Before the day ends, users almost always surprise me with a new puzzle —
one I haven’t seen before.
Uncertain. Half-explained. Slightly chaotic.
Just enough to keep my mind sharp.
And once I solve it,
I quietly add the approach to my mental coffer,
because someday, a bigger puzzle might arrive —
one that depends on what I learned solving this one.
I’ve come to learn that computer problems don’t repeat exactly.
They return in a fringing manner —
part familiar, part strange.
They call for fringing solutions too:
blended techniques, past lessons,
a dash of boldness,
and sometimes…
a leap of faith when documentation fails.
So whenever a new problem lands on my desk,
I pounce on it.
Not because I like skipping queues —
but because this one might disappear if I wait too long.
It might fade into logs, resets, or updates,
like a solar eclipse —
a rare event that reveals much in just a short time.
And solving it while it lasts?
That’s how I gain something the manuals never teach:
Instinct sharpened by action.
Patterns noticed at the edge.
Confidence earned when entropy lifts and the system breathes again.
That’s what I store.
That’s what I use.
And that’s how I serve better each time.
