being puzzled and puzzling (long)
Dec. 6th, 2008 08:52 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
falcongrrlI learned to hate the gifted program when I was in sixth grade.
Oh, I liked some things about it...I liked effectively missing a day of school, though the make-up work was always a pain. Classes were offsite, and I liked the bus ride midmorning, which felt like an adventure each Thursday, no matter how many times I'd made the trip. I liked the giant brick building where we had classes with its large oaks framing the entrance, wooden floors, and musty bookish smell, though it was an 'alternative' school and I don't remember ever interacting with any of the school's daily (as opposed to weekly) students, or even seeing them much of the time. They were an invisible majority housed in other wings, other hallways, rumored to exist. That part seemed kind of creepily cool as well.
Here's what I actively hated: not fitting in with the other smart kids. And believe me when I say I did not. I preferred checkers to chess. I lived in my own dream world, and whenever called upon, I tended to blurt out very quirky things while struggling to figure out what the topic of discussion actually was. My face would flush as I could *feel* the others around me trying bravely not to snicker. In a world of smart kids who knew how to give the right answer, I was the misfit...tripping over my own shoelaces, sure I'd finally solved things correctly this time, only to find that...no, sadly I'd glossed over some essential component, flubbed up again en route to perfection. My experiments often turned out wrong, my drawings sadly inaccurate, my work slow (because I frequently stopped just to stare out into space and think my own tangential thoughts that I could never really verbalize to anyone else). The only things I ever really excelled at there were creative writing and Spanish, and then my teachers seemed excited and relieved in equal measure. (Okay, we see why she's here now. Maybe. Maybe.)
We were tested each year, and each year I slammed the IQ test out of the park (though I didn't know that until much later, when I peeked at my cumulative folder when I was a guidance aide as a senior in high school), so there was no doubt afaik on the part of the administration and staffing, er, staff, as far as whether I ought to be there. But the others...gifted teachers and students alike...seemed suitably perplexed, as if I'd wandered in from one of the nameless other classes across the way. And of course, there really probably were other misfits in gifted, kids like me who for whatever reason stood out from the straight-A crowd...but I don't remember them. In my own mind, I was the only one.
Despite all that, I seem to remember liking it more than regular school. In regular school, I spent an inordinate amount of time copying sentences from worksheets and out of textbooks, adding the appropriate word or phrase where needed. I couldn't sit still in my desk the way the teachers liked or remember which book to get for which time period. My penmanship was awful. My projects were worse.
At gifted, I was expected to actually do things, but I could do them on my own time, which proved to be both blessing and curse. Still, I remember poring over information about the planets in our solar system in encyclopedias and books, just because I could. I remember writing endless bits of dialogue. I remember wiring up a quiz game thingy out of a cigar box and some wires and brads (an assignment that I don't think I ever actually finished, because I enthusiastically punched so many holes, probably while daydreaming, that I had a LOT of questions and answers to dream up).
I also remember that feeling of being the dummy. I didn't really know how I'd gotten there either, or why I felt so hopelessly out of step.
***
Over the years, I've learned to blend in. It's a topic for another post, but I know how to make myself invisible, to - while not actively being part of a particular crowd - avoid standing out from it in a manner that's conspicuous. It's a survival skill that's served me well, and I'm sure that learning the necessity of it was born in those early academic experiences. I slowly learned how to play it safe, how to avoid looking stupid at all costs. (I never wholly managed that last, but I got better.)
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circuit_four taught me that I could be smart, that my verbal and overly analytical variety of intelligence and dreamy tendencies were virtues to be lauded rather than handicaps to be overcome. Ideas2Go helped, and an afternoon with foxmagic gave me confidence with sudoku. But it still wasn't until I met shaterri offline that I learned to actively risk articulating my thought processes. I can't tell you what it was about him. I certainly don't think that it was anything conscious or intentional on his part at all. It was as if there were a little internal sprite nudging me, saying, just try. it's okay. he will understand you. With shaterri, I dared to voice my metaverse. Not merely what I was thinking - though surely that was dangerous enough and might expose me to ridicule - but how and why I thought it, the random bits of association and analysis swirling through my brain in fragmented bits and shoved at him quickly before I could change my mind.
shaterri got it. Improbably, crazily, he understood. While not fluent in my internal mental landscape, he spoke it passably, hesitantly, happily.
