It has vexed me since I was a little child: the Rubik’s Cube. That multi-colored block that lets you shift pieces around in a vain attempt to get all the same colors back where they belong.
The toy maker claims the cube can be scrambled in 43 quintillion different patterns. (I think they made the word “quintillion” up, but anyway, it’s a lot.)
As a kid, I think I tried all quintillion combinations, including busting the bugger up and putting it back together correctly. Or peeling the stickers off and reapplying them in the correct order. I failed even at those.
The little toy haunted me. It seemed so easy, so simple — like there must be a right way to do it. Screaming, pulling all the hair out of the right side of my head and throwing it as far as I could into the neighbor’s yard never worked. (Maybe I needed to do that 7 quintillion times?)
Which is why I was so amazed when we visited one of our college friends over the Christmas break. Her 10-year-old son, Lucas, has not only mastered it, but goes to tournaments to compete with his super-fancy, ultra-spinny cube that dances in your fingers and says things like, “Sooie, you got this, baby!!!”
My daughter brought her cube along for him to solve. He did it in like 45 seconds. And then — when I didn’t believe it … and accused him of trickery and using fancy lighting — he did it again.
Well, I’ll be …
“Are you a super-human genius? Are you a space alien? Are you some kind of circus freak?” I asked, rolling the solved cube over in my hands as I stared in wonder. He didn’t have to throw it over the neighbor’s fence even once!
“No,” he said. “It’s easy once you learn the steps and the algorithms.”
“The rhythms of Al Gore,” I said. “How did I not see that!?!”
So, I spent pretty much my whole break on a quest to beat Rubik. I bought my own cube (my daughter wouldn’t let me mess hers up.) I read blog posts. I watched videos. I practiced. I looked up the word “algorithm.” (It had nothing to do with the former vice president!)
And then one fateful day after Christmas — after years of false starts and failures — I sat down and did the unthinkable: I solved it. Whammo!
It was as if I climbed Mt. Everest. Or found my White Whale. Or hit the magical 100-point hole in Skee Ball. (Bet Lucas couldn’t do that!)
I had done it. (My daughter promptly mixed it back up, but that’s OK. I know Al Gore’s rhythm now!)
Along the way, Rubik’s taught me something else: That as chaotic as the world may seem, there’s almost always a rational, simple way through it. I learned that! From a multi-colored cube!
Plus, that if you repeatedly pull your hair out, it will grow back with a cowlick shaped like a spinning Rubik’s Cube.