Improvement is not the same as Enjoyment

 I've written a lot about chess improvement.  I have theories, suggestions, ideas and my own training plan. Getting better at chess drives me forward.  I am not alone here.  The Internet is filled with forums and videos all offering solutions on how to improve.  It's a worthy and noble pursuit.  I endorse it... but...

Improvement is not the same as enjoyment.  Getting better at chess does not necessarily mean you will like it more. It might actually do the opposite.

I remember one game in particular; it's the first game featured in my "Smithy's Minis" course, actually. I saw a check with my Queen and thought it was crushing ... one move stopped it.  Oops.  Then I dropped a piece, but my opponent dropped one right back.  The rollercoaster went up and down, back and forth, and then suddenly, magically, I had a winning attack.

I didn't know what was happening.  I was going along, playing one move at a time, completely lost in the magic.  I didn't plan ahead; I couldn't, I wasn't strong enough.  It was just one move at a time, so all the tactics literally appeared out of the blue.  I didn't know when I was losing and I didn't know I was winning until the end.

Not just this game, but every game.  It was a thrill.  I didn't know any better, so it was magic, pure magic.  I reveled in the mystery of victory and defeat. I played each game with a sense of wonder.

I have since gained over 800 rating points since that game, but I never enjoyed chess more than during those early 1400 days.

From Mystery to Science

Magic, and I'm referring to stage magic and magicians here, delights us precisely because of the mystery.  We know there is a trick involved, some clever deception, but it's not immediately apparent.  We much search hard to fully understand it, but interestingly, once we know it, it is no longer magic.  It's just a trick.  The appeal is largely gone.

Hence why magicians never reveal their tricks.

It's the same with everything.  The stars at night?  They aren't the great king of the past; they are giant balls of gas, burning billions of miles away.  We can track and predict their movements across the sky with exactness; two-thousand years from now, we know where they will be.  Don't get me wrong, this is still cool.  It's still interesting ... but it's not mysterious.  The act of knowing, of turning the mystery into a science, has taken away something.

It's the same with chess.  Before, as a beginner, it was this mysterious entity I had no hope of understanding.  I just played moves and let the mystery slowly reveal itself.  It was glorious.  Anything was possible.

As I've improved, that sense of mystery has largely disappeared.  Things are now certain.  I look at this position and I know what move Black should play and I know the resulting middlegame flow and I know how the endgame will look.  The details still need to be worked out, but there's no mystery here.  I know exactly what will happen:

Show me a position and I, generally, know what to do.  I know how to evaluate it.  I know how play should proceed.  I can even predict the exact moves with reasonable accuracy.  There is no mystery.  In some positions, it's just a question of playing out the invariable logic.  That sense of wonder?  Nowhere to be found.

From Play to Work

Chess is a game, something we play ... but it takes more effort than most things I do.  Or at least, it does now.  As a beginner, it was pure play.  I didn't grasp the complexities.  I didn't know the complexities existed.  I just moved my Knight because it seemed okay.

The better I get, the more I engage with those complexities.  I can no longer ignore them. I have to justify my moves.  I will literally stare at a position, head braced in my hands, sweat starting to form, my brain focused 100% on the problem in front of me.  'Problem' is a good word.  It's not a game to be played, it's a problem to be saved.

It's still fun, but it's not the fun of an 8-year-old running through the field kicking a ball.  It's the fun of accomplishing a difficult task.  It feels good when it is done.  I get a sense of accomplishment afterwards... but am I enjoying myself more than that 8-year-old? I don't know.

From Game to Job

Getting better at chess meant treating chess less like a game and more like a job or a school subject.  I studied different aspects; I trained my skills; I worked on weaknesses.  To do these, I had to play less.  The thing that undeniably makes chess fun, actually playing?  I did that less.

This raised expectations.  When you play a game, it's just a game.  When you start taking it seriously, it's less of a game.  I can now be disappointed.  As a beginner, I never liked losing, but I don't think I ever felt shame. I lost a game I should have won?  Oh well, better play another one.  Now, though, it feels like a moral failing.

