There’s something strangely calming about the sound of a chess piece being placed on a wooden board. A click, a pause, a look. A movement that reveals more than words ever could. I’m standing in a park in Sofia, surrounded by voices, smells, movement — but all I see is the board in front of me. I’m playing chess against a hustler.
He’s been sitting here for years. You know the type. His jacket has seen better days, but his gaze is sharp. His fingers move quickly, confidently, almost mockingly across the board. I can already tell by his posture that he knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s not playing just to win — he’s playing to test me.
And I let him.
Chess as Meditation
For me, chess isn’t primarily a game. It’s an exercise in concentration, in being present, in resisting everything that tries to pull me away from the moment. I’ve always struggled to focus when people talk around me. It only takes a few voices, a laugh, a sound from the street, and my thoughts start to drift. But I’ve begun using that very thing as training — playing with distractions instead of against them.
Chess is a peculiar way to quiet the mind. To win, you have to think several moves ahead — but to think several moves ahead, you must be completely in the now. It sounds contradictory, but that’s where the magic lies. Every time you lose focus, you lose a piece — and each lost piece is a small reminder of how easily attention slips away.
It’s like meditation, only with open eyes.
Sofia – The City Where Chess Lives Outdoors
When I wander through Sofia, especially on warm days, I often see men — and sometimes women — gathering in parks with their chessboards. Someone carries a plastic bag with pieces, another has a foldable fabric board. They sit on a bench, maybe by a café, and the game begins. It’s not formal, not quiet. People talk, laugh, joke. Moves are made quickly, sometimes accompanied by a cigarette or a “dobré, dobré” when the opponent does something clever.
It’s a living scene. A piece of public culture.
I often think about how rarely I see this in Sweden. There, people sit with their phones, staring into their screens, but seldom face-to-face. In Sofia, people still meet eye to eye. One board, two chairs, and a silent agreement: let’s meet in thought.
There’s a warmth in that — a kind of respect that needs no words.
Playing Against a Hustler
The chess hustler is a fascinating character. He lives by winning — or rather, by making you believe you can win. He talks, jokes, distracts. He wants you to lose track of time, to break your rhythm.
For me, that’s the best test.
I know he’s trying to get to me. I can feel his gaze, hear his little comments, sense the crowd around us watching, laughing, shouting. I see children running by, feel the sun on my neck, the distant hum of traffic. All of it exists — but I let it exist. I don’t fight it; I let it pass like waves.
When I manage to hold focus in that chaos, something happens. The world goes quiet. I hear only my breathing, see only the board. It’s the same state I reach when I write or work on something I love — a kind of flow where time ceases to exist.
The hustler notices. He smiles, as if he understands.
Chess as Therapy for Restlessness
When you carry inner restlessness, anxiety, or stress, it’s hard to find something that truly calms you. Some people exercise, others meditate, some go for long walks. For me, chess has become a way to make my body and mind work together.
Anxiety often means your thoughts are racing ahead — “What will happen next? What if…” But in chess, you must think ahead the right way — strategically, without emotional panic. You can’t rush a move. You must accept that patience wins. That’s what makes the game so healing: it trains patience and control through something concrete and enjoyable.
It’s no coincidence that many psychologists recommend chess as a tool for managing ADHD, anxiety, or depression. It activates the brain’s problem-solving functions and dampens impulsivity. It forces you to slow down.
For me, it’s a way to stay balanced. When the world races, I sit down and play.
The Age of Distraction – and the Need for Focus
We live in an era where distraction has become the norm. We switch tabs, answer messages, grab our phones mid-thought. We’re never really here. That’s why chess feels almost revolutionary — it’s an act of pure focus.
When I sit at the board, all my attention is directed toward something that doesn’t send notifications, doesn’t offer instant rewards. It’s slow. It demands presence. It’s a rebellion against fragmentation.
I think that’s why I’m drawn to Sofia’s parks. There’s something here that we’ve lost — a kind of everyday ritual where people are simply present. No one talks about mindfulness or productivity. They just play. They meet. And in that simplicity lies something profoundly human.
The Difference Between Sofia and Sweden
When I compare Sofia to Sweden, I see how differently we treat public spaces. In Sweden, we’re orderly, quiet, restrained. We rarely talk to strangers. In Bulgaria — especially in Sofia — it’s the opposite. People talk, shout, laugh, debate.
It’s lively.
And it’s contagious.
Maybe that’s why I feel more alive here. Because in this environment, chess isn’t just a game — it’s a way to take part in society, to belong to something larger. I think Sweden lost something when we retreated into our homes, our phones, our little bubbles. We stopped playing — literally.
Training Focus Amid Chaos
When I deliberately choose to play amid distractions, it’s because I’m training something that goes far beyond chess. It’s the ability to remain centered when the world around you moves.
In my professional life, I’ve always needed that. As a production manager, stage manager, project leader — in the chaos of a festival or a premiere. I’ve learned that calm doesn’t come from silence, but from inner structure. It’s the same in chess.
Maybe that’s why I love playing against a hustler. He reminds me of reality itself: unpredictable, noisy, challenging — but also vibrant, colorful, and full of possibility.
When the Game Becomes a Mirror
They say chess reveals your personality. An impulsive person sacrifices pieces for quick wins. A strategist thinks slowly, cautiously. A dreamer tries to create beautiful patterns on the board. A cynic waits for the opponent’s mistake.
When I play, I see my own mind reflected in every move. I notice when I get anxious, when I lose patience, when I try to win through emotion instead of logic. Chess shows me who I am — for better or worse.
And each time I play, I try to become a little more balanced. A little more present. A little more calm.
The Game as a Metaphor for Life
Perhaps that’s why chess has survived for thousands of years. It’s not just a game — it’s a metaphor for life itself. We all start with the same number of pieces, but our choices, decisions, and strategies determine how long we keep them. We can make mistakes, lose our queen, yet still win the game.
There’s comfort in that.
Just like in life, it’s not about never losing — it’s about understanding why you lost, and what you can do differently next time.
As I move between Bansko and Sofia, between silence and city noise, I notice how the chessboard follows me. It’s in my bag, ready for when restlessness strikes. It’s my way to pause, collect my thoughts, and regain balance.
Epilogue – A Game in the Sun
I lost that day to the hustler in the park. He smiled, stood up, and offered his hand.
“Good game,” he said.
And it truly was. Not because I won — but because I learned something.
I learned that focus isn’t about shutting the world out, but about letting it exist without letting it interfere. That calm doesn’t mean silence, but finding your rhythm in the noise. That you can sit in the middle of Sofia’s chaos and still feel complete stillness.
For me, chess is no longer just a game. It’s a reminder that life, no matter how chaotic, can always be handled — one move at a time.
By Chris...