The ‘New York Times’ Crossword App Was a Friend When I Needed One

The black and white squares kept me sane, and now I can’t live without them

This is “I Can’t Live Without,” a column about the apps, gadgets, and services that make all the difference.

There are certain words the New York Times crossword always comes back to. It is fond of the creme-filled OREO, of tides that EBB, of an old Russian TSAR (or CZAR). It enjoys IMO, shorthand for a texter’s expression of opinion. And it inexplicably loves the musician BrianENO.

I would guess that most crossword puzzle enthusiasts have similar lists in their heads. The words may differ, but the existence speaks to one thing: a keen familiarity with their favorite black and white squares. Once I finished enough New York Times puzzles — which, like the paper itself, hew to a very particular voice — I began to notice these words. They set off small flares in my mind in the same way that you start to remember someone’s habits once you spend enough time with them. I now think of the crossword like any other relationship in my life: The creators are like friends, some of whom I like, and some of whom I don’t. It has good days and bad days. Sometimes I can finish its sentences, while other times I want our time together to end so I can go home and eat a sandwich on the couch.

I started doing the New York Times crossword while traveling after leaving my job in 2017. I had experimented with crossword puzzles over the years, but I could never sit down and finish one. I also thought they were pretentious — and in fairness, they often are.

I paid $40 for a yearly subscription to the app, because it gave me the twitchy, thumb-driven satisfaction I would like to wean myself off but never will.

This time, though, things were different. Perhaps it was because I had the time to commit to a new habit, or because I was staying with my aunt and uncle, both of whom are crossword people, and we did them together after dinner. Soon, it became a way to bond with my boyfriend at the time, who was half a world away in New York.

Mostly, I loved the puzzles because they kept my mind busy. After I quit my editing job, I could no longer depend on working in the news to keep me going. Initially, the lack of manic stimulation was a stupendous relief. Then I began to miss thinking about words. Some people need to understand the complex mechanics of a car’s engine before they can drive stick; I just need a verbal explanation of what to do with my feet while I shift gears. My brain has always run on words, and puzzles filled the space the daily tasks of editing and writing left behind. They made me feel like I was still myself, even as a fundamental part of me — the part that wrote because it was the only thing I was good at — was a shapeless mess of questions and dread. While I debated whether I was cut out for the life of a professional writer, or whether I even wanted it, the clues and their answers kept me calm.

Once I started to recognize all these things, I decided the puzzle and I had finished our courting phase, and it was time to commit. I could have bought a book of them. Instead, I paid $40 for a yearly subscription to the app, because it gave me the twitchy, thumb-driven satisfaction that I would like to wean myself off but never will. Crossword purists may read this and scoff, but I will scoff right back.

The app is delightful. It plays a fun little tune when you complete a puzzle, it has an archive going back to 1993, it has mini puzzles, and it sends you a notification when the next day’s puzzle is available. It also compiles your playing statistics, which, if you are a competitive menace like me, is profoundly satisfying. It is one of two premium services I pay for — the other is Spotify — and I consider it a much better use of my money than giving Amazon Prime $119 for Jeff Bezos’ “establish luxury space condos” pile.

Now that we are well acquainted, I turn to the crossword app in times of need, which is to say when I want to mindlessly scroll through Twitter. If I’m waiting for the doctor, the train, a friend at a bar, or any other interminably boring but necessary human activity, I pull up the crossword. Instead of reading things that make me angry, I learn facts both pointless (nicknames for Yale) and pleasing (luging became an Olympic sport in 1964). I discover new words (ELAN, EOSIN) and see wacky and occasionally idiotic ways of using words I already know. I marvel at the Times’ talent for sounding like Lenny Wosniak when it repeatedly uses the word BAE.

I’ve never been someone who has hobbies, and this is the closest I’ll come to one. My mother always tells me to meditate, but I prefer to do the crossword. It accomplishes the same thing: gently nudging me to set aside time each day to separate from the rest of the world, from my problems, worries, and neuroses. It’s not directly tethered to the other parts of my life, which makes it sacred.

But like anything else, my relationship to it has changed over time. With practice, I’ve gotten comfortable enough to solve through Thursday. (They get progressively more difficult as you go through the week.) I still fear the Friday and Saturday puzzles, but I’m slowly getting better. I’ve started doing the Sunday on paper with a group of friends, because it’s far too big for a tiny phone screen. And I’ve loosened my rules on looking things up. Now, I don’t beat myself up for it — as long as I learn something new and interesting in the process, it doesn’t matter how I come to an answer.

But enough of this: I’ve got a crossword to finish. Do you know a five-letter answer for “Verses versus verses events”? I certainly don’t. You win this time, Shortz.