Joraaver Chahal

Crosswords, Completion, and Companions

A new hobby of mine is enjoying a cup of joe at 6 a.m. and attempting the New York Times Crossword for forty-five minutes. I don’t do it every day: Mondays, Tuesdays, sometimes Wednesdays, and when the circumstances are right, Sundays. I suck at it. My friends know I live under an extraordinarily dense rock, and it shows in my knowledge of current events and pop culture. Ask me about classic Disney films and you’ll quickly grasp the problem. I convince myself it’s the tradeoff I make to be knowledgeable about other topics.

But I started doing the crossword with a different aim: to practice the curiosity of knowledge, not the pursuit of knowledge. To my surprise, the activity taught me some unrelated lessons as well.

I hold a firm belief that I must know all facets of my work, and then some, to get a job done. I make it my business to know more. That’s good when you’re a founder. The job requires wearing multiple hats. But, I’m not a good founder, because I take it to an extreme, and it interferes with my ability to execute.

The most recent general example is with a textbook I finished. That’s right, textbook. You see, my knee is not doing too hot. I’m waiting for a meniscus donor so I can have meniscus and cartilage transplant surgery. As an athletic trainer, I know that altered biomechanics of the knee, especially from acute trauma, affect the onset of osteoarthritis. But I don’t know how. How much force do the menisci and cartilage normally handle? What are the moment arms at play? What are the current solutions? Why can we not grow menisci? Do we not understand the strain and shear mechanics, or can we just not reproduce them? So I ordered, and read, The Biomechanics of Movement, an introductory book to the physics and simulation of biomechanics, as a starting point to better understand how scientists understand biomechanics. It was a phenomenal read. Now I’m on chapter seven of a new textbook, Cartilage Tissue and Knee Joint Biomechanics. Dense stuff, let me tell you.

But what did I gain? Unless I pursue a Master’s or PhD in biomechanics, not much. I realize that with uncertainty, it’s one thing to be knowledgeable, but it’s another to intellectualize it. To be so dogged in the pursuit of knowledge that it inhibits the ability to face the problem. The practical feeling of specific knowledge is a flimsy mask for life’s greater problems. It’s weird to say, but it’s almost hedonistic; the pleasure of learning something new momentarily quiets the pain of facing my problems. I run from my problems in this manner.

The crossword is a puzzle. A game. It encourages a different way of thinking. A fun way of thinking. Knowledge is both the means and the ends. Not knowing is often better than knowing only one solution, because a single solution biases the mind’s visualization of the grid. Instead, I practicing emptying the mind, not trying too hard on a particular train of thought. The guise of progress is dangerous. A section left blank for longer is better than getting stuck with a guess that sprouted five other wrong guesses. That doesn’t mean I shun guessing. But I’m very cognizant of letting my guesses compound.

Monday’s crossword, I can solve in fifteen to twenty minutes. Tuesday’s, forty minutes. Wednesday’s, an hour and a bit. Sunday’s, with the luxury of time, two and a half hours. I start around 7:30 a.m. and finish up by 10 a.m on Sundays. But frequently I don’t finish. I have spent too many nights coding to know the impact a full night’s sleep can have on problematic programs than a 3 a.m. game of “the bug dies or I die.” In the same vein, I start my crosswords in the morning, and when it’s time for the gym, I leave it be. But leaving it in peace is the problem. Like late night bugs, I depart frustrated because the answers I should know elude me. Or, as happened this week, I attempt the crossword on Thursday thinking it’s a Wednesday. When I left for the gym that day, I had 40% done even with auto-check turned on. Imagine how that felt. Bloody hard, Thursday’s crossword. If I’m feeling ambitious, I pull out my phone while resting between exercises to continue my efforts. I try not to feel too ambitious when resting.

Thankfully, there are times I can’t finish the puzzle without specific knowledge, and instead of frustration, a wave of relief washes over me. When I see what I’m missing, I laugh, because Joraaver wouldn’t be who he is if he knew those answers. This Monday, I was left with two squares from two clues: a band’s name and a guitarist’s name. One “B” and one “E” were all I needed. When I’m lucky, the answer and its clue stay with me. I recall the “B” is from the clue “‘Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!’ band name.” The answer was “ABBA.” Only now did I bother to Google the result. Ladies and gentlemen, it is a Swedish band. Unfortunately, I must apologize to the guitarist. I don’t have the faintest idea what his name was, or the associated clue.

