Tag: Life

What Chess Taught Me About Blind Spots

There is a moment in chess that feels almost embarrassing.

You’re focused. Deeply focused. You’ve been calculating lines, thinking ahead, maybe even feeling proud of your position… and then it happens.

You lose a piece.

And the thought comes immediately: Nooooo. How did I not see that???

Many times this was not because your opponent made a brilliant move, but because you simply didn’t see it.

I’ve had that moment more times than I’d like to admit. But recently, I realized something: this doesn’t only happen on the chessboard. It happens in life.

When I play chess, my attention tends to narrow. I focus on what I want to do—my strategy, my plan, my next move. But while I’m focused on that, I stop seeing everything else. Other pieces. Other threats. Other possibilities.

And then I get surprised.

Not because the information wasn’t there, but because I didn’t see it.

So I started asking myself a different question: What am I not seeing?

Something interesting began to happen after I started playing chess. That question didn’t stay on the board. It started appearing in my thoughts at random moments during the day—especially when I was making decisions. In conversations, at work, even in small everyday choices, I would suddenly pause and think: What am I not seeing? Almost as if chess had trained a new layer of awareness in my mind.

Life works in a similar way. We move forward with intention. We set goals, we make plans, we act with purpose. And yet, we still miss things. Signals from other people. Risks in our decisions. Opportunities outside our current focus. Patterns we repeat without noticing.

Just like in chess, the issue is not intelligence. It’s awareness.

We don’t see everything. We see what we are looking for.

That realization reminded me of Aristotle, who believed that understanding reality requires looking at it from multiple perspectives. But as humans, we naturally simplify. We narrow our field of vision to what feels most relevant in the moment.

In modern terms, we call this selective attention, tunnel vision or even cognitive bias. But on a more personal level, it simply feels like being certain… and still being wrong.

Chess, in that sense, becomes a practice in humility. It is not only about thinking ahead, but about learning to see the whole board. Stronger players develop a habit of pausing before they move. They ask themselves what changed, what is being threatened, which pieces are now vulnerable.

They train themselves to look beyond their intention.

This idea has started to change the way I make decisions in my own life. Now, when I feel certain, I try to pause. I ask myself what I might be missing, what assumptions I’m making, what could go wrong that I’m ignoring. I try to imagine what an outside perspective would notice that I cannot see from where I stand.

Sometimes, nothing changes. But sometimes, everything does.

It is not about overthinking or doubting every step. It is about expanding awareness, even slightly, to include what is outside of our immediate focus.

Chess humbled me in a way I didn’t expect. It showed me that even when I feel focused, capable, and in control, I can still miss what is right in front of me.

And maybe the goal is not to see everything. That would be impossible.

Maybe the goal is simply to stay curious enough to keep asking:

What am I not seeing?

Things Will Happen When They’re Meant To

Lately, I’ve been reminding myself of a phrase that feels simple but profound: “Las cosas van a salir cuando tengan que salir.”

In English, it means, “Things will happen when they’re meant to happen.”

I’ve been holding on to it like a quiet mantra — especially on the days when my to-do list feels endless. Between work responsibilities, PhD deadlines, family matters, and personal goals that always seem to move to “next week,” it’s easy to feel like I’m constantly behind. Yet, this phrase reminds me to breathe, to trust that not everything has to happen right now, and that timing — real timing — has a rhythm of its own.

We live in a culture that celebrates control, planning, and productivity. I’m someone who loves structure and progress, but I’ve also learned that not everything can be forced. There’s a point where pushing harder doesn’t help — it only drains you. Some things need time to unfold, and others simply need you to be ready for them.

Philosophically, this idea isn’t new. The Stoics spoke about focusing on what’s within our control and letting go of what isn’t. Aristotle taught about balance — what he called the Golden Mean — the virtuous midpoint between excess and deficiency. It’s the art of doing not too much, not too little, but just enough. And the ancient Greeks also had two words for time: chronos and kairos.

Chronos is the time we measure — the quantitative kind. It’s the hours, days, and deadlines that structure our lives. It’s the calendar reminders, project plans, and submission dates. Chronos is linear, logical, and necessary — it keeps us moving and helps us make progress.

But kairos is different. Kairos is qualitative. It’s not about the clock — it’s about the moment. It’s the right, opportune, or meaningful time — the moment when something feels ready, when everything aligns. Kairos can’t be scheduled; it’s sensed. It’s when an idea suddenly clicks, when healing finally begins, when clarity appears after weeks of uncertainty.

