The Familiar Puzzle Undone

There has been a puzzle sitting undone on my coffee table for almost a month.

Normally, a 1000-piece puzzle would take me a week to finish. Normally the colors separate themselves before my eyes – the shades become clear, the shadows compliment beautifully. Normally the shapes stand out on their own – the corners pointing themselves to their destination and the curves winding their way into their partner pieces. Normally the patterns seem to draw lines across the whole and through my mind – edges forming natural borders and each individual piece forming a distinct part of that easily-recognizable and easily-creatable whole.

Normally.

Yet somehow, this time, the puzzle sits; the colors blend, the shapes meld, the patterns swirl slowly into an ambiguous clutter of cardboard and empty spaces.

It has been a long time since I have been in once place for so long.

My days used to stand out – each one strong and colorful – replete with new face, new foods, new feelings, and new places. My thoughts used to flow simply from one to the next, pointing themselves along the lines of each new subway track, flickering hopefully and colorfully with the landing lights at each new airport. My feelings used to curve palpably from highs to lows and back again – uninhibited, each forming an easily-recognizable part of the Whole that was me.

But nothing is “normal” anymore.

I see new faces every day. But each day leads seamlessly into the next with the same coworkers, the same neighbors, the same bus drivers, and even the same bus passengers.

My thoughts now flow on countless levels – each project, person, and now-familiar place creating deeper and deeper furrows into my aching mind.

My feeling struggle ceaselessly against the rising tide of a life that is become so familiar that it forces me to dig deeper in order to go where I have never been before.

And I wonder – how is it that so many people have only ever lived this life?

The slow suffocation of familiarity that calls me to work ever harder to find the thrill of the New that kept me alive as each colorful piece fell into its own curves. Would I never feel the slow ache of the Old, had I never felt the explosive rapture of the New?

So I think to myself that perhaps those who have learned to love the faces of their familiar lives, are the wise ones afterall.

But the puzzle remains undone - full of palpable empty spaces.