The staff in charge of archives and exhibits have scattered puzzle pieces across a table in the foyer at the top of the stairs. The signboard reads, "Communal jigsaw," and people have paid attention to it. Over the past four weeks, and in the intervals between my treks up and down those stairs, the puzzle has grown, the pieces have melded, blotches of color blend together and take on significant form. No one ever works at it for very long, but somehow, between hours spent studying for exams or stressing about the problems of the universe, progress has been made.
A few weeks ago, someone told me, "You were more honest today than you've ever been. Not," she hastened to add, "that you lie as a matter of course. But just that you actually told me, for the first time, what you're really thinking."
I have, I suppose, a reputation for reserve. When I said goodbye to my coworkers at my first job before moving to Oregon, one of them said, "Look at her! You can tell she has English blood in her--so calm and reserved." That is, not especially emotional, at least not in public.
Let's just say that communal puzzles don't tempt me much. Their publicness--the way they unfold and develop in plain view--scares me a little and makes me feel vulnerable. I am convinced that I will be happier if I simply walk on by: if you don't make an effort to put the pieces together, then you can't fail at the attempt, right?
But my conviction is crumbling. I might be wrong about this puzzle-thing, I guess. The communal jigsaw might be an acquired taste, but that certainly doesn't make it a less worthy or desirable one. I am more than willing to admit that the process of matching shapes and sorting colors finds its justification when conducted in public contexts: personal pursuits are more significant when we are willing to work on them with others, and if we are willing to admit that perhaps our individual visions can be enriched by the contributions of the person piecing things together beside us.
That doesn't mean it's easy to leave our quiet puzzle corners behind (or even that we ought to completely forsake those private goals). It's just to say that this morning I walked past a table on the third floor, and I thought that at least attempting a contribution to the work in progress was probably more honest and beautiful than refusing to stop and try.