Every few months I pick up my cryptic crossword book and commit
to a life of cryptic mastery. I fantasise about rattling out The New
York Times Saturday cryptic in under 30 minutes, and being called
upon to help Australian cryptic master David Astle with questions
he just can’t crack. For a week, sometimes two, I study the little
book and bash out beginner crosswords. A thrill jolts through me
every time I solve a clue. I feel stronger and smarter, as though my
superpowers are unleashed question by question: at one-across,
I’m a regular woman; by the time I reach 23-down, I’m Batman.
Or Cardigan-Clad Cryptic Crossword Caz. Nah, Batman.
The joy of these heady early days of learning soon fades as
I progress from the wading pool of beginner clues to the depths
of proper ones, with their strange structures and hintless hints.
My enthusiasm falters. I become irate and depressed. I start
dreading my morning crossword and telling myself I’m too tired
to try at night. Slowly the dream and desire wither and die.
I tell myself I don’t stick with learning new skills because
I haven’t found the one that’s right for me; that when I find my
thing, I won’t shy away when it gets hard. In truth, I’m just not
used to the humbling feeling of learning anymore. It’s been
12 years since I was last at university. I’ve forgotten what it’s
like to walk into a room knowing nothing – to then claw my waythroughbooks, reports, group assignments and late-night cram
sessions and walk out a semester later knowing something.I’ve dabbled in and abandoned so many different things over the
years, from my week of being a nipper and a judo master to drawing,
languages, embroidery, sewing, yoga and photography. It’s not that
learning these things is insurmountable (well, maybe being a nipper
was), it’s that my shame suffocates my interest. I try, fail and quit.
If I were better able to embrace that feeling of cluelessness – to lie
prostrate at the feet of those who know or the website providing free
online courses – then maybe by now I’d be the world’s leading Spanish
cryptic crossword embroidery master who can save you in rough sea.
Being taught makes me feel dumb, and what better way to stay
uninformed and without skills than to be scared of the very act of
learning? It’s another beautiful cycle of self-destruction. It seems
that the only learning I stick with is the blood sports I enjoy, and
I persist with these to vent my frustration over my tower of unread
how-to books and my many broken dreams.
I once heard a friend say she was looking for a sexual partner
who could be her teacher, her mentor. I was confused – we were
in our 30s, didn’t she want a partner she could train or show the
metaphorical ropes? Her response to my questioning stuck with me.
She said: “I always want to be the student, because there’s always
going to be so much more to learn.”
My sex-seeking friend inspired me. In the interest of self-development,
better sex, and revealing the cryptic master I know lurks within me,
I stand here and confess that there are countless things I don’t know
but want to learn, from bridge construction to first aid, JavaScript
to geography. I’m willing to (try to) remain humble throughout the
process. I make no promises about my abilities at the end, but I will
fight to finish; I will swallow my pride until I’m nothing more than a
giant bloated belly of joy and a brain that has mastered something
new. Learning is humbling and exposing, like walking naked through
the city at peak hour. And just like a CBD nudie run, the best thing
for me to do is to keep going forward.live and learn
CARO COOPER IS READY TO
EMBRACE HUMBLE BEGINNINGS.
something to say