on puzzles

Is it cliched to say that life is a lot like a puzzle?

Perhaps. But then again, I wouldn’t have really understood the intricacies of that analogy until I got addicted to trying to piece one back together.

This is that story. Those intricacies.

It’s a particularly addictive lure, the puzzle, like life. Once you’re drawn in, it is maddeningly hard to quit. I’ll be sitting there, cursing myself for having started, so terribly frustrated by a little tiny piece of cardboard that doesn’t seem to quite fit… until it does.

I learned that quickly with my first puzzle, sitting hunched over our wooden dinner table trying to stitch a 1,000 piece doozy of a wintry day in Montreal. I learned that, like life, the best bits are the ones with a subtle hint, an edge, or colour that flags it as the obvious choice. There’s something about the feeling of taking that piece, the winner, and putting it in its place. A dizzying sense of divinity, serendipity even. Orderly purpose then seems to buzz through the air, curse through my veins. Of course, everything makes sense when what you’ve chosen fits!

But the truth is, like life most of the time what you get is muddied shit. One piece seemingly no different than the next. And after staring at 756 unscrambled pieces for an hour, it only seems to get more muddled. You try this piece, then that one. Neither of them fit, not even the next. How terribly frustrating these moments are and it’s only with absolute frustration that you step away, vowing to give it all up for good. So you see, it’s a lot like life: Think about it too hard, stare at it too long, and you start to lose focus. Everything blurs. Nothing seems distinct, unique, important enough. Sometimes, you gotta walk away and come back when the air has shifted.

Truth is, I keep vowing to quit puzzles. I refuse to buy another! How maddening the highs and lows. How all consuming the addiction to pointless repetition and orderliness. I said I’d quit after that wintry Montreal scene. Even again after completing a raven-crested pole. But then I found an ancient world map. Thought it had to be educational, if anything. And there I was suddenly learning about countries I’d never even peaked before. Like, Coromos. A tiny paradise island whose name took a disproportionate amount of space just above Madagascar.

By now though, I think I’ve fallen into a routine with it all. I’ve learned to walk away and let magic pull me back. Because it’s kind of like that. One moment, pulling my hair, searching the heap, storming off. Then, a few hours later casually walking by, completely minding my own business when suddenly, a piece sitting just there, begging to be placed just here, exactly where it belongs! Divine. The rush! And suddenly, I’m pulled back in… .

That’s how I came to realize there’s something meditative about puzzling. That for those given hours staring at laser cut prints I’m for once not thinking about anything else. How rare. Just this. One piece, after another. Even more I think — and please bear with me here when I say, puzzle making in all its frivolity might just be one of the greatest celebrations of life. Truth. A celebration of the banality, the chaos, but also the redemption and the connection. And if I can say one more thing (please), puzzle making may very well be one of the better ways to express love — that deep commitment to seeing it through to the very end. There. I’ve said it.

Maybe I’m taking it too far. Reading too much into something that isn’t. But that’s just what connects. What fits.

So yes, I’ve thought a lot about how puzzles and life parallel one another. Which is why my next one is a mini. I want to see how granular, how close I can proximate God, stitching the pieces of my life back together.

On that note, more later.