This isn't the whole of my friendship with Steve, not by a long shot, but it does explain at least part of why I adore him so intensely, I think.
I don't speak fluent, or even passable,shaterri. I don't claim to; it's very one-sided in that regard. I'm terrible at math and coding. I've always hated puzzles and gaming. Any time I could lose, I've grown up losing, and I actively hate that feeling of being defeated, particularly by anything as innocuous-seeming as a game or puzzle. So I learned to avoid, to dodge, to smile and say, "Oh, I could never really do that," or "Nah, I'm not into x at all."
And then there was this past May in Seattle.
***
I had metaprivatefox and mufi online, and I knew that I liked them, but I didn't know them well. I had a blast hanging out with them on Mt. Rainier. But I didn't expect them to bring puzzles to the Japanese diner where we ate supper afterwards and plunk them down in front of us. Just for fun. Yeah. As if.
chipotle bowed out, as did quarrel. The puzzle passed to me, and I was sitting to Steve's immediate right, with quarrel on my right. aprivatefox and mufi were directly across from us, chipotle across from quarrel. Obviously aprivatefox and mufi were not going to be able to work on their own puzzle, which left Steve. And me.
Common sense would have dictated to hand the puzzle to Steve and have him solve it. He's good at it. So I did hand it to him. Butaprivatefox and mufi had stated specifically that they wanted this to be a social experience, and I found myself sneaking peeks over his shoulder. I didn't want to disappoint my new friends. And - inexplicably - I found myself feeling extremely competitive. I wanted to prove to Steve that I could do it. I wanted to show him that I could be just as fucking smart as he was. I found myself arguing, thinking, verbalizing in front of everyone at the dinner table. And - at the same time - I felt far too exposed, systematically removing items of mental clothing and placing them upon the dinner table in front of new friends I didn't know that well.
It wasn't quite the train wreck it could have been. But it was pretty bad.
I got frustrated. Steve and I were sniping at each other. We gave up and gave the puzzle back toaprivatefox and mufi. And I was convinced that I'd made a total fool of myself.
A few days later, after some fun with Rock Band,aprivatefox pulled it out and asked us to try again.
If I'm remembering this correctly, we both balked at first.aprivatefox encouraged. Steve got sucked in again, and so did I, though more hesitantly this time, and because I was explicitly prodded by aprivatefox. "I think Christi can really help you with this, Steve," he said. "I think you should listen to her." "Me?" "You've said the right thing before." "Look, the only thing I keep telling him is..." and suddenly I was back in it again, arguing, analyzing, looking, and trying to solve.
Steve finally got it. I was happy for him. Sort of.
"I hate these," I think I finally said. "I'm not good at them."
"You said every one of these answers before everyone else,"aprivatefox retorted.
I stared at him as if I suspected him of making fun of me, equally surprised and mistrustful.
"I was listening closely,"aprivatefox went on, "because I'm really interested in working with people who don't think they can solve puzzles or don't work on them very often." He went on to give a detailed analysis of what I'd contributed, when, and how. In the end, Steve thanked me, and I just sat there, stunned and silenced by my own competence, both embarrassed and hugely, dumbly thankful to J for the gift he'd just given to me.
***
It was a beautiful gift, and it could have been enough. But it wasn't really enough somehow.
I found myself working on sudoku with Steve while on the ferry to Vancouver. He didn't want to, but I insisted, and it ended up being fun (for me, and for him too, I hope.) Later, in August, after my grandmother's death, I inexplicably picked up an old book of puzzles I'd bought a long time before as a gift for Daniel when he was sick. I don't know what I was thinking; Daniel's patience for such things is less than my own, but we had it and I needed something to take my mind off family stuff. So I started doing cryptograms, anagrams, drawing those stupid logic grids I vaguely remembered from gifted class and CLAST prep. And I realized that I could do it, on my own timetable, in my own way. Types of puzzles I couldn't figure out I skipped, but most of them I chipped away at until I got them. Word searches took too long without a satisfying payoff. For whatever reason, cryptograms became (and remain) my favorite type of puzzle.
While in NC for Thanksgiving, at a birthday/holiday trip to Barnes and Noble with book money from my in-laws, I found myself using it to buy a book of cryptograms and codes. Ostensibly I was going to try to work on them with Daniel...though instead, I do them on my own, when I need a way to relax, although the adrenaline that goes through me when I finally solve one (and they're still very simple substitution ones) is more energizing than peaceful.
