I’ve played chess for as long as I can remember. But is it just a childhood pastime I should have outgrown, or is it still relevant? Today, right now, where do I find meaning in playing chess? These days I find it when I balance two very personal perspectives: inspiration and nostalgia.

On the inspiration side I don’t see chess games, I see chess positions–and every one of them has creative potential. Even the array at the beginning of the game can be interesting, because of its ability to surprise, befuddle and create great play. Thinking of it this way, chess is like a secret language or an ancient riddle that I want to unravel so that I can look at it again and again and admire its complex beauty. So yes, chess is definitely a creative pastime for me. It is timeless, and captures moments of thought so clear and precise that I can do nothing but smile and reflect on it from the standpoint of humility and awe. In other words, it’s cool.

I do practice. But my practice doesn’t take the form of learning the nuances of playing 13. c4 against the Taimanov Sicilian. Nor does it involve learning a lot of opening traps, which always demand a huge blunder on the part of the other player. No, my practice takes the form of tactical puzzles, mazes and board vision drills. I find as much joy in a well crafted puzzle like the one below as I do in actually playing a game. Those who know the language of chess and fail to see it as an aesthetic experience are missing out on the one thing that has enabled chess to endure and progress through the centuries, in my opinion.

White to play and eventually win.

For me, chess is very much a language, and brilliant play is its poetry. This is why winning and losing are unimportant, because that is just debate. Debate is using words as weapons; it is crude and pointless. But poetry is language in its best and highest form. Poetry is inspired. It is much more fun for me to lose a game because my opponent played a brilliant sacrificial mating combination than it is to win a game through mundane and prosaic play. In my opinion, Petrosian may have been a great champion, but Tal was an artist to be admired.

Apart from the fact that chess excites my imagination, chess is also profoundly nostalgic for me. I started playing chess because my dad taught me to play when I was around eight years old. It was something that was both mental and social for my dad, my brother and I. So far as I remember, it was the only pleasant face-to-face activity that we all shared. Mind you, we never spoke during a game or analyzed our play, but in a family where the men were known by their silence it was truly the closest thing we had to a moment of intimacy.

And especially now that my dad and my brother are both gone, memories of good times with them are important to me. The things I used to take for granted are now preserved only in things, photographs and memories. Some things are lost forever–I don’t have the chessboard my dad made–but I do have the chess pieces I learned how to play with thirty-three years ago. The felt bottoms are coming up at the edges, and the crosses on the kings were broken off decades ago, but I treasure this set because it reminds me of those childhood games.

There’s no doubt about it, chess is just a game, and playing chess is just play. But it can also excite the imagination and lead to countless hours of inspiration and study. For me, the right combination of moves can turn chess into something extraordinary–even an aesthetic experience. And the right people or environment can remind me why I play games at all–for the relationships they help sustain. At its best, that’s what chess is for me, and that’s why I keep coming back.

*Answer to the puzzle above: 1.Bh4 Kb6 2.Bf2+ Ka6 3.Bc5! Bg3 4.Be7 Kb6 5.Bd8+ Kc6 6.Bh4! Bh2 7.Bf2 Kb5 8.Ba7 Ka6 9.Bb8 Bg1 10.Bg3 Ba7 11.Bf2, and White wins (taken from Bruce Albertson’s excellent book, Chess Mazes).