I think a lot of our stress comes from trying to live only in chronos, while life often unfolds in kairos. We measure our progress by tasks completed, but we rarely give space for the kind of progress that can’t be tracked — emotional, intellectual, or spiritual growth.

This idea has shown up in my life in many ways. During my PhD, I’ve learned that insights don’t arrive on command; they come when I’m ready to understand them. In my personal life, especially after my dad passed away, I’ve realized that grief, healing, and even joy follow their own timeline. You can’t rush them. You can only stay open to them.

So I keep reminding myself: things will happen when they’re meant to happen. Not as an excuse to procrastinate, but as a reminder to trust the process — to do my part with integrity and let life take care of the rest.

Maybe the point isn’t to control time, but to live wisely within it — to work with chronos while staying open to kairos. Because the most meaningful things rarely arrive on schedule. They arrive when we’re finally ready for them.

When Life Feels Upside Down: Lessons in Real Well-Being

When life is steady, well-being feels like a checklist: sleep enough, move your body, eat well, take your supplements.

But when everything turns upside down—when you’re grieving, overwhelmed, stretched thin—that’s when the real lessons come through.

The last few months have been some of the hardest I’ve had in a long time. I lost my grandmother. Then, a few months later, I lost my father.

I’ve been balancing multiple projects at work, in the middle of a PhD, and somehow trying to show up as a leader, a student, a sister, a daughter, a friend… all while still taking care of myself.

Here’s what I’ve learned (and am still learning) about well-being—not the Instagram version, but the quiet, raw, deeply personal kind:

1. Grief Doesn’t Ask for Permission

Grief doesn’t wait for the weekend. It shows up in between meetings and to-do lists.

In my case, both phone calls came on Mondays—one just as I was starting my workday, the other at night, while I was in the middle of a PhD class.

Even though I knew those calls could arrive at any moment, when they finally came, they still shocked me.

Nothing could have prepared me to receive them.

Grief is deeply personal; each of us experiences it in a different way.

I’ve learned to let it in, even if just for a moment—a deep breath, a memory, a tear.

I don’t push it away. I try not to judge it.

2. Self-Care Becomes Survival

Self-care has become as simple as drinking water and eating.

Sitting in silence for five minutes. Taking a few days off from work and classes. Going out for a walk.

These tiny acts have become my anchors—small reminders that I’m still here.

3. People Are the Pillars

During these months, I’ve leaned on people more than ever. Friends, family, professors, other PhD students, and coworkers have been there in many different ways.

Sometimes a simple “I’m sorry to hear that” went a long way.

Well-being isn’t a solo mission—it’s collective.

We heal in community, even if the gestures are small.

4. Permission to Pause

One powerful thing I gave myself: permission to do less.

To postpone a task. To take longer walks. To cry during a break.

To spend more time with my family and truly be present.

Sometimes I feel like I spend most of my life thinking and doing.

Now, I’m learning to take time to feel and just be.

Productivity can wait. Healing can’t.

5. It’s Okay Not to Feel “Okay”

I’ve stopped pretending everything is fine.

And strangely, that honesty made me feel more grounded.

There’s peace in truth.

And there’s strength in vulnerability.

Closing Thoughts

These months have reminded me that well-being isn’t about perfection—it’s about compassion.

It’s about creating space for all parts of life: the joy, the sorrow, the chaos, the calm.

And learning, little by little, that I can carry both.

The Strength Formula: Redefining Success from the Inside Out

What if success wasn’t about speed, hustle, or constant achievement?

What if, instead, success was a quiet, deliberate unfolding — a path walked with clarity, depth, and strength?

Over time, and through deep reflection, I’ve come to realize that success is not a singular event. It’s not a promotion, a number on a scale, or a round of applause. It’s the result of a process — an inner architecture built through daily choices, mindset, and values.

I call it: The Strength Formula.

Success = Self Awareness + Prioritization + Focus + Consistency + Patience + Slow + Curiosity + Flexibility + Courage ⇒ Strength

Each component plays a vital role — and together, they don’t just lead to success.

They become the very definition of it.

🔹 Self-Awareness

Everything begins here. Without knowing yourself — your values, limits, needs — it’s easy to chase someone else’s version of success. Self-awareness is the compass.

