We are all accidental time travellers.

We move through our days in a blur of "busyness," convinced we are making progress. But eventually, you wake up, look in the mirror, and realize you've traveled decades without ever being truly present. You've reached a destination you never wanted, carrying a motive that isn't yours. Basically, you've spent ten years flying a plane only to realize you're at the wrong airport — and you don't even like flying.

I was an international chess player and a coach. For years, my life was measured in 64 squares and the silent, high-stakes tension of the board. But when you pour your soul into a craft and the "results" stop coming, it doesn't just hurt — it hollows you out.

The Great Deception

When I reached my breaking point, I didn't just walk away. I made a "rational" decision. I told the world I was moving on to a new career — one considered to be among the toughest in the world.

I used my IQ to convince myself I was chasing something "bigger" than Einstein. But if I'm being honest, I wasn't just chasing a goal; I was chasing an audience. I chose massive, prestigious targets specifically to impress others, fueled entirely by a hungry ego. I wanted a title so impressive that it would act as a shield.

Looking back, I can finally admit the truth: I chose the hardest path because it was the safest place to hide. If you fail at something simple, the world judges you. But if you fail at something "impossible," you get to keep your pride. No one mocks the man who fails to climb Everest; they only pity him. By choosing the most difficult career, I gave myself an out. If I succeeded, I was a genius to them; if I failed, I was a martyr who "at least had the guts to try." It wasn't a career move. It was an ego-protection strategy.

The 10-Minute Lie

I wore the mask perfectly. I read the self-help books until I could quote them in my sleep, built rigid schedules, and passed the exams. People were proud; everyone seemed happy for me. I was "performing" the version of happiness that society rewards.

But when the first real failure hit this new path, the mask shattered. I tried to patch it together with "toxic positivity." I would spend 10 minutes every morning visualizing success, trying to manifest a life I didn't actually want.

But here is the math of a dying soul: You cannot fix 23 hours of internal "lack" with 10 minutes of forced optimism. You can't put a "Live, Laugh, Love" sticker on a dumpster fire and expect it to stop smelling. I realized that self-help books are written for situations, but they aren't always written for humans. They told me how to succeed, but they didn't tell me how to be honest.

The Evolution of the Self

Eventually, the structure collapsed. I stopped. I dropped the books. It wasn't even a conscious choice to quit; it was a natural decay. I realized that my reading and my "disciplined" lifestyle were only accessories to the mask of this new career. When the career dropped, the habits dropped with it. You cannot sustain a lifestyle that isn't rooted in your actual self.

In the silence that followed, I felt the urge to evolve — not toward a bigger paycheck, but toward my own nature. I realized that even during those years when I told everyone I was done with chess, I wasn't. Even when I "decided" not to play anyone, I would look back and find that I had been playing here and there unconsciously. I couldn't leave it because it wasn't just a skill in me; it was me.

I went back to my passion. Not because I need to prove my IQ to the world, but because my passion is simply being at a chessboard. That is where I breathe. I would rather fail at what I love than "succeed" at a lie.

Why? Because when I fail at my passion, that is the only thing that fails. My soul stays intact. I can lose a game today and show up tomorrow morning happily, ready to face the resistance again. In my passion, losing doesn't feel like losing after a few hours — it feels like a puzzle I'm excited to solve. But in a lie, even a "win" feels like a life sentence.

To the Reader

Writing this is my way of reclaiming my time. It takes conscious, painful energy to sit still and reflect. It is much easier to stay busy and "time-travel" through another decade of misery.

Before you try to master the world, or the toughest career, or the highest mountain — try to master the silence within yourself. Stop choosing the "hard" path just to protect your pride.

Master your own truth first. The rest is just a game of chess. (And trust me, the chess pieces don't care about your ego).