Answers

Even though I took the most advanced math classes I could when I was in high school, I did not understand math. I didn't understand where equations came from; I didn't understand why I did what I did. All I knew was to take the rule, apply it, and get an answer. When I reached any sort of problem that was to have a real-world solution, I was stuck. I preferred answers that stayed theoretical without much application to real life.

A big reason I enjoyed math class was because of the people. I loved listening to the witty quibblers who would pun back and forth while solving complex calculus problems, and typing all sorts of genius nonsense into their TI-89 graphing calculators. I loved the class frustration at a problem, and feeling the pulse of the class quicken as we got one step closer to solving the problem. I loved the moment of eureka in a loud, exuberant voice, or a quiet, confident nod. I loved the friendships -- the understandings -- forged when someone who understood explained to those who didn't.

Perhaps my favorite thing about all my math classes were that there were answers in the back of the book. There were answers. They were accessible. Problems were solvable. When confronted with a problem that seemed to have sheer impossibility as an answer, it was a matter of flips and we were there, staring the beautiful solution in the face. Perhaps working backwards from there would make it easier and I could understand the steps...

The ridiculous thing is... that's not math. That's not true problem-solving. The thing I loved most about math was something that was artificial. I had trained myself to believe there was one way of doing things, and that the answer was always readily accessible. I dreaded those flips to the back of the book that would reveal a very unhelpful answer: "answers will vary" and left it at that. But the truth is... that's real life.

There's no "life answer book" that is readily accessible, a few flips and we're there. Consult it for a few moments, or perhaps stop and stare long and hard, work backwards, or even see the steps of solution. There are many ways to find the solution, and perhaps "answers will vary," but that's what makes it interesting.

I realized that when I didn't have the answers at the flip of my fingertips, I worked much longer, much harder on a problem. I tried every avenue... I worked every possible answer. But as soon as I knew there was an answer available, I gave up much too quickly. As soon as I realized the problem would take some thought, I would try one method, realize I didn't know what I was doing, and immediately flip two hundred pages forward, eyes scanning the page hungrily for the problem number.

I also discovered that it was the problems that didn't have answers -- the problems I worked the hardest on -- that I ended up finding the most joy in the solution. Since I had worked so hard to find the solution, I valued the solution so much more, I celebrated much longer, and I gained new confidence to tackle the next problem.

Sometimes I really wish I could flip forward a few years, see the answers to my questions, and even see how I got where I will be. But from these few short lessons from math, I have discovered that perhaps it is better to continue to strive for a solution without being spoon-fed. Perhaps it is better to just wait and see, to work, to use trial and error when everything else fails, and to continue asking for others' advice and input. And maybe one day I will arrive at the solution. And I will celebrate and boldly approach the next difficulty with confidence and endurance.