🔹 Prioritization

You can’t do it all, and you shouldn’t try. Prioritization is how you honor your energy, time, and vision. It’s not about saying “no” to everything — it’s about saying a resounding “yes” to what matters.

🔹 Focus

The art of being fully present. Focus turns scattered effort into meaningful progress. It’s what helps you go deep instead of wide — and deep is where growth lives.

🔹 Consistency

Not glamorous, but essential. Consistency turns sparks into fire. When you show up — especially when you don’t feel like it — you’re quietly becoming unstoppable.

🔹 Slow (Deliberate Action)

This one matters deeply to me. I separated slow from patience because slow still implies action — but it’s deliberate, thoughtful, intentional. In a world that rewards urgency, slow is a rebellion. It says: “I’m here for the long run.”

🔹 Patience (Stillness in Time)

Patience, on the other hand, is stillness. It’s the quiet strength of waiting, trusting, allowing things to unfold. It’s resting when needed. It’s knowing that some progress is invisible until it blooms.

🔹 Curiosity

Curiosity turns obstacles into questions. It keeps the journey playful. It’s the opposite of ego — curiosity is humble, open, and always willing to learn.

🔹 Flexibility

Because life will never go exactly as planned. Flexibility is how you adjust without losing your core. It’s strength in motion — like bamboo in the wind.

🔹 Courage

The glue. Courage is needed to start, to keep going, to speak up, to rest, to pivot. Without it, none of the above take root. It’s the quiet power to choose growth, even when it’s uncomfortable.

💪 Why Strength?

Because success without strength is fragile.

And strength — true, rooted, resilient strength — comes from living these values day by day. Mental strength, emotional strength, physical strength… they’re all connected.

This isn’t a formula for achieving more. It’s a formula for becoming more.

📝 Reflection

If this formula resonates with you, try asking yourself:

  • Where in this formula am I already strong?
  • Which part needs more attention right now?
  • What would happen if I lived this formula, one day at a time?

You don’t have to do it all perfectly. Just consistently. Just slowly. With curiosity, flexibility, and courage.

That’s how strength is built. That’s how success begins.

The Two Paths of Learning: Training and Observation

We’re always learning—whether we realize it or not. But not all learning happens the same way. Some lessons come from structured instruction; others sneak in quietly through observation. As I reflect on my own journey—through leadership, academia, and personal growth—I’ve come to see these two paths as essential, complementary, and powerful in different ways.

1. Learning by Training: The Power of Structure

This is the kind of learning we associate with classrooms, certifications, online courses, or coaching. It’s formal, deliberate, and often efficient. You’re taught the steps, the why behind them, and the expected outcomes. It’s the world of frameworks, blueprints, and best practices.

I’ve relied on this kind of learning many times—when preparing for a new role, earning a certification, or diving into a new field. It gives clarity and accelerates mastery. But it has its limits. Training can tell you what to do and how to do it, but it doesn’t always show you when to apply it, or why it matters on a human level.

2. Learning by Observation: The Art of Absorption

Then there’s the quieter kind of learning—the one that happens when no one is officially teaching. You learn by watching how a colleague handles conflict, how a mentor speaks in meetings, or how a friend responds to challenge. This path is slower, less predictable, but often deeper.

I’ve learned some of the most important lessons in leadership and life simply by observing others. How someone listens. How they remain calm in chaos. How they navigate ambiguity with grace. These lessons can’t be taught in a slide deck. They must be witnessed.

And sometimes, the most impactful observations are those that teach us how not to act.

There have been moments where watching someone interrupt, dismiss, or act from ego made something crystal clear: I don’t want to be like that. These moments can be just as formative as witnessing excellence. They sharpen our values and guide our choices, often more powerfully than a textbook ever could.

The Dance Between the Two

Neither path is better—they work best together. Training gives us a foundation. Observation gives us nuance. One gives us the map; the other helps us read the terrain. Together, they build not only knowledge but also wisdom.

As Aristotle might say, we don’t just learn by knowing—we learn by doing, imitating, and reflecting. He explores these key philosophical ideas about learning and knowledge in his works, particularly the Nicomachean Ethics and Poetics.

A Question to Reflect On

Where in your life are you relying too much on training and not enough on observation? Or vice versa?

Sometimes the next lesson is right in front of us—quietly unfolding in someone else’s actions, or reactions.