So now...yesterday, the day after my birthday, I received not one but two puzzles. And it's a testament both to my own evolution as a geekgirl (tm), as well as toshaterri and aprivatefox's combined patience, that I received them without the usual hesitancy and fear. I was excited, and I had to call shaterri...not because I loved his other gifts with a predictable intensity (although I did) but because I wanted to exclaim over the code, the cleverness of it, how I'd instinctively gotten it and then had to go back and backsolve, how I couldn't wait and had to solve it in the car while picking up the kids, laughing and talking excitedly over the pure sheer joy of it.
When I finally tackledaprivatefox's puzzlegift, I did so while IMing shaterri. He solved it faster than I did, but didn't give it away, while zealously guarding me from false starts and wrong directions. He might have been a bit too protective, but that part felt endearing rather than patronizing. Working on it together was fun and solving it (particularly while under his online gaze) was thrilling.
Now? I think I'm hooked. I want more and different books. I may even be willing to tackle the monstrosity that is Cryptonomicon again. I'm definitely thrilled by my present, and bitten not only by the puzzling bug but by the drive to share it with all my friends. (http://aprivatefox.livejournal.com/211704.html#cutid1 - it's fun! really!)
I still have to go slow. I'm on about an eleven-year-old's puzzling level, I think, picking up where I left off so many years ago. The difference now is that I'm okay with that. I'm willing to be gentle with myself. I'm willing to be a beginner. And I'm willing to let people in to my thought processes, trusting them to be empathetic rather than derisive. Trusting them.
Thank you,shaterri, aprivatefox, and mufi, for encouraging me and for proving yourself worthy of that trust.
♥
Oh, I liked some things about it...I liked effectively missing a day of school, though the make-up work was always a pain. Classes were offsite, and I liked the bus ride midmorning, which felt like an adventure each Thursday, no matter how many times I'd made the trip. I liked the giant brick building where we had classes with its large oaks framing the entrance, wooden floors, and musty bookish smell, though it was an 'alternative' school and I don't remember ever interacting with any of the school's daily (as opposed to weekly) students, or even seeing them much of the time. They were an invisible majority housed in other wings, other hallways, rumored to exist. That part seemed kind of creepily cool as well.
Here's what I actively hated: not fitting in with the other smart kids. And believe me when I say I did not. I preferred checkers to chess. I lived in my own dream world, and whenever called upon, I tended to blurt out very quirky things while struggling to figure out what the topic of discussion actually was. My face would flush as I could *feel* the others around me trying bravely not to snicker. In a world of smart kids who knew how to give the right answer, I was the misfit...tripping over my own shoelaces, sure I'd finally solved things correctly this time, only to find that...no, sadly I'd glossed over some essential component, flubbed up again en route to perfection. My experiments often turned out wrong, my drawings sadly inaccurate, my work slow (because I frequently stopped just to stare out into space and think my own tangential thoughts that I could never really verbalize to anyone else). The only things I ever really excelled at there were creative writing and Spanish, and then my teachers seemed excited and relieved in equal measure. (Okay, we see why she's here now. Maybe. Maybe.)
We were tested each year, and each year I slammed the IQ test out of the park (though I didn't know that until much later, when I peeked at my cumulative folder when I was a guidance aide as a senior in high school), so there was no doubt afaik on the part of the administration and staffing, er, staff, as far as whether I ought to be there. But the others...gifted teachers and students alike...seemed suitably perplexed, as if I'd wandered in from one of the nameless other classes across the way. And of course, there really probably were other misfits in gifted, kids like me who for whatever reason stood out from the straight-A crowd...but I don't remember them. In my own mind, I was the only one.
Despite all that, I seem to remember liking it more than regular school. In regular school, I spent an inordinate amount of time copying sentences from worksheets and out of textbooks, adding the appropriate word or phrase where needed. I couldn't sit still in my desk the way the teachers liked or remember which book to get for which time period. My penmanship was awful. My projects were worse.
At gifted, I was expected to actually do things, but I could do them on my own time, which proved to be both blessing and curse. Still, I remember poring over information about the planets in our solar system in encyclopedias and books, just because I could. I remember writing endless bits of dialogue. I remember wiring up a quiz game thingy out of a cigar box and some wires and brads (an assignment that I don't think I ever actually finished, because I enthusiastically punched so many holes, probably while daydreaming, that I had a LOT of questions and answers to dream up).
