A difficult chess struggle often has the emotional reality of an over-inflated helium balloon edging towards the bursting point. A chess position can gradually mount in complexity and tension until the dynamic equilibrium is unsustainable and all hell breaks loose; but far more often it is the state of mind of the player that fails to deal with the mounting pressure. Think of all those moments in life when an irritation - be it a cacophonous song or oppressive heat or hunger - nagged at you until you snapped at someone nearby. Externally, it may appear that you erupted for no reason whatsoever, but internally you had been struggling to stifle the irritation for quite some time. When two chess players meet across the board they are often quite different in their psychological tendencies and so their states of mind can be entirely disparate while their communal language - the chess board and pieces - functions as a meeting place of alien sensibilities. So one player can be calm and relaxed while the other is a nervous wreck. We prefer to be the former.

	Seven years ago my chess trainer at the time, Gregory Kaidanov, introduced me to the concept of "maintaining the tension." The idea is that a position is often very tense and the inclination of a weaker player is to relieve the strain on his or her psyche by releasing some of the tension. This can be done by various simplifying mechanisms such as trading material, locking down the pawn structure, or making some irreversible change in the nature of the position. The stronger player will tend to prefer to keep tension in the position psychologically because he or she will be more adept at handling difficult situations; but more critically, there is a fascinatingly delicate tension that objectively exists in many complex chess positions. The two players can gradually improve their positions, but the first one to make the critical break will be at a disadvantage when the game explodes into the concrete. 

	Have you ever noticed the way a cat stalks a mouse or a lizard? The cat will inch up to it and then they will both freeze into motionlessness. Usually the prey will be the first to move, and at the first twitch the cat springs on it with lightning quickness - the mouse gives its direction up - shows it's cards first - and the cat just leaps onto where it is headed. Dogs, on the other hand, tend to be far more exuberant and are less impressive hunters. They will bark and charge after a squirrel which will easily scamper off and run up a tree. 

	To play chess with feline patience, attentiveness, and precision takes years of work. But I would recommend a slightly different language than Kaidanov's with which to approach the issue. There is no doubt that "maintain the tension" speaks well to what is happening on the chess board, but psychologically I would prefer to "be present." The mouse, after all, is destroyed by mounting tension (or fear) and the cat is simply poised. I have consistently observed this contrast in my competitive life as both a chess player and a martial artist. When the pressure is on, the great performer will have a heightened state of awareness and the less successful competitor will be on the verge of exploding from all the tension. But what is the root of this difference? This entire course will, among other things, tackle the question of what separates the average Joe from the truly great competitor.