Rubik's Cubes and Algorithms

I avoided solving the Rubik’s Cube for over 30 years.

It wasn’t stubbornness or lack of interest. It represented a way of thinking I believed my brain didn’t naturally possess. Spatial puzzles, rotations, patterns—it all seemed entirely foreign.

Then, something changed. My son casually picked up a Rubik’s Cube and quickly taught himself how to solve one face. Watching him effortlessly maneuver the cube fascinated me. I eagerly asked, “Can you teach me?” He patiently guided me through each move, "First this, then this, then this." Yet, despite his sincere efforts, the puzzle remained utterly mysterious. I could mimic his steps but lacked real understanding. Frustration set in.

Determined, I kept practicing until I managed to solve one face entirely on my own. It felt triumphant, briefly, until I attempted the next step. Every new move seemed to destroy what I'd already achieved. I found myself stuck in an endless loop of progress followed by setbacks. If solving a second face was this difficult, how would I ever solve the entire cube?

Feeling overwhelmed, I looked online for help. The internet flooded me with foolproof algorithms promising quick solutions. "Just follow these exact moves," they said, "and you'll solve your cube in minutes!"

But that wasn't what I wanted. Memorising steps felt like imitation, not genuine learning. I sought authentic understanding, a deep mental shift that would let me see the cube differently.

Eventually, I discovered a simpler, clearer piece of advice: "Start by making a white cross." This manageable goal provided the clarity I needed. Instead of tackling the entire cube at once, I had a tangible, achievable first step. I practiced this repeatedly, experiencing small failures and triumphs, until I could reliably build the white cross. I looked up the next goal (not step), and continued in the same vein.

Through these attempts, something remarkable happened. My brain began changing. Patterns emerged clearly, and I started understanding how the cube's pieces connected and moved. My mind became fluent with the puzzle, able to break apart my progress and confidently rebuild it. I wasn’t sure if my method was the most efficient, but it didn't matter—I finally understood what I was doing.

Small victories led to bigger ones. My confidence grew with each goal I reached. Maybe I was a "Cube Person" after all.

Eventually, I reached a point where completing the puzzle required memorized algorithms. But at this stage, finishing the cube didn't matter as much to me. My true goal had never been just about solving it; rather, it was becoming a thinker who genuinely understands and approaches challenges thoughtfully.

Today, I still pick up the cube occasionally, enjoying the satisfying challenge of breaking it apart and rebuilding it. The true joy comes from recognizing how differently my mind now approaches the puzzle—a perspective shaped through my own exploration and understanding.

Reflecting on this journey, I wonder how different it might have been if someone had handed me a set of algorithms right from the start. Sure, I could have solved the cube faster, impressing friends along the way. But deep inside, I would know the truth: I wouldn’t really understand it. I might have mentally checked out early, convinced I simply wasn't cut out for spatial puzzles.

In education, when we rush students directly to solutions without letting them struggle, explore, and think deeply, we risk depriving them of a profound opportunity: developing a mind that truly understands and thinks critically.

At Sembl, we believe real learning is about stretching minds, not just speeding to answers. Because true satisfaction lies not in merely finding a solution but in becoming a thinker capable of deep, lasting understanding.