on last month's article. A few days after I posted that, I lost a rapid game, and fired up another in tilt - this is the first time I broke that rule since I first made it over a year ago. Needless to say I lost that game too. And it wasn’t an isolated incident. The tilt-inducing double loss was me landing at the bottom of a pit of emotional chess despair that I had been spiralling down towards since I switched from playing on chess.com to Lichess.
Tilt, frustration, self-loathing. These are all things I thought I had experienced, addressed and gotten over. But I found myself struggling to cope emotionally with mistakes and defeat just as I had when I first took up chess. And it all reached a crescendo that day. What had happened? The losses were hitting hard and the frustration and total despondency that came with them forced me to ask myself some tough questions. Over the last month I managed to answer some of them. So this is that story.
The Most Brutal Rating Non-Climb
In my last article I mentioned I had switched from playing on chess.com to Lichess so that I could maintain a separate rating for rapid (15+10) and classical (30+20) games.
I had hardly used Lichess since I started playing, so my rating was a fair bit lower than my actual strength. This was at least true for my rapid rating which was sitting around 1400. According to a rating converter my 1300 chess.com rapid rating translated to around 1700 on Lichess. 1400 to 1700. That was the task.
I thought it should be an easy 300 points to gain. I imagined it wouldn’t take longer than a couple of weeks and I expected to win every single game I played on my way up there. I was genuinely that deluded.
The climb left me humbled and broken. In fact I would hesitate to call it a climb at all. More like a long walk in the Netherlands. In my article on my first six months in chess, I wrote that I had struggled to cope with defeat emotionally when I first took up the game. Back then, despite having just started chess, I felt entitled to win every game I played. I saw my opponents as inferior and felt frustrated that I couldn’t beat anyone with a three digit rating (despite having one myself). I had watched John Bartholomew dispatch such players with ease. Such ease, that the fact I couldn’t do it myself left me feeling stupid. I felt entitled to beat players of my own rating all from some insane belief that I would just magically be better than other beginners without trying.
The same sort of thing was happening to me here - the players I was playing in my Lichess non-climb were players I perceived to be lower rated than me. I didn’t respect them. I wasn’t trying my best. I wasn’t nervous like I normally am before games. I was turning up expecting to win without any effort. In this mindset, I was deservedly and painfully dispatched by a number of opponents who I perceived to be lower rated than me. My ego just couldn’t handle losing these games. I began to doubt myself and slipped into what we can perhaps call a chess depression.
My embarrassment led to frustration and morphed into a sort of self-loathing that began to seep into every corner of my chess. If I got a puzzle wrong in my tactics training, I noticed I was beating myself up with a pretty harsh internal dialogue. Not good. I knew I had to take a break. And unlike last time, I did it straight away. I didn’t overly prolong my suffering. I guess you could call that an improvement, even if it’s not the sort of improvement I hoped to be writing about this month.
Chess is my free time. I need to get energy back in my free time. I need to use that time to relax. I need to find joy in that time. It should make me smile. If the part of my life cordoned off for fun and enjoyment had descended into frustration, anger and self-flagellation, then it was time to stop and find a way for that to change. I set out to rekindle that joy. I needed a fresh start. So I told myself I wasn’t going to play or study chess for a month.
Sticking Your Head in the Chess Sand
I lasted a week. Six days if I’m honest. And that whole week I chewed chess podcasts like nicotine gum. But it was enough.
During that week I did some self-reflection. I came to two conclusions. The first of which was that recently chess had become a sort of escape from reality for me.
Without diverging too much from chess I’ll say only that life can get hard. And since we were forced off the farm after losing the building materials, we have faced a few further challenges in reorganising and restabilizing our lives. During my break, I recognised that chess had become not a place of meaningful hard work, joy, and reward, but a place to hide from my real-world problems. I want chess to be a part of my life, not a place I go to hide from my life. Life is always going to have its ups and downs. I can’t change that. What I can change, is how chess relates to my life regardless of how it is going.
I was striking the balance right when we were working hard on the farm. Things were tough then too, but I wasn’t using chess as an escape, rather it was something I used to switch off and relax at the end of a long day. It wasn’t something to hide inside. Yes, it took my mind off of the challenges and strains of life, but it was an accompaniment to life, not an escape from it. That was an important distinction for me to make.
