I accomplished a goal that has bedeviled me since fifth grade. No, not getting chosen first for kickball in Mrs. G’s class. Sadly, that particular desire never came to fruition. No, instead I am referring to the evil little puzzle that was maliciously marketed to pre-teens in the early ‘80s, that apparently simple box guaranteeing unending glory should its solution be unlocked, that six color conundrum that inspired frustration and rather unorthodox methods of completion: I am referring to the Rubik’s cube.
Should you not be familiar with the satanic creation, please google it.
It has appeared again in our schools. Spatial geniuses everywhere are flaunting their abilities to manipulate space and time, earning adoring looks from friends by taking a scrambled cube, twisting it five times, and handing a perfectly organized, completely color-coded puzzle to amazed on-lookers. These gods walk the halls, flowers and offerings strewn before them like the pages from a calculus book.
It took me over two decades, but I did it. Admittedly, most of those decades were spent ignoring the puzzle that my parents bought me for my twelfth birthday. In fact, I actually solved it in one day— approximately one week ago. Since then, drunken with satisfaction, I have scrambled and solved the cube numerous times.
Of course, I did look up the solution pattern. Does that count as cheating? Hey, at least I didn’t break the cube apart and reassemble the bits; that was my solution when younger. Other inventive solution seekers, I’ve heard, tore the stickers off the faces and pasted them back on in roughly the correct place. No, last week, I solved the monster by twisting and turning.
So with some bemusement, I thought of my younger self, a twelve-year-old boy who grew increasingly frustrated with a puzzle he couldn’t understand. My older self knows that I learn best by following patterns and developing a deeper understanding through self-guided repetition. To understand how to solve the Rubik’s cube, I had to solve it again and again and again. Others could develop the patterns, either consciously or organically. Not me. I follow the steps, developing my understanding by slowly walking the same pathways, seeing the nuances over time.
Yes, I am the anti-genius, the person who does not experience the light bulb popping into existence over his head, but instead builds the light bulb, piece by piece.
Oddly enough, that’s how I build physical skills, too. Whether I’m mountain biking, kayaking, or yoga-ing, I learn through slow repetition.
Robin Follet lives, writes, and cartoons in North Carolina.
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January 28th, 2009 at 12:34 pm
Is that how you write too - “slow repetition”-, or is it more like a lightbulb just switching on?
January 31st, 2009 at 7:00 am
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