I don’t aim for completion. Instead, I let solutions pique my interest. “TEHRAN” is the “Capital at the base of the Elburz Mountains.” A “RIPSAW” is a “course-tooth cutter.” “Smashing oboes and clarinets” is, in fact, an example of “DAMAGING WINDS.” Clever. Now and then, the heavens bless me with insight, with this lateral thinking foreign to me, and I bask in its glory. That fleeting moment is far more rewarding than any sense of success completion has granted me.

As of late, I try to treat my crosswords like Ralph Waldo Emerson did his books:

“I cannot remember the books I’ve read any more than the meals I have eaten; even so, they have made me.” —Ralph Waldo Emerson

At first, I was going to argue against the latter part of the quotation. Against the ridiculous thought that crosswords have somehow “made me.” But with every personal essay I write, I dig a little deeper, reflect for longer, and discover a little more.

I struggle to value the social aspect of time well spent. When I play sports, I enjoy the company as well as the sport. But when I recall memories, I downplay the social nature of the gathering. Because of this nonchalant dismissal, I shrug off opportunities to meet friends when there is no other purpose than to just meet. I skip dinners. I turn down hangouts. I don’t initiate gatherings.

Doing the crossword has changed that for me. I cherish the Sunday mornings spent sitting in the kitchen, the morning sun peeking through the blinds and glancing off the table, the smell of coffee filling the air, my dad preparing a photocopy of the crossword because he wants to maximize our progress, and my mother’s stock market or crossword answer interjections, whichever crosses her mind first. My father commented one morning that it was the best part of his week. I’ll always remember that comment.

This past weekend I could not do the Sunday crossword with my family. I was cat sitting in San Francisco for a cat I saw two, maybe three times maximum. On my way home Sunday, I stopped by a friend’s place to pick up a few trinkets he bought from his recent trip to France. This is a friend I’ve hung out with occasionally over the past ten years, but our main tether has always been video games (specifically Rocket League for my cultured readers). I’ve always felt a twinge of regret for not hanging out with him outside our virtual bubble. Though, as I write, I’m reminded of the day I missed watching Finding Dory, instead forced to enjoy ice cream from the local Cold Stone Creamery on a bench outside the theaters as only a lonely man can, thanks to hilarity only four fresh college grads could manage.

But I digress. The topic of New York Times puzzles came up, and I mentioned the crossword. No, not the mini, the full one. I promptly found myself sitting in front of his desktop, logged into my New York Times account, with the Sunday crossword front and center. I warned him that with my parents it still takes two and a half hours. What could the three of us at 6:20 pm (his fiance was preparing dinner in the kitchen next to us) possibly do? My friend, in character, told me to shut up and start. Onwards! I’ll save you the cursing, arguing, and otherwise disparaging remarks that were thrown between us, of which his fiance took no part. We did not finish, but it was a grand try (I’d say about 70% completed). The only true accomplishment was how much I imposed on their dinner time; it was 8:30 p.m. by the time I left.

A spontaneous hangout that let me enjoy the company of my friend and his fiance. It was probably nothing to him, but I’m foolishly sentimental and will hold on to the memory for far longer than he’ll remember. All because I try to do the New York Times Crossword.

In the same vein, I’ll always be grateful to my friends who invite me to hangout, even though I turn them down again and again. You prop me up in ways you can’t imagine.

To be clear, I do not condone this part of me. It allows me to be detached and focused, no matter the cost. I view it like a switch. Previously, it was always on. There were times I’d flick it off, but I’d get awfully antsy and flick it back on as soon as possible. Now, I try to keep it off, switching it on when I demand it. Keyword being try.

Like all ideals, the point is never to reach them, but to strive for them. Besides, I never keep the switch off for too long, otherwise I’ll lose my touch. Can’t afford that, now can we?