A 1000-piece puzzle? F* that! I can't do that!

Have you ever dumped a 1000-piece puzzle out on a table?  Well, if you're great at puzzles, you might look at that pile and be inspired for the challenge. But for the rest of us non-dissectologists¹, looking at all those scattered pieces gives rise to many feelings. Feelings like, "I'm never going to finish this puzzle!" and, "I'm not even gonna start this thing!"

Now, if you aren't into puzzles, you'd probably have no reason to dump that box on your table in the first place, but that doesn't mean you don't have your own non-jigsaw variant in your head. I know I do, and it can feel overwhelming. In the past month, I've been guilty of thinking of all the things I have to do, both personal and professional, and as the list grew in my head it became that 1000-piece puzzle. "There's no way I can do all this," I thought (or, more accurately, I knew). "Why even try?"

Basic motivation theory informs us that if you don't believe you can do something, you won't try, because, why exert the effort when the outcome won't be positive. All else equal, why not put that effort toward something likely to be productive?

When I view my options as working on that puzzle, or binge- watching my favorite shows on Netflix, I know I can't do the former, while I certainly have proven I can do the latter; furthermore, I know I get enjoyment from the latter, while the former will almost certainly result in frustration. It's really a no-brainier to predict where my energy will be applied: to the option that I enjoy and know I can complete.

But the problem with that approach is that now my 1000-piece puzzle is more like a 3000-piece puzzle. An actual jigsaw puzzle on a table doesn't morph (note to self: invent morphing jigsaw puzzle), but the puzzles we create in our minds can. Ignoring all those things I had to do didn't make them disappear; some grew in relative importance and/or urgency, while others seemed to procreate, giving me a bigger, even more complicated puzzle.

So, what should any of us do when confronted with such puzzles? Turn to our friends the dissectologists for advice. There are several different strategies for tackling a jigsaw puzzle²

We can start with what's easiest, the corner pieces. Whether it's a 24 piece puzzle or a 24000-piece puzzle, if it's a rectangle it only has 4 corners. Get those corners, and then find the rest of the smooth-sided pieces. If you can create the outer frame, you've greatly narrowed your focus. This is similar to my earlier blog posting about fishbowls, aquariums and oceans³; with all the pieces strewn about the table with no order, the task seems too great to conquer, you're drowning in an ocean of puzzle pieces. If you can build that aquarium for yourself, the external frame of the puzzle, then you have a better line of sight of the scope of the task. Once that frame is in place, we can use other jigsaw strategies such as grouping. If the puzzle has discernible color patterns, grouping the pieces into colored sections can facilitate finding the fit. Jigsaw specialists will note that many puzzles have redundancies in their cut patterns. This means one can use already solved parts of the puzzle to guide placement for other areas.

Now that you have a handle on jigsaw strategies, you might wonder how they relate back to that metaphorical puzzle of tasks strewn out in your mind. Start easy. Just as the puzzle pros do, identify the easiest way to get a sense of what is on your plate. For me, that involves writing down all those tasks. While I normally prefer a digital medium, I find that physically writing on paper helps, and I like to use a pencil, because there's a greater chance I'll be able to read my own penmanship if I don't use ink.

Once I have the tasks all listed out - my frame - I go about sorting them. Many of the tasks go together (for instance, I had to sign my son up for baseball, pick my son up from school, drop off a research project at a colleague's house and buy milk). Whereas I have previously taken four trips for a similar number of tasks, by writing out my tasks, I saw where I could group similar items, even though some were personal and some professional. One trip, led me to my colleague's house, picking my son up, dropping off his baseball registration and buying milk in such quick succession that I even had time to enjoy reading with him after school, an activity that I had previously been unable to find time for.

Other tasks I had included grading quizzes, entering 3 grades into an online gradebook and creating an assignment template for my students. Each of these had redundancies. Grading the quizzes was simplified by completing the first page for all quizzes and then the back, making it easier to maintain focus on my answer key. Entering grades was simplified because by first inputting them into a spreadsheet, I could then import all the grades at once. Once I had imported those grades, I was already logged into the course management software which made creating and uploading the assignment template for multiple classes as easy as "click and drag".

I still haven't completed the whole puzzle, and I don't know that I ever will, because unlike the static jigsaw puzzle on my dining room table, the task puzzle does morph. But even if the task puzzle I face has a box-front like a picture at Hogwarts, when I look at my work in progress, I see that I've got a recognizable image, and more importantly a manageable challenge in front of me.


1. cf., http://www.thebcd.co.uk
2. e.g., http://www.dailyjigsawpuzzles.net/jigsaw-puzzle-strategies.html
2. http://profedelson.blogspot.com/2015/02/fishbowls-aquariums-and-oceans-how-to.html