When chess is an escape and life gets hard, chess becomes all the more important. And as that importance grows, the losses hit harder. Chess had become like a liferaft. And when it burst, I started to drown in my own misery.
Bet that cheered you up! Don’t worry, I wouldn’t be writing about this if there wasn’t a happy ending. Hang in there.
So that was the first thing to recognise for me, that when chess becomes an escape I need to find a way to change that. But my soul searching didn’t end there. There was another lesson to be learnt from this.
The Player And The Chess Player
There had become little distinction between my opinion of myself as a chess player and my general opinion of myself.
That’s a dangerous amount of control over your self-image to give to a game. And yet slowly but surely, piece by piece, I had been placing the value of my self-worth into a number, and when it went up so too did my opinion of myself. When it went down, my self-worth plummeted along with it. As ridiculous as it sounds, there had become no separation from who I was and how good I perceived myself to be at chess.
The break was a chance to untangle those two things once more. Hopefully permanently. To get things back to the way they should be. A place where both Ono and Ono the chess player existed separately, independently and healthily.
For me, taking a break helped me to regain my perspective (or my sanity) and recognise that chess, whilst being an important part of my life, had gained a little too much importance, attention and control.
I'm going to try and stay conscious and aware of when I begin to slip into these negative patterns again. To keep checking in with myself to make sure chess doesn’t become an escape and that my self-worth doesn’t become tied to my chess playing abilities. To flip that into a positive, I’d say that chess needs to be a joyful addition to my life and that I must recognize myself as a decent human being regardless of how things are going chess wise, which doesn’t sound too unreasonable, now does it?
A Lesson In Respecting Your Opponent
After my chess break, I didn’t dive straight back in, I managed to hold off playing for an additional week. I’d like to say I spent the time I would have been playing in quiet meditation, doing Wim Hof breathing exercises, taking freezing cold showers and going for runs. And whilst I did do some of that, I didn’t completely abandon chess. How could I? I watched a couple of videos, I let myself have fun. I was trying to bring the joy back into my chess after all, so I gave myself permission to do all the things I otherwise tried to avoid. So opening videos it was!
The Nimzo is an opening I have looked at a fair bit. I think it suits my style and what better time to allow myself to look at it than when I was just having fun with chess. So I checked out a few videos. What I found in one Daniel Naroditsky video wasn't what I came to find.
The video in question was titled: Master Class / Nimzo Indian Defence. It should’ve been titled: Master Class / Respecting Your Opponent. The opponent in question is rated 1461 on chess.com, for clarity Daniel Naroditsky is rated over 2600 FIDE. At one point in the video he apologises to the chat mentioning he will need to go quiet for a bit as his opponent is out calculating him here and he needs to focus. When his opponent finds the right defensive resources to rebuff his attack you can see his admiration. There is a sort of joy and appreciation Danya takes from his opponents’ moves.
That is a mindset I have been in myself. I have been checkmated, had tactics played out against me and nodded thinking to myself, ‘Wow, nice spot, anonymous internet user. I salute you’. Compare that feeling of admiration and joy to one of a tightening in the chest, simmering rage and internal dialogue of self-deprecation and it’s obvious which is preferable. So thanks for the lesson Danya.
Since I have come back from the break I have been able to play the board and not the opponent. In trying to be kind to myself, I reflected that this was actually my first ever experience of playing against lower rated players. On chess.com I have only ever hit the random opponent button. And with the odd exception players are generally within 50 or so points of you when you do that. I guess I never really considered before that there isn’t really that much difference in skill level across a wide rating range. In fact I was surprised to learn that you are only expected to win three out of four games against an opponent rated 200 points below you. Frankly I sort of wish I knew that at the time as I might not have taken the losses so hard.
It made me consider that even ratings themselves are a little strange. Any given 1200 player could have memorised 40 moves of Najdorf theory, be an endgame wizard or a tactical genius, but have shortcomings in other areas of their play. Not everyone is well-rounded and games can enter into positions favourable or unfavourable to a certain skill set. All of this was not something I really considered before.
