Synchronicity

I was about 26 years old the first time I experienced a jolt of synchronicity between my puzzle solving and real life.   It was bedtime, the pillows were poofed, the reading light was on, and I had my crossword puzzle.  To my left, Mike was reading a hard-boiled detective novel, most likely something by Raymond Chandler.  I was stopped by a clue that had something to do with a fabric or a city or both (that detail I don’t remember).  I asked Mike if he had any ideas.  He said no, but to tell him when I worked it out.   “It’s Madras”, I said after a bit, and his jaw gaped. If you know Mike, you will appreciate how emphatic he can be at expressing astonishment.  He’ll stammer and huff and gesticulate.  “What is it?” I asked.  “I just read that word!” he replied.  “In the book I’m reading!  This guy is wearing a Madras shirt.  Look!”  He pointed to the page, and there was the word.  Well, that was odd and interesting, but a fluke, I thought.   

Each year, though, these sorts of convergences have increased in frequency, until, 20 years later, I’ve come to expect every puzzle I work on to be pushing tentacles of synchronicity into the rest of my day.  Sometimes you can chalk it up to there being certain memes or ideas floating around in the media, so that everyone is somehow hearing about the same thing.   But then there is the Madras-type event, which happened again last year.  It was bedtime, the pillows were poofed, the reading light was on, and I had my crossword puzzle.  To my left, George was watching TV, flicking through the channels.  “What was Eddie Murphy’s character’s name in Coming to America?  Do you remember?” I asked.  He said no, but to tell him when I worked it out.  After a bit, he poked my arm.  “Look at this!” he said, pointing at the TV.   “It’s that movie, I think.  Coming to America.”  Just then Eddie Murphy walked into the scene with his robes and crown and declared “Greetings!  I am Prince Akeem!”   Not just the movie then, but instantaneous delivery of the name that I was looking for.  How random. 

    

I can never quite convey to people how deep this goes, how it’s not just once in a while and not just often, but it’s every single puzzle, and how it’s not always those little jolts where an answer serendipitously appears like in those bedtime tableaux.  It might happen in the other direction, where I tell someone I like the word “naysay”, and it turns up in the puzzle that night.  It might happen that I do some research on ditto machines, as happened recently when I was trying to write a puzzle clue for "ditto", and the next morning I receive an email from my friend Gene describing dittos of musical scores he found in a box of his mother’s possessions, complete with descriptive detail about his memory of the smell of the pigment and the way it would smear if you touched it too soon.  These days when a convergence like that happens, it’s not astonishment I feel.  I expect it.  It’s a dear, old friend I knew would appear at some point with a nudge and a wink.  I nod, smile with recognition, and take a moment to acknowledge that something is at work in my life.  I don’t know what that something is, but I don’t fear it or shrug it off.  Perhaps it’s just that puzzles are meant for me and I for them.  There are daily reminders that we belong together.