One of the things I love most about practicing yoga is the absence of comparison. When I attend a class, there may be twenty or thirty other people there, but we're all working at our own pace. We have to: our bodies are all different. We are different ages and weights. We have different flexibilities and different amounts of muscle. Different things have happened to us over the course of our lives, and that changes how we move.
When my sister, my parents, my husband and I do the cryptic crossword on weekend reunions at my parents place, we all retreat to our separate spaces to dive into the puzzle. We work at our own paces and (unless someone accidentally cries out an answer in a fit of enthusiasm) respect one another's individual puzzle solving. In that respect, it’s a bit like being in a yoga class: we’re all working towards the answers in our own way.
Having someone call out "You don't have 17 Across yet? But it's so EASY!" would be akin to someone in a yoga class calling out "What do you MEAN you can't do full lotus position? It's SO EASY!”
It would be judging someone else’s practice by the standards of one’s own experience.
And what’s the point of that?
Having someone call out "You don't have 17 Across yet? But it's so EASY!" would be akin to someone in a yoga class calling out "What do you MEAN you can't do full lotus position? It's SO EASY!”
It would be judging someone else’s practice by the standards of one’s own experience.
And what’s the point of that?
On the flip side, two weeks ago, I had a different and wonderful experience of cryptic crossword collaboration. My aunt, uncle and cousin, who have only attempted one or two puzzles in their lives, asked me to help them solve the Saturday cryptic crossword.
Now, I love to solve alone, relishing each and every “Eureka!” moment that accompanies a cracked clue. But I love teaching puzzles even more. And although I’m sure my relatives were motivated more by a desire to make me feel included than by a genuine interest in puzzles, we jumped into solving it together.
It turns out that my cousin has a natural instinct for identifying clue types. My aunt is a whiz at double-meanings, cracking them before the rest of us have gotten our thinking caps on. And my uncle offers up little-known trivia as if it were common knowledge.
Now, I love to solve alone, relishing each and every “Eureka!” moment that accompanies a cracked clue. But I love teaching puzzles even more. And although I’m sure my relatives were motivated more by a desire to make me feel included than by a genuine interest in puzzles, we jumped into solving it together.
It turns out that my cousin has a natural instinct for identifying clue types. My aunt is a whiz at double-meanings, cracking them before the rest of us have gotten our thinking caps on. And my uncle offers up little-known trivia as if it were common knowledge.
We were halfway through the puzzle in no time and seeing their delight at solving a clue was every bit as good as those "Eureka!" moments I love.
It reminded me of one of my favourite parts of yoga classes—partner yoga—when you pair up with someone else whose participation helps you sink into a posture more deeply than you could have done alone.
It reminded me of one of my favourite parts of yoga classes—partner yoga—when you pair up with someone else whose participation helps you sink into a posture more deeply than you could have done alone.
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