I first found the book on a decorative stand next to Mom’s favorite reading spot. She had developed an interest in many subjects later in her life, including the puzzle form known as Sudoku. “Brain exercise,” she once told me. I picture her sitting with eraser ready pencil in a large floral arm chair, one of the most comfortable pieces of furniture ever made. She finishes the final puzzle in a series for experienced Sudoko players and considers its successor perched atop the stack of books to her right: Sudoku for “blackbelts”. 2nd degree. For Sudoku martial artists. You’re next, Mom tells the crease-free paperback. But next never comes, or at least not as anticipated; a devastating stroke cuts short what might have been a dazzling progression in the puzzling arts during Mom’s senior years.
So the martial challenge fell to me. And, contrary to some of my previous demonstrations of headstrong engagement in things labelled difficult, I embraced this new opportunity cautiously, with reasonable pace. Meaning I took it slowly, even reluctantly. How hard could something so seemingly simple be? Start small, with easy puzzles, just to learn the rules. Then advance, as spare time and motivation permitted. Only when I felt ready did I actually open the advanced blackbelt book – have I mentioned it was for 2nd degree students? – and test my ability. The first five puzzles went smoothly, pulling me into the martial Sudoku world, graduating me to the mysteries of the remaining 295 challenges. I did not get them all correct, no. But I held my own for many (?most), especially the ones in the end of the collection. Along the way, I learned new tips, techniques, and ways to solve what I assumed were progressively challenging puzzles. And I did it my way too, when I had time, with snatches of fifteen minutes here and there over weeks, then months, and, yes, years. From start to finish, the entire effort has taken me a decade. In fact, just last week, I entered the final number in the final puzzle, number 300, completing what I thought was both the book and my 2nd degree Sudoku blackbelt training.
I’ve told no one. But, inside, I knew that I had done something noteworthy. On my own, without resorting to any online help, I had cracked the secrets of Sudoku, without peeking at the answers to each puzzle in the back of the black belt challenge book.
This has been no small feat! Hours of time I could have used for other forms of learning, reading, or mindless entertainment were devoted to breaking the Sudoko code. It’s been just me against the empty boxes on each page, my patience, fortitude, and logic matched against the few numbers already placed inside each puzzle. Mine has been a journey of self-discovery. I told myself, repeatedly, that I could figure Sudoku out, that I could learn the techniques to solve any puzzle presented, if only I sat with the puzzle long enough, and let the tactics present themselves.
Which they often did! Even working through the final puzzles of the book, I was finding new techniques, new patterns hidden inside the numbers, tiny adaptations to ruling in or out one small piece of the pattern that flipped a puzzle from impenetrable to easily solvable. And the solution for the final puzzle, the grand number 300, presented itself without much effort. When I filled the last box in number 300, I smiled at the number strings on the page before me, then closed the book with a sense of mastery. “We made it, Mom,” I said aloud. “We’re 2nd degree Sudoku blackbelts.”
Achieving a blackbelt in any discipline is an arduous task. Last year, for example, I successfully reached the level of first degree blackbelt in southern Shaolin style Kung Fu. That accomplishment took multiple years and involved the downing of many servings of humble pie. Now here I was, just fourteen months later, a double blackbelt. True, the Sudoku recognition was not conferred by an external source; the blackbelt title was just something printed atop the book cover. Nonetheless, it still represented an achievement of some magnitude, regardless of its somewhat unofficial status. And it had taken me three times as long as my Kung Fu blackbelt. There have been lessons from both these journeys. Perseverance matters. With age may come patience. Be careful you don’t imagine you have accomplished more than you really have.
What?
Ok, perseverance and patience are important lessons, yes. And they lead to sometimes impressive results. But a blackbelt, even when earned through awesome effort and fairly phenomenal skill development, does not confer supreme status on the awardee. It doesn’t even ensure that said awardee is consistently skilled at their respective art form. As proof, I share what happened when I returned to the beginning of the Sudoku black belt book and decided to apply my formidable experience to puzzles left incomplete during my decade of study. Nothing. That’s right. Zip. No differences. In the past three days, I have erased three puzzles that first left me in a dead end only to find myself, despite application of my techniques, in apparently fresh dead ends – years after my initial failure. Shouldn’t the earlier puzzles be easier? Maybe. How could I storm through the final dozen puzzles only to be mired in mistake and confusion when I revisited puzzles back in the first twenty? No explanation. I have erased one of the those puzzles at least three times, reapproaching it with fresh eyes and steadfast confidence. The results, sadly, have been the same.
What then have I learned, really, over the decade of my Sudoku journey? Have I sufficiently mastered the form to deserve the lofty recognition of 2nd degree blackbelt?
Clearly not. Or clearly not so certainly.
I am a better Sudoku player – that is probably true. I am still drawn to the challenge of correctly completing a pattern of 81 numbers for which there is just one solution – that is also likely true (although my wounded pride does temper my current enthusiasm, I must admit). I still miss the opportunity to discuss Sudoku tactics with my mom – ah, well, that is definitely the case.
And there is this: the distinction of blackbelt, for a martial or other art form, is not a recognition of arriving but rather an acknowledgment of beginning. Because real expertise, the kind that needs not boast or wave attention to itself, never looks backwards. It is always pressing forward, exploring the limits of its ability, testing and redefining the potential for its growth. The honor of achievement is not meant to be worn, as an adornment. Instead, it is intended to be built upon, as a motivation. It is available for use, as a leverage. It is ready to be settled into our lives as a fortification of our foundation, for continued learning and development.
Perhaps I should get some formal coaching for my Sudoku black belt training. After all, that’s what I did for my Kung Fu training, an experience which taught me, above all else, that we are not meant to discover many of life’s lessons on our own.