Sometimes life brings you to a point where you have to learn to be still again.
For me, it was the chessboard that showed me what peace sounds like.
I’ve always been someone who thinks a lot.
About people, about situations, about what’s said – and what’s left unsaid.
Sometimes too much.
2024 was a year full of movement, energy, and turning points.
Professionally, it was one of my most successful years –
and at the same time, the year in which I was deeply disappointed by someone.
A year that changed me.
One night, I stumbled upon the series “The Queen’s Gambit.”
I remember it clearly: I was sitting there, and suddenly there was this calm,
this fascination, this clarity.
I realized that chess isn’t just a game –
it’s a language. A language of silence, of strategy, and of truth.
I bought myself a chessboard and started to play.
Whenever my mind grew too loud and my thoughts began to race,
I would sit down and play.
And as I thought, planned, sacrificed, and moved,
everything inside me grew quieter.
Chess healed me.
Not overnight, but move by move.
It taught me that control isn’t everything.
That sometimes you have to lose to understand.
That you can’t save every piece –
but you can always save yourself.
I usually play at night.
When the world becomes silent and my thoughts grow louder,
chess brings me back into balance.
Often, I play until I’m tired –
and then I fall asleep peacefully,
knowing that the next day is just another move.
The world is constantly comparing.
It measures, counts, evaluates – followers, success, shine.
But in the end, it’s not numbers that define us.
It’s our values. Our authenticity. Our loyalty.
And the courage to stay true to ourselves – even when no one is watching.
“It is not our abilities that show who we truly are,
but our choices.”
— Albus Dumbledore
I’ve made my choice:
For honesty. For authenticity.
For staying true to myself – in a world
where many would rather play a role than be real.
Chess taught me that even in moments that seem hopeless,
there’s always a right move left to make.
Poker taught me that luck rewards those
who keep playing – even when the cards look bad.