<p>I slowly ran my fingers along the sides of the object that I held in my hand. People today call it the Rubik's Cube. Many adventurous souls have at some point spent a minute or two with the Cube, twisting and turning the sides hoping to match the colors on each face. It was notorious for its difficulty, as solving one side often ruined what had already been solved I examined the enigmatic chunk of plastic resting silently between my nimble fingers. All six sides were scrambled, staring back at me through a messy explosion of color. </p>
<p>I remember walking through the toy store a few months prior, noticing the infamous Cube perched upon a lonely shelf. It was a silent beast, waiting to attack its next victim. Something compelled me to tame that beast. Cube in hand, I stepped out of the store with a smirk of determination plastered on my face. I remember my first attempts to solve the Cube. The many dents and divots in my wall serve as reminders.</p>
<p>Between homework assignments I would sit at my desk at home and develop solving methods. Wrinkles spread across my forehead as I tried to visualize the various outcomes of certain moves. Id grind my teeth whenever Id look at the Cube in its unsolved state, sickened by its utter lack of cooperation. Of course, it would only stare back at me, as if mocking my every move, taunting me to try to unlock its secrets. Every attempt to put an end to the colorful battle that raged on the Cubes faces only resulted in a more vibrant war. My numb fingers couldnt handle the aching. My desire to solve the Cube began to starve. I hungered for some form of progression. </p>
<p>Weeks later, the Cube began to make sense. Time had elucidated the solution for me, fusing the secrets of the Cube to my mind. Conquering a puzzle had never felt so wonderful before. When I was younger, putting together a 500-piece jigsaw puzzle or figuring out a magic card trick was satisfying enough, but the Cube, to me, was the master of all puzzles. Nothing else brought me the same kind of euphoria. </p>
<p>Leaning back against a lightpost in downtown Portland, I let my mind and muscles relax as my hands methodically began to manipulate the Rubik's Cube. The chaotic clash of colors became an iridescent whirlwind, accompanied by the continuous, rhythmic clicks that spilled out from each turn I made. Twenty seconds had passed before I matched up the colors on all six sides of the Cube. It was done. Someone slipped a dollar bill into my right hand. Looking up, my eyes met the face of a man with a cavernous, gaping void for a mouth. </p>
<p>Ive never met anyone who could solve a Rubiks Cube before, he told me.</p>
<p>I wanted to tell him that the Cube, although intimidating, was merely a puzzle that demanded time and persistence, and nothing more. Indeed, the Cube had taught me that through careful observation, solutions to even the most difficult puzzles can be uncovered. Effort brought answers closer to the mind's eye. Smiling at the man, I gave him back his money, telling him that it was best spent elsewhere perhaps to solve a puzzle of his own.</p>