I also remember that feeling of being the dummy. I didn't really know how I'd gotten there either, or why I felt so hopelessly out of step.
***
Over the years, I've learned to blend in. It's a topic for another post, but I know how to make myself invisible, to - while not actively being part of a particular crowd - avoid standing out from it in a manner that's conspicuous. It's a survival skill that's served me well, and I'm sure that learning the necessity of it was born in those early academic experiences. I slowly learned how to play it safe, how to avoid looking stupid at all costs. (I never wholly managed that last, but I got better.)
circuit_four taught me that I could be smart, that my verbal and overly analytical variety of intelligence and dreamy tendencies were virtues to be lauded rather than handicaps to be overcome. Ideas2Go helped, and an afternoon with foxmagic gave me confidence with sudoku. But it still wasn't until I met shaterri offline that I learned to actively risk articulating my thought processes. I can't tell you what it was about him. I certainly don't think that it was anything conscious or intentional on his part at all. It was as if there were a little internal sprite nudging me, saying, just try. it's okay. he will understand you. With shaterri, I dared to voice my metaverse. Not merely what I was thinking - though surely that was dangerous enough and might expose me to ridicule - but how and why I thought it, the random bits of association and analysis swirling through my brain in fragmented bits and shoved at him quickly before I could change my mind.shaterri got it. Improbably, crazily, he understood. While not fluent in my internal mental landscape, he spoke it passably, hesitantly, happily. This isn't the whole of my friendship with Steve, not by a long shot, but it does explain at least part of why I adore him so intensely, I think.
I don't speak fluent, or even passable,
shaterri. I don't claim to; it's very one-sided in that regard. I'm terrible at math and coding. I've always hated puzzles and gaming. Any time I could lose, I've grown up losing, and I actively hate that feeling of being defeated, particularly by anything as innocuous-seeming as a game or puzzle. So I learned to avoid, to dodge, to smile and say, "Oh, I could never really do that," or "Nah, I'm not into x at all."And then there was this past May in Seattle.
***
I had met
aprivatefox and mufi online, and I knew that I liked them, but I didn't know them well. I had a blast hanging out with them on Mt. Rainier. But I didn't expect them to bring puzzles to the Japanese diner where we ate supper afterwards and plunk them down in front of us. Just for fun. Yeah. As if.chipotle bowed out, as did quarrel. The puzzle passed to me, and I was sitting to Steve's immediate right, with quarrel on my right. aprivatefox and mufi were directly across from us, chipotle across from quarrel. Obviously aprivatefox and mufi were not going to be able to work on their own puzzle, which left Steve. And me.Common sense would have dictated to hand the puzzle to Steve and have him solve it. He's good at it. So I did hand it to him. But
aprivatefox and mufi had stated specifically that they wanted this to be a social experience, and I found myself sneaking peeks over his shoulder. I didn't want to disappoint my new friends. And - inexplicably - I found myself feeling extremely competitive. I wanted to prove to Steve that I could do it. I wanted to show him that I could be just as fucking smart as he was. I found myself arguing, thinking, verbalizing in front of everyone at the dinner table. And - at the same time - I felt far too exposed, systematically removing items of mental clothing and placing them upon the dinner table in front of new friends I didn't know that well.It wasn't quite the train wreck it could have been. But it was pretty bad.
I got frustrated. Steve and I were sniping at each other. We gave up and gave the puzzle back to
aprivatefox and mufi. And I was convinced that I'd made a total fool of myself.A few days later, after some fun with Rock Band,
aprivatefox pulled it out and asked us to try again.If I'm remembering this correctly, we both balked at first.
aprivatefox encouraged. Steve got sucked in again, and so did I, though more hesitantly this time, and because I was explicitly prodded by aprivatefox. "I think Christi can really help you with this, Steve," he said. "I think you should listen to her." "Me?" "You've said the right thing before." "Look, the only thing I keep telling him is..." and suddenly I was back in it again, arguing, analyzing, looking, and trying to solve.Steve finally got it. I was happy for him. Sort of.
"I hate these," I think I finally said. "I'm not good at them."
"You said every one of these answers before everyone else,"
aprivatefox retorted.I stared at him as if I suspected him of making fun of me, equally surprised and mistrustful.
