Well, hey there, people whose lives either fit together perfectly or not:
My zen is not gardening or sudoku, (I kill plants and get obsessed with unfinished logic puzzles.) instead my meditative peace comes from assembling jigsaw puzzles. I get great pleasure out of connections - whether the tricky beginning, the endless middle, or the dramatic rush at the end - I love all of it. In real life I tend to get distracted and leave projects unfinished. Puzzles are a daily reminder of all the half-finished things in my real life.
Although they take up far too much physical space for a Manhattan apartment, I always have a jigsaw puzzle in progress. They help me remember to focus on problems one small bite at a time, they remind me there are many ways to look at an issue, and they deliver a necessary rush of dopamine as I walk past and discover a piece that fits perfectly.
And among the metaphors of puzzles in general (feel free to invent them in the comments—there are a plethora)— I noticed this morning that the WAY I solve a jigsaw puzzle has a lot to do with the way that I approach life.
I hide always hide the picture after choosing the puzzle FOR the picture.
Knowing exactly where everything should go by locating it on the box makes the whole process too easy—and that’s boring. Why on earth does it give me pleasure to actively make a task harder? The world will not run out of new puzzles. Literally or metaphorically.
I guess having only a vague idea of the outcome lets me enjoy the process. I’m not worried about speed, and I’m not worried about making mistakes. I’m just assembling.
If nothing else, it trains me to overcome real life problems. I may not know the ultimate outcome of many things right now - but that doesn’t mean I can’t solve some small part of the huge problem, and enjoy myself along the way.
WRITING NEWS
Autocorrect changed that title to wiring news which reminded me of my “small” kitchen improvement: two of the hockey puck lights so painstakingly and with great frustration installed under our kitchen counter only a few years ago have burnt out, and instead of being simple-to-replace as the original advertising had us believe…
I went to the deserted and sad Bowery lighting district and despite visiting all four remaining light stores (yes, another casualty of the pandemic/Amazon) not one of these stores carried replacements that matched. The internet also had no replacements. I ordered two similar sets out of sheer hope, but they were either too small or too big, so I’ve been wrestling with stripped screws and hardwood in awkward upside-down pseudo yoga positions.
I took down three pucks, moved the transformer, and that was the moment I discovered I don’t have the upper arm strength to use a simple screwdriver to get screws into hardwood from beneath and angled upward. The ghost of my father told me I needed a drill to make pilot holes.
Luckily my neighbor across the hall had a drill (pictured earlier) that not only got the job done in seconds but gave me some amazing sense-memory of sitting beside my father on a little step-stool while he did work - car work, wood shop work, home repairs - I vividly recall him showing me the drill and letting me see how heavy it was, smelling the ozone in the air, hearing that high-pitched motor and clapping my hands over my ears and laughing, his insistence that I join him in wearing safety glasses which, now I think of it, he must have taken from the chemistry lab (I wore safety glasses for this task as well - RIP Dad, you’re still a great dad). I thank that sense-memory for knowing instinctively that the key to tighten the chuck (the part that holds the drill bit) would be attached to the power cord with electrical tape.
It was.
All of this is to say that I did not write again this week. I went to two readings and my friends were terrific. It made me want to write again. I will. I found a room for my mother in law’s memorial (September 21) and I have started seriously cleaning out her apartment. I do not wish this task on anyone, and yet there is a catharsis as you recognize that her beautiful things might be loved onward into history. They become detached from her stories and memories; they revert to simply the beautiful things that caught a young woman’s eye in Viet Nam or Tibet or at a street market in New York. And some of them are shabby and need to go, while some still gleam with promise and need to recirculate in the world.
The only actual writing news I have is that I received a follow up to the New York Times telling me that they are holding one of my essays for consideration. They asked for my contact information. About a day after I sent it, I got a second email that said “you may not have seen our last email” so I resent all the contact information. Yesterday, they said, “There appear to be some bugs in our system that we are trying to address. We appreciate your forbearance.” Which of course means…. the whole exchange was probably a glitch on their auto-response system. Disappointing, but it was fun to have a burst of hope for a second.
I think I’d rather have the burst of hope and then the disappointment than never feeling the hope at all.
Random Final Thought:
Is there some reason why the X-ray apparatus at the dentist that you put in your moth to hold the film steady hasn’t become more comfortable for patients since Marie Curie was discovering the need for lead aprons?? Why are the edges not soft rounded rubber or whatever squishy form-finding material? Why must they be hard plastic that cut you? Why are there corners at all?? Engineers and medical people—get ON this.
Instead of a photo of a dentist office or teeth or whatever, I give you this beautiful photo:
1. "I always have a jigsaw puzzle in progress. They help me remember to focus on problems one small bite at a time, they remind me there are many ways to look at an issue, and they deliver a necessary rush of dopamine as I walk past and discover a piece that fits perfectly." On the one hand, this would drive me nuts (and has). On the other, I'm much better off when I can focus one bite at a time. Not nearly often enough. I always want the whole, complete thing. Which is why I've always had trouble with picking up big skills like playing instruments or learning foreign languages.
2. "Why on earth does it give me pleasure to actively make a task harder?" You are a juggler.
A college friend grew up with a father who insisted it was cheating for anyone to see the picture on the puzzle box. One of those other-people's-families things that you discover and are gobsmacked by--just as she was astounded that we would put the cover of the box right there on the table. We love puzzles. Did a lot during covid.