Losing hurts more, but oddly, winning doesn't feel better.  It's actually the opposite: did I win in the right way?  No, I gave my opponent chances; I should have improved at moves XYZ.  I can win a game and be critical of my performance.  And if I win a game perfectly, doing everything right?  There's no joy or extra happiness.  That's what is supposed to happen.

I've seen this same phenomenon in other areas.  Professional pianists will dissect a performance and beat themselves up for the slightest of inaccuracies; inaccuracies maybe only they can hear. In the videogame world, no one is more critical of their performance than a professional gamer.  In pro-sports, athletes play a game that children love, but their practices look anything like fun, and commentators will go on at length about each and every misplay.

The more you focus on improvement, the more you shine a light on these critical elements.  They get bigger.  They loom large.  They might be the only thing you see, and your successes pale in comparison.

Improvement Does Not Mean Winning More

I studied chess for two reasons.  One, I just inherently enjoyed it and wanted to spend more time learning about it, but I also wanted to win more.  Winning feels good, so let's do that.  Unless you exclusively play a closed group of people, though, you don't win more.

Suppose you are 1500.  Against other 1500s, you will score 50%.  Get to 2000 and know what happens?  You still score 50% against other people your rating.  Yeah, you crush the old 1500s, but you won't play them much.  You will play people around your rating, and you will score 50%.  Certainly this is true online.

You don't win more; your wins are just against a higher caliber of player.  Interestingly, this tends to cheapen wins against lower-rated players. That is, if I beat someone lower than me, who cares?  It's supposed to happen.  The games are also frequently less interesting, such as this example:

https://lichess.org/EE35gIMb/black#1

White releases the tension and drops clean pawns. These types of unforced errors are inherently less interesting than my normal opponents and, thus, less note-worthy.  I get little if any emotional rush for winning such a game... but if I were to lose to this opponent?  The regret would be astronomical.

So, I do win more, but the wins feel less.  And against opponents where wins feel good?  I still do it at 50%.  Nothing changes. The joy of victory doesn't increase.

At the Risk of Being Misunderstood

I still enjoy chess.  Chess still feels good.  Undeniably, though, the better I get at chess the more chess changes. It used to be a magical, mysterious game, one where anything could happen. Similar to a story, one where you don't know how it will or what will happen next.  For most cases, that's long gone, replaced with a deeper understanding... and that same understanding requires more from me.  It's not kicking a ball; it's not mindless fun.  It requires more.

I still enjoy chess, but as a beginner, my enjoyment was pure, 100%, black and white.  Now, it is deeper, if that makes sense. For example, I think a piece of art is pretty or a song is catchy, but an art professor or an audiophile appreciate these at a deeper level. A beginner might think the game is fun as a game, whereas I can now appreciate the finer elements, the elements that make up the game.

Do you know the feeling of figuring out a tough problem?  Something clicks, and suddenly everything makes sense?  That feeling is similar to how I experience chess. Very different from just playing a game.

Do you want to get better at chess?  Awesome.  Just be aware that the journey will change how you perceive it.  Certainly my perception has changed, and from a pure joy standpoint, I do not enjoy chess as much as a 2200 player as I did when I was 1400.  The game I shared above?  Young Smithy would be thrilled to play like that; Present Smithy barely registers on the enjoyment scale.

I also think I enjoy chess less now, in that it occurs fewer times during a game or a study session.  When it does occur, though, I do think it's deeper and more long-lasting.  When I solve a really tough puzzle, that feeling lifts my spirit for hours afterwards.  When I see a beautiful move and understand it, it tickles a different part of the brain.  It's not just looking at beauty, it's interacting with it, if that makes sense.

That's why I stick with chess.  That's why I've always come back after periods of absence.  I enjoy chess less, but when I do experience those moments of joy, they make it worth it.