Several years ago I was gifted a Thomas Kincade style Disney themed puzzle. (An insanely expensive one at that.) I'm a bit of nerd and have loved Cinderella ever since I was a little girl running around the house singing the 1969 Rogers and Hammerstein rendition of "In my own little corner," pretending I could talk to imaginary mice. (What can I say... I was a lonely child.) Needless to say, when my friend saw this puzzle in a little art studio in the town known as "Carmel by the Sea," he knew I'd love it an gifted it to me for my birthday. Around this same time I had gotten myself a little corgi pup (I promise this is relevant). Mind you she wasn't really planned and I ended up getting her a month before California locked down for Covid-19...so she maybe was a bit clingy, very spoiled, not fully trained, and not used to being home alone.
One day...when I was stressed, depressed, and needed to shut off all the loud thoughts, I remembered my puzzle and sat down to work on it one weekend. One thing to know about me is that my family are puzzle people...like to the point we hyperfixate for hours. It's trance-like; once I start, many times I can't stop. However, there are only so many hours in the day, so the puzzle ended up winning and I was not able to complete it that weekend. Monday rolled around and boy was it rough! I knew I had my puzzle to finish so I was looking forward to it and somehow that allowed me to keep my cool at work for the day. I came home and went straight to the living room where Cinderella and her prince awaited me on my coffee table.
I entered to a scene of pure carnage. Half of the puzzle had been ripped off the table and chewed pieces were scattered about the floor. As a seasoned puzzle-doer, nothing is worse to me than one that can't be completed. I was livid; the one thing I was excited about was taken from me. All the rage of the day came hurling out of me at my little pup. She was terrifed and very clearly had no idea what the problem was. Something I neglected to consider is that puzzles are made of cardboard. Her favorite thing to do at the time was rip up old toilet-paper rolls, and of course those two things smell the same to a four-month old puppy. Plus, I made the assumption she was too small to reach it in the first place, so the problem was essentially my fault. That rage turned to self-disappointment and I realized I had to make up with the dog. (She's a primadonna too, so i it took a few days for her to forgive me.)
In the meantime, I picked up the pieces of my life choices off the floor and tried to salvage what I could; I assumed the worst. Many were chewed and frayed but, to my surprise, still usable. My heartrate calmed as I meticulously worked. Many sections had to be recompleted. They weren't as pretty as before, but I gradually noticed that pieces didn't seem to be missing like I had imagined. I gained hope, kept working, and eventually came down to the last piece. I was amazed! Had luck really shown in my favor for once? I placed the piece and realized, nothing worked. The satisfaction of perfect success began to fade and became replaced by anxiety and irritation. I tried every possible position and began to go crazy looking for the solution. This lasted a week; several friends even tried their hand at it and came to the same conclusion as me...everyone was left in utter bewilderment. As time went on, I became distracted with other "more important things." One morning I just happened to glance back at the puzzle as I was drinking my coffee. I noticed the color-scheme was very specific and narrowed it down to a quarter of the puzzle...a finished part. After a few minutes I finally found it! I replaced the two pieces several times just to validate. A small smirk crossed my lips and before I knew it I was laughing so hard I was crying. I thought to myself, "what are the odds there was a malfunction to give me and extra piece that would give me the correct number of pieces in the end...and my dog just so happened to eat a different one?!" I had spent weeks in anguish because of this ridiculous situation and it was relieving to have the answers.
For some reason this got stuck with me. I kept mulling it over as my mind wandered in meetings. As I pondered the experience more, I realized that it was sticking because the experience has some good lessons.
1) Something may seem big, but step back and you'll see a different perspective.
At the end of the day the chewed piece wasn't critical. Sure the puzzle wasn't
perfect or finished, but you could still see the whole picture.
2) Sometimes you have more than you need and don't realize or appreciate it. I
was going insane knowing a piece was gone. I blamed myself for all the
assumptions and missteps before the event. In essence it was my fault the piece
got eaten in the first place; it's my fault my beautiful and expensive puzzle can
never be complete. But imagine the person on the other side of the issue whose
puzzle piece I had. They were probably so disappointed about spending all that
money on something they now perceive is ruined because of something
completely out of their control.
3) Laugh at yourself and situations, because other people most likely won't notice
or care anyways.
I decided to frame my unfinished puzzle and the extra piece seperately. I hung the puzzle in my office and placed the piece on my desk. Very few people even saw the gap until I mentioned it. Fewer still noticed the seperate piece. Some asked what kind of sadist I would frame a puzzle without finishing it, let alone when I had all the pieces. I would take the opportunity to let them try to place the piece. I would watch as their reactions varied from confusion, to anger, to giving up. Then I would tell them the story, the lessons, and turn all their frustration to laughter. The practice caught on and I saw my collegues doing the same thing to others who happened to comment on the puzzle. Soon it became a bonding experience and everytime we had a particularly rough day, people would look at the puzzle and visibly become a little less perplexed. It served as a reminder that most things aren't as big of a deal as we make them out to be in our heads. It's one piece of a bigger picture, so step back and re-assess. It also reminds people to appreciate the things we have that others don't. And when we feel like we're losing our minds, we have a community to use as a sounding board.
I am a believer in signs and gentle nudges in the right direction. Although I haven't hung the puzzle in my new offices, I think about it regularly. I still apply the skills to life issues. It's easy to get distracted with the noise and I'm not successful all the time, but I'm content knowing this silly reminder can help others know they're not alone in the chaotic life struggles.