Chris and I have gone over a lot of problems, maybe over a thousand in linear algebra alone. It doesn’t stop there, though. After a problem, he often asks a follow-up question. These can be so thought-provoking that I might learn more from a single question than I learned from an entire chapter section. They inspire what I speculate to be a necessary playfulness when studying math.

There was a subtle shift in paradigm in his most recent message. He encouraged me to ask myself a question. It wasn't about any particular mathematical object, but it was still, without a doubt, the most difficult and profound one yet. Thinking about it inspires myriad feelings and images. I now sit here and ask myself, “What are my whys?”

I’m ashamed to say that I would have no problem helping someone else answer this same question. I did something like this just a few months back. My friend and mentor, Mallory, wanted my opinion. Which way should she go with her graduate studies? I readily pontificated with yoga and meditation for a calm mind, and then with some vivid imagery of various outcomes.

It can be hard to give ourselves a taste of our own medicine. In my situation, insecurities are a big obstacle. A part of me feels like I don’t deserve to be asking why I want to study math. I committed a horrible crime, so why do I deserve anything but to rot? What makes me think that I’m smart enough to do math anyway? I’ll be in my mid-30s when I get out of prison, so won’t I be too old for such a futile pursuit? The list is longer than I would like to admit.

The good news is that I know I can confront these insecurities. Ordinary people do extraordinary things. If I consider myself an ordinary person, despite my circumstances, then logically I can do extraordinary things, right? Maybe I could meet myself for the first time, and I could ask myself what my whys are. When I falter, I can give him a friendly sock in the arm and use my knowledge of myself to offer advice.

I’d tell him that it’s normal to have doubts from time to time. I’d remind him that he is still healing from an eclectic set of wounds, including those inflicted by the double-edged sword that are his actions. I’d point out how he has changed so much as a person. I’d also remind him that the first thing he did this morning was a diffeq. I’d point out that he has made his search for truth a solemn one.

That got pretty corny. I mean, I’m talking about myself in the third person! Who does that? All in all, I did take something away from it, though—even if I couldn’t discern all or even a few of my real whys.

A major why of mine is that I want to know why. Why does the universe exist? Why does math describe it so well? Why are we so content with what we are told about it? Why are commercials for obscure drugs perfectly legal in the United States while cigarette commercials aren’t? I mean, I know I’m not the only one curious about this stuff!

I don’t think this is what Chris intended when he mentioned that I should ask myself what my whys are. It may have just been motivation to consider specialization of some sort. I like to overthink things. It’s my specialty. I’ll keep going anyway and let you know what I find.

I’ll come to a close with a neat analogy I thought of. Our whys are like vectors; they have both magnitude and direction. Our whys come from what we pay attention to. Since what we pay attention to grows, our whys grow in magnitude as well. I’ll keep this in mind for myself this week, and I hope you do too. Until then, best of wishes.

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