How I Should Have Learned Math

An interesting perspective that I picked up from talking to my father this weekend during his visit, helps explain why I am bad at math.  But to be clear, this wasn't a lecture.  We talk things through in conversation, like two french beret wearing coffee drinkers (we don't actually look like that, but I imagine it to be so anyways).  So together, this was what we gathered:

If you think that you are a designated math person, and that is related to why you are incapable of writing well or understanding poetry well, you could be making a statement as inaccurate as I had when I denied any inherent math skills I've had as a supposed literature person.

I've assumed this dichotomy between my skills for reasons that seemed too obvious to question.  Throughout life, writing just seemed to come naturally to me.  Not that I think I'm necessarily awesome at writing; it's just that understanding words seemed easier to me than understanding numbers.  I wrote all the time. I was that kid in elementary school who wrote more than she was asked to, sometimes even asking for extra paper to continue writing.  I actually read during designated reading times instead of counting down the minutes till dismissal for lunch, and once I came home, I read as much as I could in my free time.  Up to this day, I will take any essay you send me and get lost in writing a 10 page commentary of revision notes for you without realizing how much time had passed since I started.

A weird phenomenon always seemed to occur when it came taking exams: the difference in grades I achieved between the two academic subjects were clear.  When it came to a class that required mathematical calculation, I would always do much worse than I expected--even after dedicating myself to a few all-nighters leading up to the test.  On the other hand, in any class that required essay writing in the exam, I'd ace the test without breaking a sweat.

Well, I thought through out the years, clearly, I am not a math person. But the breakthrough came when I stopped assuming what my faults were, and instead, started asking myself why was I at fault. I began to realize that I wasn't a faulty person, I am just a person who has faults.  The difference is in the limitations I set for myself; the former deems the limits inherent, and the latter implies I have the capability to break out of them.

For whatever reason, probably out of interest, I haven't put any limitations to my involvement in reading and writing.  If anything, I kept pushing myself harder over the years.  I told myself to read more books, harder books.  Write more, go beyond the minimum.  Within the collective hours, days and years I dedicated myself more in literature, the more I was actually putting my literacy into practice and expanding my skills.  I didn't realize it, but it all added up: the times I corrected my misspelling or incorrect grammar, or the times I looked up words I had read that I didn't understand, or even every time I wrote in my journal or rewrote my reports.  It is actually unfair to say that I was just a born natural, if you take into consideration all the practice I actually put in to get to the level I am at today.

While all that time flew by quickly as I had fun tinkering with words, the intimidation of numbers made every dreadful minute I spent with mathematical calculations seem longer and longer.  I did count the time I was forced to work on math, down to the very second, at times.  I stared at the clock often, feeling remorse for every minute spent on doing these stupid math problems.  As long as I did the homework, handed it in for completion, or passed the test just enough, I was satisfied.  The actual amount of work I put towards understanding arithmetical concepts was much less than literature, by far.  That was fine by me, I hated it.

The obvious connection towards being good at something and the amount of practice you put into training yourself--whatever the subject matter--didn't occur to me right away.  The idea slipped my mind especially as a kid who was satisfied with simple connections: I didn't do very well, so I must not good at it.  I don't have a fun time doing it, so I must hate it.

So, I learned math just enough to understand it, but I never actually did much math, to avoid it as much as possible.  But did I really, actually learn math sufficiently and in it's entirety?  Well, I'd sit through the lessons, read about the concepts in the textbooks, and then zip through homework problems without actually paying attention.  I should have realized that what I did was just as superficial and slight as if I were only reviewing the basic concepts of poems, just enough to point out different styles and varying structures, without actually dissecting each stanza for specific literary components or even trying to write a few myself. When a topic is just understood, without applying the concepts in practice, a key component in comprehending it is missing.  Our minds need to figuratively grasp what we learn, as we actually gasp it hands-on to make the connections to make the theory a reality.

I realized, this process is the same for nearly anything in life.  Whether we realize it or not, for the things we are better at, we were able to achieve it better in thanks to having more practice.  Sometimes correcting our mistakes will take more trial and error for some things than others will require, but getting to a point of proficiency will always require some amount of work.

Whether you think you like or hate something, you must know that you must DO IT before you can do it WELL.    The more you involve yourself into doing something, the more of it you are actually comprehending, and the more you are becoming proficient.  Only then can the skills come to represent a level of expertise.  Learning is an active process; you don't improve by simply being compliant.  Messing up doesn't equate to being inept--just keep going.  Keep on doing it.  I wish I could be more eloquent at this point, but really it just boils down to starting something, and just "doing it."  It's pretty cut and dry.  

Just do it, then do it well.