Meredith’s Musings | Puzzle Pieces

article by MEREDITH MCKINNIE

In middle age, we find ourselves suddenly fascinated by a “grandma hobby,” some analog activity that harkens back to a desire for a simpler time. Some of us take up gardening or crocheting; others of us carry around sour dough starters. Husband wanted some fancy binoculars for his birdwatching. His level of contentment at simply sitting at the bay window and talking to the hummingbirds who pay him no mind is the cutest spectacle. 

Well, my indulgence post-40 is jigsaw puzzles. I just love them, especially when I’ve framed the puzzle and start attacking the messy middle – heaven. We have this 10-person dining table, and I shamelessly monopolize the whole thing. Sometimes my youngest Fable wills herself a corner for her Lego obsession. I find myself wandering into the dining room at 5AM while the coffee brews, darting from the table to the stove while making dinner, and often posting up for hours while listening to my favorite podcast. I sometimes bring Husband in when I’m wanting a push on a particularly hard puzzle, when I’ve made little progress after many hours spent searching. His fresh eyes will immediately place 5 pieces. I resent the speed yet appreciate the nudge. I do my best puzzle work in the first 20 minutes, when I haven’t been staring at the same colors and shapes for hours. I’ve learned to walk away and come back later. The puzzle always waits for me.

A sucker for productivity, I prefer things finished, and I’m always in a rush to be completed, regardless of the task. I even find myself rushing things I love to do like cooking or reading or sharing a story with Husband. I don’t know the origin of this impulse; perhaps many millennials share this trait, as we entered peak adulthood during “hustle culture,” where we seem to fall behind if we are not maximizing our potential. Working jigsaw puzzles creates much-needed tension against this impulse. To do well, I have to slow down. I must take breaks and walk away. I have to accept it being unfinished.

In the business world, we call this “circling back,” putting off tasks that can’t be prioritized right now. At work, I make handwritten lists, adding tasks each day as they surface. I always tackle those that take the least time first so I can get the thrill of the scratch-through, the swell of accomplishment, even if it matters to no one but myself. In class, I encourage my students to take mental breaks. When they encounter a writing block, I suggest they go for a walk. They happily take me up on it (any chance to escape class for a moment), often rushing back when an idea rises to the top.

This might be why I am so in love with early mornings. I do my reading and thinking before the sun comes up. I tiptoe to the front of the house for coffee, intent on not waking anyone who might disturb my solitude. I cautiously turn on that dining room light and marvel at the puzzle/problem-to-be-solved waiting on me to re-engage. I’m limited to 8 minutes, and I savor those 480 seconds until the coffee is ready. I make myself turn out the dining room light before pouring my first cup, practicing the discipline of stepping away.

I’m finding myself applying this philosophy to the unpleasurable as well. If I need to have a hard conversation (I loathe conflict), I wait until I’m confident in how to approach the topic. When I need to discipline my girls, I try to wait until I’m calm. No good ever comes from my engaging when I’m rattled. I’m practicing patience, and I’m discovering its virtue. Waiting is an act in itself, often the most productive choice I can make. My beloved maternal grandmother who passed in 2012 had this Bible in which she took notes and underlined important-to-her passages. In one of the margins, she’d written, “Teach me, Lord, to wait.” My impatience is hereditary, so it seems. I don’t know if she ever learned patience, but I know, like her, I will try.