Regardless of how interesting it might be, it doesn’t really mean much. At the end of the day, I must play whoever sits across from me. I must respect my opponent regardless of the small or big number next to their (user)name. And I owe it to myself to try my best against them. Over- or underconfidence is a disservice both to your opponent and to yourself.
Get Yourself an Andrew
I would never have discovered half of what was going on, never mind been able to turn things around if it wasn’t for having people to talk to.
I am in the fortunate position of having an incredibly patient and understanding significant other. She will listen to me talk about how Keith Arkells’ ability to trade queens in any position is like magic. She will voluntarily stay in the room as I explain my predicament as to whether I can allow myself to switch to the Nimzo before I feel I’ve really gotten a handle on the Dutch. She’ll even listen to me talk about this stuff when she’s not strapped into the passenger seat next to me on the way to the supermarket. And whilst I am grateful and appreciative of all that. There is one thing she will never be. And that’s Andrew. And you know what? I think she’s okay with that. Because I think she appreciates Andrew just as much as I do.
I’d go as far as to say Andrew has been the best thing for my chess since I started on this path. And although I want to talk about Andrew in the context of chess, I’ll also say that with the loss of a solid chunk of social time that comes with being a parent, he’s also been a great friend.
Andrew gets it. He knows chess pain as I do. And he knows chess joy too. He’s been my hype man through rating jumps, the voice of reason through the painful plateaus and the hand that lifts me out of despair inducing dips. I appreciate him. So much that I want to stand at the top of everyone’s chess Twitter feed and scream:
“Get yourself an Andrew!”
A lot of us who took up chess as adults are on chess Twitter precisely because we don’t have ‘chess friends’. And without a background in this game, without having grown up around people who play it too, it can be difficult to know exactly whether or not the strong emotions that chess evokes are normal or not. We can be left feeling a little crazy.
I think the reason we are all so enamoured by the Adult Improver episodes on The Chess Journeys Podcast and Perpetual Chess Podcast, is not just because of the excellent improvement tips we pick up there, but because of the sense of shared connection we feel with the guests. It’s the psychological struggle we connect the most with.
Chess is a brutal game and sometimes when we act in ways that seem shameful, or when we feel the kind of strong emotions that this game evokes in us, we can feel ridiculous and left wondering whether or not we are normal. It has been vital for me to have Andrew and other members of the chess community to let me know that sometimes they feel the same way I do.
Immediately after my break I lost three games in three consecutive days. A blow that threatened to send me spiralling back into my cave of emotional despair. But Andrew took me by the shoulders and shook the sense I’d managed to gather from the break right back into me. I went 8/9 after his pep talk.
For me it has been so important to have Andrew to talk to. I can send him a game where I hung a queen, and get a reply back with a beautifully blundered mate-in-one so I know I’m not alone. He picks me up when I’m down and lets me know I’m pretty normal when I am teetering on the edge of a chess confidence crisis.
I want to encourage everyone to forge these connections. Go forth and find your chess buddy. Be the voice of reason for a chess friend who’s running short on hope. Be the hype man for your pal that's just hit a puzzle peak. Remind someone of their triumphs when they see only their defeats. Show them the path back to chess joy. And have it bring you joy too.
And if you don’t have that person in your life yet, just remember that if one random Tuesday evening you find yourself sitting on the ground, hugging your knees and rocking back and forth, wondering why you played Qb6, there is another adult improver out there somewhere, clutching the sides of their bathroom sink looking at their own tear streaked reflection in the mirror, sobbing and asking themselves why they sacked the exchange for no compensation.
I am not alone on this chess journey. I’ve got myself an Andrew. And I hope you can find one too.
Time Control
Two days into my break a thought occurred to me. Maybe I was trying to rationalise my inability to reach the 1700 rating I had fixed in my mind. Maybe I was just trying to make myself feel better. Whether it’s true or not, I felt that compared to your average Joe, I am a stronger chess player at longer time controls and a weaker one in shorter ones. The rapid games I was playing on Lichess were 15/10 games. On chess.com I had earned my 1300 rating playing almost exclusively G30. My first fear was that there is a stronger pool of players who play 15/10 than there are playing G30 and that my 1300 rating was earned unjustly by playing a weaker pool of players. Clearly a few days wasn’t a long enough break.
