Those first few days in prison were pure hell, as I finally had the chance to process the previous year of my life, and to face the reality of the long sentence ahead. I was barely 20 years old, but it felt like my life was over. There was just this heavy sense of dread hanging over me. How was I going to do all this time? How was I going to live the rest of my life? I couldn't eat. I couldn't stop the thoughts. I couldn't get out of bed for several days. I wished I could go back and change it all.

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It was only the opportunity to use the phone that finally dragged me out of bed. I was forced to put on a brave face to talk to my family. I remember being aware that I would sound weak, tired, having not eaten in days, and made sure to compensate for that in my voice so they wouldn't know. I made myself sound fine, but I was not. Nothing was fine.

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Several negative thoughts cycled through my head relentlessly. Even when I slept, I'd wake up and within seconds reality would crash down on me. I had to do something, anything, to break the cycle. In the middle of my fourth or fifth night in prison, I woke up and felt that pain start to consume me. I don't really know why, but I grabbed a pencil and started drawing on the bricks in my cell. I made up long division problems... It seemed kind of silly, but those few moments in which my mind was preoccupied with the calculation were bliss compared to the nightmare on either side of it.

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Whether it was the fact that some time had passed, or the midnight calculations, or the strength of my family, I woke up the following morning with just the smallest seed of hope. I had to change this. I had to do something, anything. I meditated that morning, and to this day, that meditation is one of the most profound moments of my life. It changed everything.

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I had never meditated before, but I knew how and felt compelled to try that morning. I sat at the edge of my bed, palms up on my lap, and closed my eyes. No one else was up yet, so it was silent. My breathing felt shallow at first, my mind chaotic. But almost immediately something powerful pried its way in... Like a movie in high definition being played inside my head, I watched myself studying mathematics, doing research, earning my PhD, solving major problems; I saw the person I am today, and I wanted to be him. My heart was pounding, it just felt... right. As if I was seeing my path unfold in front of me.

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When I opened my eyes, I was back in that dark cell, and I felt like maybe I was losing my mind. I dismissed the meditation. But that day, when I got to use the phone, my dad asked if there were any books I might like to read, because he saw that he could send me some. And I asked for a calculus textbook.

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As I waited for the textbook to arrive, I couldn't get that meditation out of my mind. I thought about it constantly, and it felt sillier and sillier each time. I didn't know any math, but I wondered, if I can order textbooks maybe I could teach myself some... but researching? That seemed impossible. Why was I even taking this seriously? I meditated again and again, and the path seemed clearer each time. I wanted it. I wanted it so badly. Maybe it was crazy. Maybe I was losing my mind. But I threw myself into this impossible plan.

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The calculus textbook arrived, as did several popular physics books my dad had also ordered. I devoured them like a starving wolf. There was such passion in the voices of the authors of the physics texts, a passion I connected with immediately. They would say things like, "to truly appreciate physics, one must understand the mathematics," and that motivated me even further to study math. Calculus came easily to me. I was particularly fascinated with the proofs. I had never seen a proof before. It was like they were made for the way my mind works. I believe math chose me in that meditation, in some way I'll never understand. But I was just beginning to choose math, and it felt more and more right with every passing moment. I continued to meditate, and several other things came to me, like a commitment to sobriety, making amends, forgiving myself... I was growing rapidly, and I clung to the study of mathematics as a strong foundation.
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The calculus text mentioned linear algebra, so I asked my dad for that next. In addition, he went online and found MIT's online resources, including course lists, required textbooks, etc., and he printed and mailed that info to me. I was able to use these resources to map out my path and guide my studies early on. I read the texts required for the courses and covered a lot of ground, including many of the graduate-level courses. I started to branch out of the MIT courses and let my interests guide me. I fell in love with partial differential equations and pursued several deeper topics within the theory. I really had no reference point. There was no communication with peers or teachers (I had not yet learned of the PMP at that point). It was just me in my cell, books and papers sprawled out, giving everything I had to try to understand the concepts. I had no idea how far I had gone until I was reading and understanding research in the field I now study, and I knew it was time to start reaching out for some help.

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But prison didn't stop. I had to adjust. And although I had made great progress mentally, these were still very dark times. I look back with a mix of pride and loathing. Where that strength came from to work like that, I am really not sure. Math is so pure, so beautiful, and it struck a stark contrast with my surroundings. Math was something I could cling to in the darkest moments. So, I went to my new world as often as possible, and it whispered hope in my ear. It rewarded me with moments of peace and even joy as I understood something new I was working on. I ran away from the pain I was feeling towards the hope I found in mathematics and its promise to me that was fulfilled every time I gave it my time. I was living the vision I saw in that meditation. I knew I was on the right path.

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