Chasing Old Highs

Even board games aren't safe

Hello Again!

Chess is a great game. I have never been very good at it, yet it keeps me coming back for more and more. I really enjoy the shape and functions of the pieces; I like how they represent things much greater than a simple board game. I have always been fond of the knight, as it moves in a way that even the queen cannot. The horse figure, with its curved head to resemble how it moves on the board, is pleasing to my eye.

Recently, I have been playing a lot again in my free time after volunteering for an elementary school tournament. I was impressed with how some of the more serious kids played the game—taking long periods of time to make the best move they could while being in hyper focus on the board. The only sound you hear from them is the pressing of their clocks.

As I play more games on my own, I start to notice a pattern. I usually start off kind of rusty and get a little better as I play a few games. I win one or two and then get a really big win from behind that gives me a huge high.

I get such a rush from a come-from-behind win that I try to chase that feeling again. The last game I played, I was a single move from being checkmated. I was getting nervous and defensive of my king, almost entirely missing that I had a winning move set up with a pawn. I checked the opponent’s king with my pawn, and to my surprise it was actually a checkmate! This shot me up into the stratosphere. I ran around the room for a little victory lap and gave a fist pump with a big “Yes!” This is where I became humbly and uncomfortably aware of a behavior I have been letting control me for a long, long time.

I wanted to chase that feeling. It was so good. I took a little break, but I couldn’t help myself—I wanted to play again and get another win. Now I was playing with an entirely different style. I became extremely impatient. I made reckless moves far too quickly. The ticking of the clock in the corner brought me anxiety. I felt pressured to make moves. To no one’s surprise, I could not get a win. No longer was I playing with good chess tactics; I was playing to get a rush.

After a couple of losses, I got paired up with someone just as reckless as my playing. I got way ahead of him, eventually taking everything except a few pawns and his king. It even popped into my head for a moment that I should not make a move that causes a stalemate. And even so, I moved quickly and aggressively, impatient for the high. I reacted quicker than I could reason and caused a stalemate—essentially it feeling worse than a regular loss.

Normally I would beat myself up about this, being extremely critical of myself for making a mistake, especially one so easily avoidable. Yet I just kind of laughed it off and took the pent-up energy of trying to get another high from a chess win and decided to write about it. Something about pressing the computer keys with my hands is calming. I go into a meditative state where I am not even sure who is typing or what the content of my typing will be. I just let it spill and flow out of me.

Similar to running and sharing at an AA meeting, I start to lose touch with myself. I just exist. It is as if I am observing myself doing the actions, yet I myself am not doing the actions. They function on their own.

I am the kind of person who is easily caught in this type of addictive reward loop. I used to heavily play video games searching for these different highs. Some games have highs that are fast and cheap—think shooting games. Some games have highs that are drawn out and only obtained through countless hours of grinding—think adventure games. I lived for these highs.

When I finally got a hold of alcohol, this kind of reward loop was almost impossible for someone like me to get out of. The instant feelings of relief, followed by the effortlessness of finding things to do that are entertaining, coupled with the fleeting nature of the liquid being metabolized, ensured that I would always be coming back for more. Cigarettes and weed followed similar loops, with the nature of smoking delivering a rush almost instantly and the fading of the high following almost as quickly as it arrived. It would all of been so perfect if it wasn’t for the fact that everything I do that gives me a high is always returned with increasing tolerance.

Now that I am sober enough to be aware of this phenomenon about myself, I have been given the gift of being able to learn from it. When I was ignorant, angry, and drunk, it was impossible for me to identify anything about myself. All I did was notice the flaws of everything and everyone around me. Everything external—I could see how it could be fixed, how it could be improved. Never once did I have the courage to look at myself and attempt to see what kind of strange flaws I had been carrying and exerting on other people.

This, of course, is all part of the beauty of AA and sobriety. I have been given the precious gifts of being able to grow and of having profound moments in my life just doing something as mundane as playing chess on my phone. I don’t have to compulsively chase the highs of my youth anymore—looking for crazier, louder, and cooler things to do, because I have gotten so much older and my tolerance so much higher. Mindlessly chasing parties and bars and concerts and sports and TV and video games and girls and drugs and new beers, endlessly and endlessly, doing the same things for decades and wondering why I am so miserable and unfulfilled.

Cool and interesting things surround me all the time. They always have. Only now do I have the eyes to see what was always there.

What interesting things might you be overlooking?

Thanks for reading and Happy Holidays. :)