Rubik's Cube

A cellist named Charlie taught me how to solve a Rubik's cube while I was at my first summer music festival in 2002. Ah, Sewanee. So hot during the summer that I brought my own little air conditioner in 2003. That was also the year when I first watched any Monty Python. Sewanee is a lovely little place with a beautiful campus kind of in the middle of nowhere, Tennessee. It was the first of many summers spent playing soccer and ultimate frisbee, running in the rain, learning card games, making friends, and of course practicing and performing music.

I taught Bekah how to play pool. One time both legs cramped from playing soccer and Tina had to carry me home. I still miss drinking Grasshoppers (the best mint drink ever) at Stirling's coffee house. I still wear my Sewanee T-shirt to this day. I went spelunking in brand new shoes and put them through the wash. I grew to appreciate drum sticks as an old fashioned metronome. Rest in Peace, Mr. Dinkins. I'm getting really nostalgic, so I'll move on. Those were great summers, though.

Solving a Rubik's cube is easy, if all you do is look up the algorithms. Once you memorize a few patterns it loses its novelty. I probably didn't pick up a Rubik's cube again until a party at Vanderbilt where I claimed I could solve one and then realized, while being timed, that I had forgotten. When I moved back to Vienna I saw one at a store and decided to figure out new solutions on my own. After about a week or two of trial and error I narrowed it down to about 10 short algorithms. Now I use 5, and it's second nature to me.

I tell you this because my Rubik's cube is a prime example of something I do repetitively when I'm bored. There's something very comforting about the familiar. It's almost an aid to meditation for me. But it's also potentially a huge time waster. I'm looking at it now and wanting to mix it up. I look back at myself in high school and at all those music festivals and I wonder how I turned into the procrastinator that I am now. Bad habits and the instant gratification of YouTube entertainment. It's odd because at any of my jobs I was always very professional and a hard worker. So I clearly have a good work ethic. It's more difficult when the threat of being fired isn't hanging over my head.

There's nothing wrong with YouTube or Facebook, but unfortunately I've grown accustomed to a work to play ratio of about 20/80, when it should be 80/20. For some reason I have a terrible time getting excited about practicing, and I drag my feet until I have some deadline I'm afraid of missing. I know what I should be doing. I want to want to do it. I know that a good practice session is really rewarding and will make me happy, and if I don't practice I'll feel guilty and horrible. But it's like living the life I want to live is scary. Maybe it's a fear of failure. Or maybe I just hate knowing that when I start I'm going to sound bad and it'll be a struggle to get to a point where I'm happy with my progress. Either way it's easier to do nothing.

But doing nothing is a dangerous thing. It undermines your confidence. It makes you feel guilty. You don't want to read, or write, or think because it takes too much effort and having a sharp mind only brings your failure into focus. You feel insignificant, and in order to dull the pain you try to not care about things. Apathy can suck the life right out of you. It leaves you with a Rubik's cube. Something that should be fun but has become vapid through sheer repetition.

It's a slow process and old habits die hard (I just solved my cube again) but I feel much better about filling my life back up with the things I love. Writing is one thing I've found a lot of joy in, which I hope is apparent in these posts. I hope to make more of an effort to keep in touch with friends. And practicing, although I still have trouble focusing for more than a few minutes at a time, has been a lot more fun. One step at a time. Keep trying to love life a little more all the time.