I have NEVER been good at math. In my world 2 plus 2 equals whatever it feels like equaling. It's not that I don't appreciate math's place in the universe, I simply fail to see how it can be exciting or worthy of intense study.
In high school, I had a teacher we called Oatmeal. She had a perm that resembled a dirty shag carpet. If shag carpets could be formed into mullets. Her skin was wrinkled like she'd slept on it wrong for 50 years and she always wore beige skirts and big shirts. Oatmeal also had a permanent blue mark on her lip from where she would inevitably lick the tip of the marker she used on the overhead projector like someone would if they were using a quill pen (we don't think she was quite that old). She never looked up from her projector. She just wrote down formula after formula and we copied onto our papers hoping the equations would magically begin to make sense as they stared up at us from our college-rule paper. I had her class right after lunch and it took herculean effort to stay awake, much less pay attention.
I have some regret now that I didn't pay attention to Oatmeal, and a little shame because I have no idea what her actual name was. In 11th grade I had no idea how math was going to do me any good in the future. I was going to be a famous screenwriter, and since I had no intention of writing a script on the Pythagorean Theorem, I figured the point was moot.
The other reason I didn't exactly jump for joy over numbers was that math didn't compute in my brain, and I lived under the same roof as a human calculator. My mother went a married a math teacher. I adore my stepdad and would not have done even half as well as I did in school if it hadn't been for him (I have several friends who can claim the same of Gary). The first day I DIDN'T cry while being tutored was a milestone in the Alexander/Compton house. (Love you, Dad!)
Math has show up in my life in ways I never expected. Turns out, when your mom and dad stop buying things for you, you have to figure out how much things cost vs. how much you have. You wish you knew more about percentages when you are hit by a credit card bill with a 24% interest rate. You wish you had paid attention during personal finance when you buy a house and you wonder if the mortgage lender is speaking in English as he describes how he's arrived at your monthly payments--which somehow manage to be about 150 dollars more than what you calculated, but you figure he paid attention in math class, so you take him at his word.
In recent months math has taken on a new role in my life. It's my anchor. That's right, I said anchor. It helps hold me down when I begin to spiral and anxiety starts to get the upper hand. When my heart starts to pound and my breath starts to pick up like I'm running wind sprints, and my brain starts to lean toward to highly dramatic, I imagine Gary. I imagine him running through the times tables with me at my living room table. I think of him explaining how to find X in an equation that had so many variables it looked like a eye chart. I go through equations in my head, and remarkably, I calm down. The same subject that caused ridiculous amounts of stress in my youth has turned into a saving grace as an adult.
My theory is when you are a person who tends to use their creative side almost exclusively AND you deal with anxiety, your imagination turns from your money maker into your worst enemy. The only way to combat dramatic thoughts is with the undramatic. The simple, never-changing, rhythmic composition that is math. It's the same in every language and no matter what catastrophes I have encountered on any given day, 5 x 7 is still 35.
Now, don't misunderstand, I have no intention of suddenly digging out old math books or going into accounting (the thought gives me hives), but I have a better appreciation of the logical. So, the next time you find yourself getting too dramatic, divide 468 by 12 and let your brain jump tracks for a moment.
PS. It's okay if you have to use a calculator...
