self-doubt

Mathematical Constipation

Have you ever had some kind of information you were trying to take in, but your brain just clenched up and would NOT let it in?

Yeah, I think I’m going to create some interesting visuals in this post.

I have students who go through this all the time. They’ve decided they don’t get math, so they won’t get math. Sometimes it’s because someone (even a previous math teacher) told them they couldn’t.

Excuse me. Must calm down the rage.

Other times, the mental block is self-inflicted. I have one particular student who spends so much time and energy declaring she doesn’t get it and complaining about how hard it is, her brain forms a rubber wall my words bounce right off of.

Once I get her to slow down, take a breath, and listen, she gets it fine. I’m trying to get her to stop “clenching up” … to relax and believe that even if she doesn’t get it instantly, she will get it eventually.

Sometimes the old, trite sayings are true. Try this one on:

If you think you can, or you think you can’t, you’re probably right.

Habits are hard to break, though. Getting students to loosen up their brain cells isn’t easy. Building confidence in people who are at a stage of life where they’re hormonally inclined to beat up on themselves is … well, not impossible, but there are days where it almost feels that way.

I’m not into blowing sunshine at kids. I’m not going to tell them they’re a math genius when they’re not. I will tell them honestly that math doesn’t come easily to them, and that’s okay, because they CAN get it. They just have to let themselves. And put in a little work (or a lot).

Anyone have other ideas on getting this through to kids?

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Choose Your ‘Tude

Anyone who knows me could tell you that I’m a mix of realist and recuperating perfectionist. I hope for the best without getting my hopes up. I acknowledge when I do well without getting out-of-control big-headed … well, I try, anyway.

Like anyone else, I have those moments when I get down on myself. I’ve had aspects of stories that I wondered if I’d ever get right. I’ve been afraid I’d never come up with a good story idea again. (That one still comes along now and then.) I’ve had manuscripts get several requests, only to get rejections that left me saying, “Mindy, what am I doing wrong? How on earth do you get an agent to ‘fall in love’ with a book?” (Yes, Mindy has been the recipient of any and all negativity rants.)

That last bit has been key for me—having someone to vent to when I’m feeling insecure and uncertain. Someone who doesn’t just blast sunshine back at me. (“No, RC, you’re the awesomest, they don’t even know, you rock everything!”) Someone who acknowledges my feelings, counteracts with factual evidence, and admits when she doesn’t have the answers, either.

So despite my ability to criticize myself to death, I’ve managed to keep an attitude of “If I keep trying, I’ll keep getting better, and eventually I’ll get there.”

There’s a different approach that can certainly be tempting, but I feel certain is less effective. The frequent, public declarations of, “I suck. I’ll never succeed at this. I’m screwed.”

Well, yeah. I believe that’s called a self-fulfilling prophecy.

I’m not a sunshine-and-rainbows, super-jam-packed-with-positivity type person. But I do know one of the few things we can control in this industry (and life in general) is our attitude.

If we’re overconfident, we annoy others with our arrogance. And we look foolish when we inevitably can’t deliver.

If we constantly declare ourselves full of supreme suckitude, what are we looking for? Baiting others into a pity party? Fishing for compliments, which we’ll then refuse to accept (because, y’know, we’re so convinced of our suckiness)?

Hard truth: I am not here to convince anyone of their greatness, particularly anyone who doesn’t want to believe it. I’m busy maintaining my own ego’s balance.

You don’t have to believe you’re great. You just have to be passionate enough about writing (or whatever you’re doing) to keep working at it, and believe that if you do, you’ll improve.

And you are the only one with the power to do that.

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Feeling the Funk

So, Valentine’s Day was this week, and …

… well, moving on.

Let’s face it. There are times you feel considerably less than awesome. This isn’t a pity-party—not a full-blown one, anyway—but it’s an acknowledgement of these feelings. They’re real, and they’re not fun. But acknowledging their reality (without going overboard) often helps me move on.

People talk about surrounding yourself with greatness. There are many benefits to this, but there’s at least one glaring downside. When you’re surrounded by the super-awesome, you really start to notice the ways you’re not-quite-so-awesome.

Then there’s the even more awkward position: When those looking up to your super-awesome friends assume you’re one of them.

“No, really, I’m just another wannabe trying to slog it out like you guys.”

But wait, I can’t say that. I’ll sound like a jerk to people who are struggling even more than I am. So I’ll just smile and play along.

And then I feel like a fraud, too.

Gah.

So, here’s the thing. I can dwell on this “I’m not as cool as my friends” feeling, but I prefer the other option.

I can work my butt off until I reach their level of awesome. Maybe I won’t get there, but even just by trying, surely I’ll get closer. And improvement’s always a good thing.

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Identity Crisis

Like most writers (aspiring as well as published), I have a day job. I don’t know how many other writers love their day jobs, but I do. I get to hang out with very cool kids, talk about random things, and get them to think differently about mathematics. And I have a built-in test audience for my writing. What’s not to love? (Uh, paperwork? School politics? Never mind.)

At the same time, this occasionally leads me into a minor identity crisis. No one really expects a math teacher to be a writer … or at least not to be any good at it. That’s fine, I like turning norms on their heads. But while they do overlap, there are parts of me that are distinctly either math-teacher or YA-writer.

Then the kicker—time allocation. Is the way I taught combinations and permutations last year good enough, or should I spend a weekend revamping the lesson? Revamping means giving up writing/editing time. Where are those 28-hour days we’ve all been wishing for? No, I won’t kid myself. If days got longer, I’d still find ways to overfill them.

I think I’ve pinned down part of the reason I feel guilty when I settle for “good enough” on lessons. The math-teacher front is where I know I have talent. I’m not perfect, I could definitely improve, but I have solid evidence that I’m pretty darn good at it. With writing, I have some supporters, cheerleading in my corner, and I do trust their opinion. So far, though, I have to take it on faith that they’re right.

Of course, the silver lining is in sight. My math-teacher side has mandated down-time known as summer vacation. As I did last year, this will be a time when I let Writer-R.C. dominate. Maybe crank out a short story or two, edit the new ms, dive back into the querying trenches … and hopefully come that much closer to convincing myself the time is worth it.

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