Taste

Sometimes I wonder if I just have really bad taste, whatever exactly that would mean. How come the art that I find the most powerful or pleasing or interesting, almost everyone else I know simply doesn't get anything out of? How come I like predictable romantic comedies, and young adult novels, and Yoko Ono songs, and Yugioh, and Gummi Bears, and so on and so on? And I can't see very much appeal in whatever cultural things are most popular?

Also, why does it feel to me as though everyone around me feels confident just asserting that whatever they happen to like is objectively good? Why do I feel like everyone else gives themselves more right than I do to dictate the artistic value of things? Why can they play music they like for other people and not spend the whole time terrified that the other people don't like it? Why can they show things they think are funny to people without fearing the people won't laugh? How do they not care if someone else watches their favorite movie and thinks it's just so-so?

I'm not accusing people of being arrogant or obnoxious. Obviously the way other people do it is the normal way; obviously I'm just extra sensitive. I try sometimes to pretend I'm someone else and I don't care; I try putting on my music when my friends are in my room or the car, I try sending Liz and Andrew songs, I try suggesting movies to watch. But after a few minutes I turn off the music; every time I send a song I regret it; we never watch the movies I suggest because I back down quickly. In the end, I just don't enjoy sharing things I love with other people. In the end, it's just too stressful.

It's a bit like the "what do you want to do?" paradox. As though the entity of what I want to do could possibly exist independent of what other people want. "No, but what do you want?" Andrew will ask. "Don't worry about what I want." But there's a huge difference between doing something with someone who also wants to be doing it, and doing something with someone who's only doing it to make you happy. They're just different activities; and often, I want to do the first one, if possible, and not the second, because I won't enjoy it.

Andrew tries to be interested in the music I send him and the books I tell him about, but in general he doesn't usually quite connect with things the way I do. Will I ever share art with my children the way I share it with my parents? When I'm old, will my brother be the only person in the world who understands my love for Rescue Rangers and Gummi Bears and Yugioh and Rumpole and Jethro Tull and hide? Will I ever have friends who understand those parts of me?

Yeah, I know I sound all despairing and sad here; actually, I'm in a generally contented mood right now. Just bored and listening to Double Fantasy and musing about things.

Holly just asked me why I'm not going to math grad school. Eric asked me the same thing earlier today. I didn't give either of them a very good answer. Can I even explain it to myself?

I love math the way I love windy days and umbrellas. Immersing myself in a cool math problem, pushing things around in my brain until the structure clicks into place, being with other people who understand the elegance, the humor, the power of talking about these mystical relationships and patterns that exist so absolutely, in a way no physical object could ever exist...bouncing a problem back and forth, talking in ellipses and gestures, giggling over jokes I could never explain to anyone...finding connections between concepts that seemed unrelated...all of this just makes me feel a rush of joy and contentment, a similar rush to what I feel when the wind tries to carry my umbrella away.

(As an aside: Eric also commented today that I have the strongest psychosomatic reactions of anyone he knows. Of course, this is something I have already noticed about myself: biology class made me nausious; I can be tickled without being touched; I can't listen to someone talking about an injury or anything involving the body without my own body feeling odd. Perhaps feeling a strong rush of joy from gusts of wind is along the same lines. If it's unusual to feel these things so intensely, then I think I'm glad I do. Even if it made bio an odd form of torture.)

(As another aside: my absolute favorite movement from the Johann Michael Bach record just came up in shuffle; it brings back such vivid memories of walking around the back circle at PFS daydreaming about Little Elizabeth and Davy in some field, calling to each other with this music...And of course, there's no one in the world I could play this too who could possibly share in that memory and all the nostalgia and sadness and satisfaction it brings to me. I suppose that's a big part of why it's so hard for me to play my music to other people; there's something painful about knowing it doesn't mean to them what it means to me, and never could.)

But back to math: I've often thought that if I had to pick one activity that makes me happiest while I'm doing it, it would have to be doing math with people. Not just any people of course, but people with clellity, people who understand why I love math, who know how to laugh and take it seriously enough at the same time. Well if that's true, then why shouldn't I go to grad school and give myself more opportunities to do math with cool people?

No good way to express the answer is popping into my head. I wouldn't want to spend my whole life walking around with an umbrella, either. It's not that I don't think math is important; I do. I think it's beautiful and powerful and deeply important. But I, personally, have other parts of my soul to satisfy, and it just seems obvious to me that if math were my work, my career, it would simultaneously put a strain on my relationship with math, and leave me with a feeling that I wasn't getting out of my career what I want to. I'm content with not saving the world, because I can't, but I want a little bit more of a feeling that I'm doing something directly to help people who need it than I could get if I spent my days doing pure math -- no matter how happy it made me feel. I don't want to feel pressure to publish research. I don't want to be an academic.

Maybe that's really at the heart of the matter: if anyone would pay me to sit around all day and chat and laugh and play word games and occasionally do a bit of math (which was pretty much my day today), then I suppose I wouldn't really complain. I mean, I can do volunteer work if I want to feel all socially responsible, right? But no one would pay me to do that. I would have to exist in the academic world, and even if I managed to find a little niche for myself in a non-competitive environment, I would still be spending my life around professional academics, I would still be expected to hold my own, and somehow that's just not appealing to me. I don't want to publish things. I don't want to speak at conferences. Maybe I'm just a wimp, but I don't want to.

So I'll find ways to stay in touch with math. Maybe I'll find occasional random courses to take, like Richard does. I can always tutor people. I can go to conferences just for fun, if I decide it's worth the money. I'll visit Adam every once in a while and make him teach me something cool he's working on. But I just don't think I could have that life myself. I think math in my life needs to be a passion and a love but not a career.

This still doesn't sound like a very good answer. Maybe I'm wrong, and I should be going to math grad school. Maybe I'll take a couple years off from math and realize I miss it desperately. But I just don't think so; I think it's the right decision.

And now, it's almost midnight everywhere in the continental US, so it's a good time to go to sleep. I suppose I'll close with some lyrics...how about Yoko, since I was listening to her today.

And I'll give you my heartbeat,
and a bit of tear and flesh.
It's not very much but while it's there you can have it,
you can have it!