I’ve become a bit obsessive these days.
(Who hasn’t?)
One way is with the crossword puzzles in the New York Times.
In my mind, I must complete the mini and the full puzzle plus hit the Genius Level in the Spelling Bee before I can tackle any real work.
You could argue this is an excellent mental warmup for the day ahead.
Or, alternatively, that I’m wasting my most focused, freshest brain moments pointlessly playing word games.
These morning rituals were going on pre-pandemic but they’ve definitely intensified in the last six months.
I think the primary reason is that, particularly during a time of massive uncertainty, there’s something fundamentally SATISFYING about solving a puzzle.
Suddenly, I’m living in a universe where pieces fit together.
Where there are right and wrong answers, plus clear feedback.
And in the case of the Spelling Bee, a multiplicity of right answers…you just have to follow the very basic, clearly defined rules.
In short, there’s something profoundly reassuring about Solving the Mystery.
One mystery that I have failed to solve over the last six months, however, is what happened to my Writing Sweater, the cardigan that belonged to my father who died five years ago this October.
I’ve worn it while writing 8 online courses, two books, one TV series treatment, and countless project proposals and emails.
On Sunday, March 15th, the eve of the NYC quarantine, I noticed it was missing.
Again, it never leaves my apartment––except for maybe a trip to get the mail in the lobby.
I searched everywhere.
I questioned (make that confronted) the last pre-quarantine visitors (Adrian, Cha Cha, and Robbie) about whether they might have “accidentally” taken it.
And I visited the Lost and Found in my building a dozen times and posted an intranet email to all the tenants.
And…nothing happened…
This September, however, six months later, having fully embraced new writing rituals, I still felt incomplete, but I had more or less moved on.
Then one night, last month, something shifted.
After the worst, most unexpected argument––I don’t really fight with my friends ever––I found myself profoundly disrupted.
(Devastated, actually.)
I spent hours and hours soul-searching and replaying why things had erupted.
(I am willing to discuss the specifics over Mezcal, but…)
Days later, while jump roping on my roof, a series of true Eureka moments occurred, ones where I connected for the first time the elements of my relationship with my father to the current friend situation.
I then discussed what I was processing with two of my Closest Friends / Prime Suspects (again, Cha Cha and Robbie) in separate terrace drink conversations.
And, after sharing everything with Robbie, the next morning…he found my Writing Sweater!
Six months after it had vanished, as he was temporarily storing his bike behind the package room desk, there it was on the top of the Lost & Found Pile.
I couldn’t quite believe it when he texted me.
(Note: there’s definitely a significant subset of my friends who believe that Robbie stole it for six months and, only when overcome by guilt from my self-realization anecdotes, finally decided to return it.)
But here’s the thing…
Unlike the crossword or the Spelling Bee, this mystery is both solved yet also expanded.
Yes, there’s the question of where was the sweater all those times I asked the Lost & Found for it.
Did someone have it for six months and only last week decide to turn it in…?
More importantly, there’s a deeper mystery here I find impossible to ignore:
The sweater reappeared only after I spent five hours discussing the person who used to wear it.
And it was found by one of the two people with whom I shared my insights and inner transformation.
But that’s more than OK.
I’m reminded that perhaps not every mystery is meant to be solved.
(Especially those on the cosmic level.)
Even more, I’m realizing that Allowing the Mystery means we can let go of the need to manage everything.
We can trust a bit more that maybe we actually do live in an Intentional (rather than Random) Universe.
We can surrender more into the flow of life, of authentic acceptance.
And, by doing so, we can live more often in a state of wonder.
Ultimately, Opening to the Mystery sometimes makes life more interesting than solving it.
