Anchored #3: It Chess Not Checkers

Recently, I’ve begun learning the game of chess. I’m fascinated by how each match unfolds—with careful planning, layered nuance, and the need to adjust strategies, sometimes on the fly. Every game includes an opening (early moves that set up the board), a middle game (where the major action happens and new possibilities emerge), and the ending (where the outcome is determined, and wise play reaps its reward). The more I play, the more I see how chess resembles the journey of marriage—full of twists, opportunities, and the fact that neither success nor failure happens by accident.

It would be easier, of course, if marriage were more like checkers. Checkers is fun, straightforward, and familiar to most of us from childhood. The rules are clear: move your piece, jump an opponent, strive to reach the far side of the board. There’s little room for subtlety, and you can win without much planning beyond reacting to what’s directly in front of you. For many young couples, marriage at first glance seems like a game of checkers—simple moves, obvious goals, and the assumption that, with enough pieces, you’ll find your way.

But the truth is, marriage is really much more like chess. In chess, you cannot play without some kind of plan. Great players know their openings—those first, decisive movements that aren’t just about surviving, but setting up the game for long-term success. In marriage, our “openings” are just as critical: they’re the decisions we make in the early days—how we communicate, what kinds of boundaries or agreements we form, how we prioritize each other. It’s easy to underestimate how much these initial steps matter, but seasoned couples will tell you that careless early moves can haunt you for years, while thoughtful ones provide stability through every season.

The middle game in chess is where the real complexity unfolds. Here, you have to respond to the unexpected, pivot when things change, and occasionally sacrifice in order to build for the future. It’s the part of the game that separates beginners from masters. Scholars of chess call this the “battle for the board”—where position, strategy, and vision are more important than brute force. In marriage, the middle game looks a lot like real life: jobs change, children arrive, setbacks happen, and we discover new strengths or wounds in each other. The best chess players—just like the healthiest couples—know how to adjust. They don’t cling to plans that aren’t working; they pivot, ask for help, and recognize evolving realities. Part of this skill is humility—the willingness to admit you don’t know everything, and the wisdom to learn from others who’ve played the game longer.

Then there’s the endgame. In chess, the endgame is famously about precision and patience; with fewer pieces on the board, small mistakes loom large, and every move counts. Endings in marriage are about legacy: after decades together, what remains? How do you finish well, with grace and gratitude for what you’ve built? Here, the advice of seasoned players is clear—never lose focus, even when the board has changed, and always protect what matters most.

Checkers and chess are both enjoyable games. I love the thrill of chasing down pieces in checkers, just as I love the mental challenge of a complex chess match. The difference is that chess demands something more—it calls for strategy, ongoing learning, and resilience. You can win a game of checkers just by showing up and making basic moves, but to grow in chess, you need commitment to mastering new tactics, considering possibilities ahead of you, and sometimes being willing to let go of short-term gain for long-term flourishing.

Many people say marriage is work, and while that may be true, I don’t believe it’s meant to sound awful. Yes, marriage requires effort, but all the best things in life do. Sometimes when folks hear “marriage is work,” they imagine endless chores, arguments, and drudgery. But that’s not what real work is. In marriage—as in chess—work is about intentionality. It means entering into the partnership with a plan, gathering wisdom from mentors and those who’ve gone before, and making a commitment that lasts beyond a bad day or a rough season.

Just as there are entire books and communities devoted to learning the best chess strategies—openings like the Sicilian Defense, middle games full of forks and pins, endgames practiced by masters—marriage too can be a place of shared wisdom. Couples who thrive aren’t just lucky, and they aren’t simply living by reaction. They’re learning, adjusting, maintaining the commitments that anchor them when the board gets wild.

So if you’re just starting out in marriage—or if you’re in the “middle game”—know this: it’s not a simple back-and-forth of moves like checkers. It’s not always easy. But it can be endlessly rewarding. Both partners have to show up, learn, adjust, and remain committed. Marriage doesn’t just “work” because you put in your time; it works best when you build a plan together, when you listen to those with wisdom, and when you keep protecting each other, move after move, year after year. Like chess, the real joy is discovered not just in winning, but in playing well, together, all the way from the opening to the endgame.