In chess, there's a concept called "hope chess." National Master Dan Heisman coined it after watching thousands of developing players make the same mistake: they'd find a move they liked, play it, and then hope their opponent wouldn't find the obvious response.
Not a wild gamble. Not a blunder. Something quieter. The player sees a move that leads somewhere promising, if the opponent cooperates. So they play it. They skip the part where they ask, "But what will they actually do?"
That's the core of hope chess. You're not planning based on what's likely. You're planning based on what you want to happen. The move you chose isn't bad in the world you're imagining. It's bad in the world that actually exists, on the board in front of you, where your opponent will do the obvious thing and punish it.
Heisman found this wasn't a knowledge problem. These players knew the principles. They could spot the danger if they looked. They just didn't look, because looking might mean their promising move wasn't so promising after all.
The gap between likely and hoped-for
The same pattern runs through ordinary decisions, and it's worth naming because the gap between "what I hope will happen" and "what will probably happen" is where most avoidable damage lives.
You sign up for unlimited yoga because the per-class math looks great. But you've never gone more than twice a week. The most likely outcome isn't daily practice. It's that drop-in would've been cheaper.
You put off the dentist because nothing hurts. But "nothing hurts" isn't the same as "nothing's wrong." The most likely outcome of skipping a cleaning isn't that your teeth are fine. It's a bigger bill later.
You leave for the airport an hour before your flight because last time traffic was light. But last time was a Sunday morning. Today is a Friday. The most likely outcome isn't a smooth ride. It's you, running through the terminal, watching the gate close.
You tell yourself you'll start meal prepping on Monday. But you said that last Monday too, and the Monday before that. The most likely outcome isn't a fridge full of containers. It's takeout again by Tuesday.
You take on a freelance project because the money is good, without checking how your next two weeks actually look. The most likely outcome isn't that you'll "find the time." It's that sleep, or your main job, or your weekend absorbs the cost.
In each case, there's a version of the future you're hoping for and a version that's actually probable. Hope chess is building your plan on the wrong one.
Hope chess isn't optimism. It's planning for the outcome you want instead of the outcome that's most likely, and then being surprised when reality doesn't cooperate.
Why we don't look
We skip the check because checking is uncomfortable. When you honestly ask, "What's the most likely result of this move?" the answer often means your plan has a hole. The calendar is full. The budget is tight. The person is still upset. Facing that means changing course, and changing course feels like losing something.
So we don't ask. We move, and we hope.
But the board doesn't care about your hopes. It responds to the position. And the position was always there to see, if you were willing to look at it honestly.
The one-move habit
The fix is the same one Heisman teaches his students. Before you commit to a move, ask one question:
"What's the most likely thing that actually happens next?"
Not the best case. Not the worst case. The most probable case, given everything you already know.
In chess, this means imagining your opponent's most natural reply. Usually it's obvious. Usually it's the thing you were hoping they wouldn't do. In life, it means pausing long enough to picture reality's actual response to your decision, not the response you're rooting for.
Before you say yes to the commitment, open the calendar. Is there room, or are you hoping room will appear?
Before you spend the money, check the real number. Not the number in your head.
Before you skip the conversation, ask yourself: has avoiding it ever made it smaller?
The habit
Before any meaningful decision, pause and ask: "What will probably happen?" If your plan only works in the best case, it's not a plan. It's a hope.
Twenty seconds of honest prediction prevents weeks of cleanup. You'll still make wrong calls. But they'll be informed ones, built on what's likely, not what's wished for.
The quiet cost
Hope chess rarely explodes. That's why the pattern persists. You get away with it often enough that it feels safe. But the costs are erosive. A calendar full of yeses you never verified. A budget strained by purchases that were each "probably fine." A relationship where small tensions stacked up because no one checked whether the other person was actually okay.
Each instance is small. The pattern is expensive.
Start this week
Pick one area where you tend to plan for the hoped-for outcome instead of the likely one. Then, before your next move in that area, ask the question honestly: What will probably happen?
If the answer matches your plan, move with confidence. If it doesn't, you've just caught a hope-chess move before it cost you anything.
You don't need to see ten moves ahead. You just need to see one, clearly, without flinching from what's actually on the board.