When You Build a Rube Goldberg Instead of Using a Simple Machine
As an autistic person and a bottom-up processor, I often find myself building intricate, layered systems to solve problems that—frustratingly—could have been addressed with a much simpler solution. The realization usually comes too late, leaving me staring at my beautifully overengineered creation and thinking, “Was this really necessary?”
For a long time, this pattern felt like a personal failing. Why couldn’t I just go straight to the obvious? Why does my brain take the scenic route when the direct path is right there? But over time, I’ve come to see that these detours are more than just frustrating—they’re integral to how I process the world and, ultimately, how I create.
---
Bottom-Up vs. Top-Down Processing: Two Ways of Thinking
To understand why my brain works this way, it helps to know the difference between bottom-up and top-down processing.
- Bottom-up processing starts with the details and builds upward. It’s like assembling a puzzle piece by piece, without knowing what the final image will look like. This approach is thorough, creative, and often leads to unexpected connections. For many autistic people, including myself, this is how we naturally think. We notice the small things first—the textures, the patterns, the nuances—and weave them into a bigger picture. It’s a cognitive style that thrives on complexity and depth.
- Top-down processing, on the other hand, starts with the big picture and works downward. It’s like looking at the puzzle box to see the final image, then fitting the pieces together accordingly. This approach is efficient, goal-oriented, and great for quick decision-making.
Neither way is “better”—they’re just different. But in a world that often prioritizes top-down efficiency, bottom-up thinking can feel out of place. It’s not that we’re overcomplicating things; it’s that we’re seeing all the things.
---
The Beauty of the Rube Goldberg Mind
A Rube Goldberg machine, for all its inefficiency, is undeniably beautiful. It’s intricate, creative, and deeply satisfying in its complexity. That’s what bottom-up processing feels like: every idea connects to another, forming an elaborate web of meaning and insight. It’s not just about solving the problem; it’s about understanding every possible angle, exploring every potential path.
My brain thrives in this space. It’s where I feel most alive—connecting dots, layering ideas, and uncovering hidden patterns. But here’s the rub: sometimes you don’t need a Rube Goldberg. Sometimes the task only requires a lever. And recognizing that difference can feel both liberating and maddening.
---
The Problem With Overcomplicating
When you’re someone who thrives in complexity, simplicity can feel almost insulting. A lever? Surely there’s more to it than that. My brain loves complexity so much that it sometimes refuses to see the obvious until I’ve exhausted every other option. It’s a pattern that’s equal parts strength and stumbling block.
I’ve built Rube Goldbergs to explain ideas that needed no explanation. I’ve written elaborate frameworks when a simple outline would have sufficed. And while I don’t regret those moments—they reflect the depth of my thinking—they’ve taught me an important lesson: sometimes, complexity is a distraction, not a solution.
---
Why Do We Overcomplicate?
For me, overcomplicating often stems from a fear of missing something—a detail, a perspective, a possibility. It’s also driven by a love of exploration and creativity. I don’t just want to solve the problem; I want to UNDERSTAND it, to see it from every angle. But this tendency can also be a way of avoiding vulnerability. If I keep adding layers, I don’t have to confront the possibility that my solution might not be perfect—or that it might not work at all.
---
Embracing the Lever
The beauty of recognizing this pattern is that it doesn’t require abandoning complexity; it simply means I have a choice. I can lean into the Rube Goldberg when the moment calls for it, but I can also embrace the simple machine when simplicity serves better. Both have value, and both are part of how I think and create.
So now, when I catch myself overengineering a problem, I pause and ask: “Am I building a Rube Goldberg for something that just needs a lever?” If the answer is yes, I try to set down the extra pieces and trust that the simplest solution can still be enough.
---
The Takeaway for Other Thinkers
If you, too, have a Rube Goldberg mind, your complexity is a gift. It’s what allows you to see connections others miss, to create beauty out of chaos, and to solve problems in ways no one else could. But remember: the beauty of your brilliance isn’t in always building the most intricate solution—it’s in knowing when to use that gift and when to let a simple machine do the work.
So, the next time you find yourself automatically reaching for complexity, take a breath. Ask yourself: “Is this a Rube Goldberg moment, or is this possibly a lever moment?” And trust that, either way, you have what it takes to find the answer.