puzzle hypothesis.

I enjoy doing puzzles on random occasions. It's tedious and hardly satisfying, but it's still something that can provide a unique satisfaction. That's what she said.

But really. You could work at one for hours at a time, monotonously piecing together every small component, until finally, you've rearranged the big picture. You can take a step back and see what your work has all been for.

And then you throw it in the box again, so it can collect dust for a few more years.

So why do I like puzzles? Simply, because they're simple. They represent small victories. You work so long to achieve the end result, and when you do, you have a brilliant piece of art to look at for a day or two.


I guess the point I'm trying to lead to is, life is not like one big puzzle. It's about a million little ones. You accomplish one thing, get to bask in that happiness for a short period, and then you store it as a memory and throw it back in the box. Then you repeat the process. In short, it's a constant process. Finish one, move onto another. Or work on a few at the same time. Or rot in laziness and not put any pieces together for a week or two.

Like human goals, puzzles vary in difficulty. The tough goals, like getting into a good college, or succeeding at a long-term relationship, are 5000 piece puzzles. The easy ones are more like the 25 piece puzzles you can buy at the dollar store of Finding Nemo and Arthur, and would probably be something like learning how to make a grilled cheese sandwich or waking up on time. Additionally, it's easier to take pride in a giant puzzle than it is an itty bitty one a four year old could do.

Of course there are obstacles. When we lose just one piece, the puzzle becomes unfinish-able, and the goal becomes impossible to attain. When the angry family pet bumps the table and the puzzle crashes to the ground in a slow-motion avalanche, we must start over. When a piece breaks, we must take the time to fix it, so it fits in neatly.

Old, completed puzzles that are collecting dust are our memories. We either can give them to others, by telling them of such memories, or let them die when we do.

Damn. Now I really want to go find an old puzzle and do it.

In the grand scheme of things though, it probably wouldn't be a small victory I'd want to cherish. To my future grandchildren, I'd probably give them my dusty puzzles that are valiant, success stories. Or romantic, lovely ones.

If only one thing makes sense in this entire entry, I want it to be this. I want my figurative closet to be full of dusty puzzles. I want to do a lot, and I certainly don't want to forget any of it.