There’s a mushroom puzzle on the table on my back porch.
My sister gave it to me years ago. It’s only the second or third puzzle I’ve completed in years — not because I don’t enjoy them, but because somewhere along the way I decided they were a waste of time.
Isn’t that interesting?
Why would doing something I genuinely enjoy be considered a waste of time?
Every time I sit down with a puzzle, I’m reminded of something simple and powerful: slowing down is not wasted time. It is presence. It is attention. It is connection.
When I work on a puzzle, I see things. The tiny variations in color. The subtle curve of a shape. The way pieces that look almost identical are actually completely different. You can’t rush that. You have to look. You have to breathe. You have to be here.
This mushroom puzzle had several sections of empty space — those tricky areas where the colors are similar and there aren’t many clear markers. When I reached those pieces, I felt impatience rise up fast.
“This IS a waste of time.”
“I'm not really doing anything.”
Sound familiar?
But instead of getting up, I sat with the impatience. I took one piece at a time. I tried a piece in one spot — nope. Another spot — nope. I think I tried eight different spaces before, on the eighth try, the piece slipped perfectly into place.
Whew.
The satisfaction was real. And so was the realization:
This is life.
We try.
It doesn’t fit.
We try again.
Still doesn’t fit.
We keep going.
And eventually, something clicks.
Persistence pays off. Not frantic energy. Not forcing. Just steady action.
Another unexpected gift from this puzzle showed up in my relationship with my son.
He’s 16. An amazing young man. And also… 16.
He doesn’t have the 45 years of life experience like I have yet. Sometimes things take him longer. Sometimes I feel that familiar impatience bubbling up — the urge to micromanage, to hurry him along, to make it more efficient.
Instead of hovering, I started walking out to the back porch and putting in a few puzzle pieces.
It became the perfect distraction.
I wasn’t sitting there stewing. He wasn’t feeling pressured. I was channeling my impatience into something harmless and even enjoyable. He got space to move at his own pace. I got to practice letting go.
Win-win.
There was another lesson too.
When I noticed myself getting overwhelmed or frustrated, I would tell myself: “Lynn, it’s a puzzle. It’s supposed to be fun. Walk away.”
So I did.
And every time I came back later, everything felt easier. Clearer. More enjoyable.
Life is the same.
When we step away from a conversation, a problem, a decision — when we give ourselves space to breathe — we return with perspective. What felt impossible softens. What felt tangled begins to sort itself out.
If you look closely at the picture of the puzzle, there’s one piece missing.
There was a time when that would have bothered me that it wasn't "perfect."
Now it makes me smile.
Puzzles don’t have to be perfect to be enjoyed.
Life doesn’t either.
Maybe the real waste of time isn’t slowing down.
Maybe it’s rushing through moments that were meant to be savored.