"I was listening closely,"
aprivatefox went on, "because I'm really interested in working with people who don't think they can solve puzzles or don't work on them very often." He went on to give a detailed analysis of what I'd contributed, when, and how. In the end, Steve thanked me, and I just sat there, stunned and silenced by my own competence, both embarrassed and hugely, dumbly thankful to J for the gift he'd just given to me.***
It was a beautiful gift, and it could have been enough. But it wasn't really enough somehow.
I found myself working on sudoku with Steve while on the ferry to Vancouver. He didn't want to, but I insisted, and it ended up being fun (for me, and for him too, I hope.) Later, in August, after my grandmother's death, I inexplicably picked up an old book of puzzles I'd bought a long time before as a gift for Daniel when he was sick. I don't know what I was thinking; Daniel's patience for such things is less than my own, but we had it and I needed something to take my mind off family stuff. So I started doing cryptograms, anagrams, drawing those stupid logic grids I vaguely remembered from gifted class and CLAST prep. And I realized that I could do it, on my own timetable, in my own way. Types of puzzles I couldn't figure out I skipped, but most of them I chipped away at until I got them. Word searches took too long without a satisfying payoff. For whatever reason, cryptograms became (and remain) my favorite type of puzzle.
While in NC for Thanksgiving, at a birthday/holiday trip to Barnes and Noble with book money from my in-laws, I found myself using it to buy a book of cryptograms and codes. Ostensibly I was going to try to work on them with Daniel...though instead, I do them on my own, when I need a way to relax, although the adrenaline that goes through me when I finally solve one (and they're still very simple substitution ones) is more energizing than peaceful.
So now...yesterday, the day after my birthday, I received not one but two puzzles. And it's a testament both to my own evolution as a geekgirl (tm), as well as to
shaterri and aprivatefox's combined patience, that I received them without the usual hesitancy and fear. I was excited, and I had to call shaterri...not because I loved his other gifts with a predictable intensity (although I did) but because I wanted to exclaim over the code, the cleverness of it, how I'd instinctively gotten it and then had to go back and backsolve, how I couldn't wait and had to solve it in the car while picking up the kids, laughing and talking excitedly over the pure sheer joy of it.When I finally tackled
aprivatefox's puzzlegift, I did so while IMing shaterri. He solved it faster than I did, but didn't give it away, while zealously guarding me from false starts and wrong directions. He might have been a bit too protective, but that part felt endearing rather than patronizing. Working on it together was fun and solving it (particularly while under his online gaze) was thrilling.Now? I think I'm hooked. I want more and different books. I may even be willing to tackle the monstrosity that is Cryptonomicon again. I'm definitely thrilled by my present, and bitten not only by the puzzling bug but by the drive to share it with all my friends. (http://aprivatefox.livejournal.com/211704.html#cutid1 - it's fun! really!)
I still have to go slow. I'm on about an eleven-year-old's puzzling level, I think, picking up where I left off so many years ago. The difference now is that I'm okay with that. I'm willing to be gentle with myself. I'm willing to be a beginner. And I'm willing to let people in to my thought processes, trusting them to be empathetic rather than derisive. Trusting them.
Thank you,
shaterri, aprivatefox, and mufi, for encouraging me and for proving yourself worthy of that trust.♥
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(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-06 07:07 pm (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2008-12-07 12:55 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-07 06:07 am (UTC)I totally grok all of that about the gifted program. I had a better time of the math and science segments (especially anything computer-related) but that only went so far. Before long, my thread of thought would weave itself into a crocheted doily and there was no explaining what'd happened to anyone else. Only far later did I learn to pass off these staring-into-space moments as oracular visions or whatever. Hell, that's what all seers have done, right? I'm in good company.
As far as puzzle stuff... well, I've always loved stuff that required odd non-lateral thinking combined with more concrete stuff, though I'm a bit scatterbrained these days and have to have someone else double-check my transcription. I must say, though, that the three folks you mention have indeed helped rekindle the fires I had so long ago when I was devouring puzzles in Math Team and the like. I've had plenty of moments of weak self-esteem and worrying about whether I'm stacking up as team contributions go at events, but I'm starting to get over the worst of that.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-13 07:24 am (UTC)I so wish I had learned to do this. That's awesome. :-)
(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-15 07:09 pm (UTC)