An Unexpected Teacher
Puzzles were never my thing. I grew up seeing them on my kitchen table, half put together under a piece of glass to hold it together. I would put a piece together with my mom and brother here and there, but I never took to it. I came across a piece of writing somewhere that discussed the benefits of putting together a puzzle, how it was good for mental health, and keeping anxiety and stress at bay; I thought, what the hell, I’ll give it a shot. I called my mom to bring over a puzzle of hers to try. When I sat down with the puzzle, I was automatically overwhelmed. The inner dialogue of how on earth people do this started up, and it didn’t end after I got three pieces in, and the chatter got louder. I said to myself, this is torture! Who has the time for this? It’s a waste of time! Puzzles aren’t for me.
The puzzle sat in my office for 3 months, untouched. At one point, I told my mom to take the thing back so I didn’t have to look at my failure every time I went to grab something in the office. For some reason, it ate at me, quite frankly; for lack of better terms, it pissed me off. After my mom’s weekly day of watching the kids, I went to the office to grab a novel off of my to-be-read pile, and there it was that damn puzzle. She didn’t take it back. I sat my book down on top of my desk and grasped the board the puzzle had been lying on. I dusted it off, brought it to the living room, lit some candles, turned on the salt lamp, and sat on the floor. One by one, I started to collect puzzle pieces into piles of things that looked alike, the opposite of how I was told how to do a puzzle, which was to start with the edge pieces. I have always been stubborn and do not like being told how to do something. Directions feel like a cage to me; fitting into boxes never worked, no matter how hard I tried. As I continued finding colors, lines, and patterns in a way that made sense to me, the puzzle pieces found their way of fitting together. I still considered the puzzle a pain, but I kept going, and little thoughts would nudge me throughout the process. When one piece wouldn’t fit, it reminded me of my controlling tendencies and the way I force against the flow of my life at times, and if I were to calm down and be patient, eventually, I would find the piece that fit faster.
An obstacle such as our dog running around and stepping on the puzzle, leaving it destroyed, I would sigh and then put the pieces back together, a parallel to life’s unknowns and the aftermath of the chaos. We never know what will throw us off the tracks and when things will fall apart. Some days, I felt like I was gaining momentum and would put pieces together back to back. Enthusiasm would flood my body, and then I would be humbled. I would run into a dry spell for minutes. Nothing would go together, and frustration would grow. I swore a piece was missing or lost; even when it was in plain sight at the same time, I just couldn’t see it. It may have been that a piece was at an angle or upside down. Sometimes, I needed to walk away and come back a few weeks later, only to get two or three pieces put in place. On other days, it was the change of lighting through the house, the help of our curious daughter, or a flip of a piece to change my perspective to find a new connection.
I couldn’t help but wonder about all the beautiful lessons this puzzle taught me. That is not to write yourself off and tell yourself something is not for you while choosing failure over trying. Going your way is something to be proud of; even if it isn’t the popular way or the “right way” by the majority, it may be your recipe for success. There will be a season where things fall apart. We can put it back together with a sense of humor or do it begrudgingly; it’s our choice. Help is necessary, even if it is from someone you don’t think can help you. Walking away and coming back when you are ready is a noble thing. You may be in the wrong place, with the wrong vision, but a perspective shift may be all you need to see what’s been there all along and never to give up hope that it is there; it’s not misplaced; it’s only a matter of time before things become apparent and continue to show up regardless of how long it takes you. If you don’t have faith, you will never complete the picture. One little section left of the puzzle awaits me. It’s exciting to be close to the finish line. I’m intrigued to know its ending and what its final lesson will be.
