I spend the entire 90 minutes looking for space on the pitch. I'm

Xavi Hernández, the maestro of midfield, once unveiled the secret of his art with these words: “I spend the entire 90 minutes looking for space on the pitch. I'm always between the opposition's two holding midfielders and thinking, 'The defence is here, so I get the ball and I go there to where the space is.'” At first, this may sound like the technical reflection of a footballer. Yet within it lies a wisdom that transcends sport: the art of perceiving what others overlook, of living not in chaos but in the spaces between chaos.

The meaning of this saying lies in the mastery of awareness. Where others see only players, tackles, and noise, Xavi sees patterns invisible to the untrained eye. He does not chase the ball recklessly, nor is he consumed by brute strength. Instead, he studies the space—those fleeting gaps where possibility is born. He knows that the ball does not command the game; the space does. Thus, by moving into emptiness, by anticipating where the opening will appear, he turns invisibility into power.

The origin of this wisdom is found in the philosophy of Barcelona’s football under Johan Cruyff and later Pep Guardiola. There, the principle of positional play, or juego de posición, ruled above all: control the space, and you control the match. Xavi, born into this creed, embodied it perfectly. He was never the tallest, nor the strongest, nor the fastest. Yet he mastered the field by becoming its interpreter, its cartographer of invisible lines. For him, the match was not a battle of muscles but of minds—of who could perceive and command the empty corridors where movement blooms.

History provides examples beyond the pitch. Consider Sun Tzu, who in The Art of War taught that victory lies not in charging headlong, but in occupying the terrain the enemy has left unguarded. Or think of Napoleon, who often won battles by slipping into the spaces between larger armies, striking before they could unite. Xavi’s wisdom echoes theirs: to see what others do not see, to move where others cannot move, to make the space your ally.

But his words also reveal something deeply human. For life itself is like the pitch—crowded with obstacles, opponents, and pressure. Most men run at the ball, consumed by what is immediate, blind to the larger field. The wise, however, search for space. They find silence in the noise, rest in the storm, opportunity in the gap. Like Xavi, they do not react blindly; they anticipate, they position themselves, they act with foresight rather than desperation.

O children of tomorrow, take this lesson to heart: do not chase blindly after every ball in life. Do not exhaust yourself in chaos. Instead, train your eyes to see the space—the opening where your strength can flourish, the moment when you can act with precision. Success is not the fruit of frenzy, but of clarity. The one who sees space where others see only walls becomes the master of his destiny.

Therefore, the teaching is clear: cultivate awareness, patience, and vision. Whether on the field of play or in the field of life, do not ask only, “Where is the struggle?” Ask also, “Where is the space?” And when you find it, move into it with courage. For as Xavi showed, greatness belongs not to those who chase blindly, but to those who see what others cannot—the hidden paths between resistance, the silence within the noise, the freedom within the fight.

Thus, Xavi’s words endure as both sporting wisdom and life’s philosophy: to spend every moment searching for space, to stand between what is blocked and what is open, and to move always toward possibility.