I had a torrid love affair with math for one year and one year only. I took geometry my freshman year of high school and fell madly in love with it. It was the only year of my life I felt completely smart because it was the only time I ever excelled in math. It was as though I had been in a foreign place where I could't speak the language and finally after many years met someone who could speak in my native tongue and translate. Geometry translated an ever perplexing subject into something visual, beautiful and familiar. I had two math teachers that year. One was a tutor who prepared me for my first rigorous year at a prep school and the other was my geometry teacher.
Strangely enough, my experiences in math class freshman year also introduced me to the idea of what it really meant to be passionate. As an artist never would I have anticipated math class would be what taught me about passion. I have usually been wary of disciplines that always produce the one correct answer. This isn't to say I don't believe in some absolutes, but math always seemed to be an unforgiving tyrant leading me down a straight line of failure. I had a hard time believing in anything requiring every misstep be retraced and erased in order to reach the perfect and correct answer.
My math tutor the summer before I started freshman year had a startling hypothesis. She believed the way math traditionally was taught catered to men and often excluded women from more fully understanding and participating. In addition to this hypothesis she had developed a math curriculum she believed both men and women would thrive with. I desperately wanted to believe the reason I had previously been so bad at math was merely because I was socialized out of it… however, I was somewhat skeptical… That summer something remarkable happened. I did well. I did very well. I succeeded beyond what I ever could have fathomed. I marveled that one woman in her mid-twenties had already discovered something so transformative and game changing. I idolized her. She instantly became a true mentor and provided a wealth of knowledge. I asked her about everything from relationships and haircare to life purpose and spirituality. One afternoon she gave me a piece of advice that seemingly belonged on a refrigerator magnet or Pinterest meme. She advised me to "fall in love everyday." At first blush this advice could seem like the text overlay on a photograph of dancing in the rain or even worse the permission to pimp oneself out, because at 14 "love"was the ultimate prize and worth soliciting everything for. Regardless of its possible interpretations, I was instantly struck by it and knew it was a mantra worth keeping. She went on to explain that everyday should be approached with wonder. One should wake up each morning with purpose and commitment to something valuable. One should constantly be awestruck by new things. One should love the things that have come to seem ordinary. And most importantly one should seek love only after learning to love the hobbies, interests, ideas and people swirling about them on a daily basis. I was baffled a math tutor could understand such lovely things about the world. But I knew she did. She had taken something as perplexing as mathematics and through her passion and curiosity created something that could make the entire discipline accessible and achievable for many others. It made me wonder what I could accomplish if I approached the comings and goings of my everyday with more purpose and zest.
My geometry teacher was a woman in her mid to late sixties from Scotland. I loved her partially because of her delightful accent and partially because she was able to make math art. There were only three of us in her class so I quickly developed a close relationship with her. Similar to my tutor, I believed because she was able to unlock the door to math for me she was somehow a mystical creature who held all the answers. She did hold many good ones. As mentioned previously I was at the age where I was fascinated and somewhat obsessed with "love." I was equally enchanted by the idea of soul mates as I was disgusted by the prospect of spending the rest of eternity with one solitary, smelly person. I craved destiny as much as I feared boredom.
My geometry teacher never seemed to be bored with anything, she was the type of person who even found ways to make the month of January feel festive. In addition to knowing how to celebrate the seemingly mundane she absolutely adored her husband! After almost forty some odd years of marriage she remained smitten. It wasn't the kind of smitten that felt nauseating or codependent, nor did it seem merely like the mutual respect and gratitude couples speak of in the mature years of their relationship. It was a genuine sort of smitten. She still found this old, wrinkly man absolutely delightful and it astounded me. One afternoon I was so perplexed I finally asked her if she ever got bored with her husband. (I had certainly nailed the arithmetic of appropriate questions...)
She laughed at my inquiry and responded she had honestly never gotten bored. Flabbergasted by her response I followed up by asking how this was possible. She then explained to me her husband was the type of person who saw and discovered new things everyday. He continued to be curious and creative. He remained interested in what the daily grind had to offer and consequently remained interesting. By being willing to be surprised by life he constantly surprised her.
Stereotypically speaking, I think the only thing people struggle with more than equations is their quest for love, acceptance, and companionship. Most of the millennial women I know either make finding love their sole quest or pick a soapbox to serve as their primary distraction. As a generation I think we have become the most apathetically caring group yet. We have lost our ability to genuinely marvel. We may pontificate to the contrary, but very few of us seem surprised by what the day offers. If my calculation is correct, according to my math tutor's advice I should have fallen in love 9, 855 times by now. Unfortunately, I can't say I have. Luckily, last week I had a conversation with a dear friend reminding me of my math teachers' wisdom. I was reminded of how critically important it is to fall in love daily. I was reminded of the dire need we all have to develop passion and purpose in all arenas of our lives. And most importantly I was reminded of my desire for becoming someone who is always present and interested, becoming someone who is delighted to be in their own company, becoming someone who remains interesting, and becoming someone that a person who has fallen in love 9, 855 times before will fall in love with.
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