Much more likely however is that my suspicions were true and I am a stronger player at G30, because I am generally stronger at longer time controls. I know I am terrible at blitz. I haven’t played it much to be fair, but my chess.com blitz rating is 386. That’s not a typo. The disparity between my blitz and rapid rating is almost 1000 points. So if you think about it, a 5+5 game gives you about 8 minutes to make 40 moves. In a 15/10 game you get 21 minutes. And in a G30 game you have 30 minutes. Let’s round that off to 10, 20 and 30 minutes for a game lasting an average of 40 moves. If I’m a 400 player at 10 minutes, and a 1300 player at 30, then maybe I was crazy to assume I would automatically be a 1300 player at 15/10. It is after all a shorter time control.
I tried to link all of this back to my general enjoyment of the game and I noticed one thing: I am bad at shorter time controls, but I also don’t like them very much. I like to look at a position as a problem. I like to consider various factors in the position, calculate and come to a decision about what move to make or plan to pursue. When I can’t do that, I don’t really enjoy myself. Basically if I don’t have enough time on the clock to come to an informed decision and I have to play off of intuition, then regardless of whether I win or lose, it's not a nice experience for me as a chess player. I’m not a massive fan of the adrenaline pumping, piece throwing mayhem of the heart attack inducing time scramble. I like to enjoy my chess with a cup of tea. And so whilst I recognise that the time scramble is a part of chess and one I will need to embrace and get used to, I can at least limit these experiences by sticking to longer time controls for now.
Considering that my focus was on bringing joy back into my chess life, I decided to ditch 15/10 for now and play all my training games at a 30+20 time control. I have enjoyed those games enormously over the last two weeks and I feel that the deep thinking and calculation made possible for me with a bit more time on the clock is ultimately much more beneficial for my chess.
Three Month Stat Update
I was initially quite excited to post an update on my progress here after my first three months of the year. But I’ve decided not to. You will receive no update because it doesn’t matter if the numbers go up or down right now. I’ll eventually share the numbers in a blog post at the end of the year, but you know what? If they haven’t gone up by then it won’t matter either. Because I will know endgame theory. And sure maybe I won’t have every position perfectly understood and memorised but you can be sure I’ll be pretty damn close. You can’t rate that. I’ll have one chunk of knowledge and skill that I’ll carry with me for the rest of my chess life. That’s progress.
I want to be a master one day. And if I want to get there, I’ll need to have my endgame theory locked down. So you could say that by learning endgame theory this year I am 5% of the way to being a master. Now if I reached the online equivalent of 1500 FIDE (which was my original goal I set out at the start of the year) could you then say I was 5% closer to the master title? Not really. I guess the answer would be: it depends.
If someone told you that in one year from now, you could have a solid understanding of almost every theoretical endgame there is in chess or a +400 rating, which would you pick? I know which one I would choose. This mindset shift away from rating and back on to learning and skill-building has been part of getting back on track for me. So ask yourself: what is your next year, or month, or week going to look like? Are you going to gain 50 points or 50 patterns? 10 points or 10 master games memorised? 5 points or 5 strategic themes? Which one is more valuable to you?
Conclusion
Writing this feels like a big sigh of relief. I really feel much better. My relationship with chess has been reformed again. It took one excellent chess friend, a chess break, and some deep philosophising to do it. Now I am meeting the challenges of life whilst playing a game I have fallen in love with again. And it feels good. Chess is enriching my experience and I’m grateful for it.
You’d think it's just a game, right? But it seems derogatory to define this magnificent thinking beast as such. Becoming a chess player is a testing journey of triumph and despair. It’s a hefty burden we have all welcomingly strapped to our backs, because for us, walking up the mountain of life just didn’t seem brutal enough. Perhaps we do it because chess unveils parts of ourselves we might never have otherwise discovered. Or perhaps it is as the Stoic philosopher Seneca said:
“No man is more unhappy than he who never faces adversity. For he is not permitted to prove himself.”
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The next post I publish will be the first article in the new “Training Method of the Month” series. I interviewed a giant of the Adult Chess Improvement world for that article and I’m really pleased with how it’s coming together. To get notified when that is published you can follow me on Twitter, on Lichess, or add me as a friend on chess.com.
