I’d already completed those. Now, this mysterious, perfectly square grid, with its 81 boxes — nine groups of nine, all nestled on top of one another — stood there silently waiting.

I never loved Sudoku. Something about seeing those seemingly random numbers — like rogue glyphs in a field of endless white — strewn across that barren grid gave me a bit of unease.

Much like this strange little puzzle, I couldn’t help but think that this is how most things begin. You’re standing in a blizzard of white that can leave you snow-blind. You want to start something new, but there’s not much to go on, and it all seems so daunting. So why bother? Like the painter’s blank canvas that stands there bone-dry or the writer’s empty page that flutters hauntingly in the breeze, thirsty for fresh ink.

But deep down, you know there’s something to be uncovered, and something keeps tapping you on the shoulder to begin. That’s the beauty of this game and any other new endeavour in life. An underlying logic binds it together, just waiting to be uncovered.

And so, I reluctantly grab my pen and begin.

Okay, there’s really not much to go on here. Hmmm…I’ll look at the first three vertical rows and see if any numbers repeat themselves twice. If so, I know which column the third instance of that number would sit in.

Sometimes, all you have when you start is a knowledge of what isn’t there yet, stretching out endlessly to the horizon. But if you look intently enough, you will begin to feel what is there. You may not see much progress yet, but you’re definitely starting to see patterns. You’re getting to know the landscape. You’re beginning to learn the language that this dream is speaking.

Right, I’m going to repeat the process, going horizontally this time. Hmmm… not bad. I haven’t gotten many numbers, but I’ve got a few. I’m starting to get it a bit more now.

I remember reading this gem of advice somewhere: When does a person become a musician? Is it when they write their first song or pen their first orchestral score? Or perhaps you become a musician the first time you strum a guitar or blow into a saxophone. In other words, unless you’re a child prodigy, the process always starts from zero. Everyone started somewhere.

Okay, this is getting a bit easier now. It’s not even halfway there, but I understand the logic. Now, I’ll look at each nine-digit box, again starting at one and going through to nine.

A big part of bringing something to life is the ability to see the nitty-gritty details and simultaneously have an acute sense of the big picture. One little nine-digit box is its own compartmentalized world, but it also slots into the larger context. One box may be incomplete, but there are others that aren’t. And just like any task or project, there are isolated elements at first, but they slowly start to bleed into one another as you zoom in and out of both worlds. And one view brings clues about the other. They feed on each other, and this dance between the two is how you get it done. Soon, the canvas will start to show some colour. The pages will start to fill in.

Hmmm…what next? I’ll go down each vertical strip and review the numbers from one to nine. Then, I’ll repeat the process going horizontally.

Any challenge has many dimensions, but after some effort and perseverance, you start to form a 3D picture of the entire concept—a constellation of networks and different relationships that eventually weave themselves together.

Look at that! Now, some nine-digit boxes only have one or two empty squares left. We’re getting there now. I’ll repeat my process and see what new information is there.

And then that moment of magic happens. You can feel it instinctually. That inflection point when your idea, which not too long ago seemed impossible, is suddenly about to reach completion. There’s enough momentum now, and things almost start filling in for themselves.

I call it The Sudoku Moment.

You can feel it in a journey when the destination is almost upon you. When you’re decorating an empty room, and suddenly, it’s more full than empty. You can feel yourself honing in on the answer — on the end game.

Wow, now there are only three boxes left to fill in! And now the answers are in plain sight. It’s just a matter of determining which remaining numbers complete the sequence. It’s incredible how this materialized before my eyes once I started paying attention. Maybe this game isn’t so bad after all…

I guess that’s the trick of life. Having the curiosity for something out there that’s worthy enough to be uncovered and, at the same time, holding on to faith until the cooperative components of the universe suddenly start to help out. And then the moment arrives when all of a sudden, you know it’s all going to fill in.

And you know what’s even better? The next time you happen upon that puzzle staring up at you on a lazy Sunday morning, or you get a whisper of an idea in a moment of stillness, it’ll get even more effortless to begin because you’ve already done it once before.

After all, your faith in everything in life grows with momentum, too. And once you have that, you will be unstoppable.