Preamble Ramble
In high school, I was a bad student. Fresh from the horrors of childhood and surging with hormones, I lost interest in the game of pleasing the adults. I cut class—so much so in sophomore year that I failed mechanical drawing and English. I got high. Often. I blew off homework assignments, and the ones I actually deigned to complete were always done last minute. I never read what I was assigned, only what I wanted to (particular favorites at the time included Edgar Allen Poe, Hunter S. Thompson, Anthony Burgess, and J.D. Salinger). I rarely paid attention. When I did, two subjects outside of writing caught my interest: trigonometry and physics. But they failed to win me over to their cause because I couldn’t see math or physics as all that particularly creative (I can’t recall one teacher at my school—the Bronx High School of Science, no less—ever attempting to present the material as anything other than static information digested and regurgitated by rote, though, like I said, I did smoke a lot of pot back then).
Moving people with words seemed a far better aspiration than becoming a warehouse of equations that were spat out on command, so I decided to become a writer. Worse still, I decided to become a music journalist. But as much as I would like to go back and slap that earlier version of myself silly for such an ill-considered career choice, if it hadn’t been for music journalism, I probably would have never made the acquaintance of Algis Kizys, who, besides being one of the most awesome bassists of our time (click here for an example: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PcMdlDgk6iU&feature=related), knows a thing or two about physics. Late-night (mostly drunken) conversations with him reignited my interest in physics to the extent that not only did I read everything I could about chaos theory, Sir Fred Hoyle, etc., but I also started to contemplate going back to school to get a second degree in physics. I was 25 at the time and already bored with music journalism, so I figured, “Why not?” But then one of the most important people in my life died in a fire, and all bets were off. I fell into an abyssal black hole—metaphorically, of course, but it kinda felt literal—that took years to escape (actually I doubt I’ll ever be fully free).
Amazingly, despite how emotionally destroyed I was and the many bad, bad things I did to alleviate that pain, I started to thrive professionally. I ditched music journalism, and my newfound aspirations were both linked—unintentionally, mind you—to The New Yorker: becoming just like Eleanor Gould, the magazine’s grammar Buddha, and channeling the second coming of Dorothy Parker. Too much drinking and too many bouts with crippling writer’s block kinda got in the way of realizing the latter ambition, though I did get into the New School’s MFA program, and I have at least a screenplay’s worth of witticisms if I ever get around to poring through that mountain of notebooks in the attic. Becoming a grammar Buddha, on the other hand, was a cakewalk. Copyediting suited the habits of my mind. I created maps in my head containing the rules of English grammar and spelling, as well as the style quirks of whatever magazine I found myself at. I would scrutinize each sentence for inconsistencies (I was really good at that). I would treat sentences like equations, ensuring they were balanced, not only within themselves and their respective paragraphs but also within the entirety of the piece and the whole of the magazine.
After copyediting at a shit-ton of magazines, I wound up as the copy chief at Life magazine. I was working among some of the best people in the publishing business, I was pulling down a decent salary, and I actually didn’t mind waking up in the morning for the first time in a very long time. I was also hopelessly in love with this guy Steve, who would be the second person in my life to reignite my interest in science. He reminded me of two people: the guy who died in the fire and Sir Isaac Newton (don’t ask—it’s hard to explain). So I started reading up on Newton and subsequently started thinking a lot about gravity, especially what we didn’t know about it. At about the same time, Time Inc. pulled the plug on Life. Instead of searching for another copyediting job, I figured I had accomplished everything I had ever wanted to in journalism, and it was time to try something new. I decided to pursue a second bachelor’s degree in physics. My friends thought I had gone batshit (and they were probably right: Steve had moved back to Minneapolis six months previous to my unexpected job loss, so I was feeling a bit unsettled to say the least). I, on the other hand, reckoned, “Why not?”
At first, this seemingly insane detour was panning out: I got an A+ in Astronomy and Introductory Mechanics, an A in Calculus I and Calculus III, and a B+ in Calculus II. It was as if the fact that I hadn’t taken a math class since high school had no real impact. It was like riding a bike, right? Well…no. As I got deeper into my physics education, that 20-year gap became a crippling abyss. The brain jar that contained all the memories of the crucial algebraic manipulations and trigonometric tricks that made physics problem solving easier—and sometimes possible—went missing. The loss of my familiarity with trigonometry was the most heartbreaking. I loved it so much in high school, but when I tried to recall any of it, I was met with a stark, blank slate. An additional obstacle I encountered was time. There was never enough to really revisit trig, to really do the homework or prepare for a test properly, and, worse still, to really understand just what the fuck I was learning. Work, friends, home, family, my TV addiction, and life in general—and I really like having a life—kept getting in the way of physics. In retrospect, I realize now that learning physics truly, madly, and deeply is a young person’s game because they often have less of a life to get in the way. Not that it’s impossible for an older person, it’s just that the obligations that accrue with age need to be dispatched in an efficient manner so that there’s plenty of room in your life to achieve that requisite deep understanding of physics. So if you have time-management issues (check) and ADHD (check), and you lack an understanding, supportive spouse or, better yet, a maid and a sugar daddy/substantial trust fund to pay for said maid (triple check), the pursuit of really knowing physics will be an uphill battle times 10.
Somehow I made it through. Well, I got a bachelor’s degree in physics, anyway. I did so poorly on the physics GRE that it’s embarrassing and eats away at what little confidence I have in my comprehension of physics and my intellect in general (if it wasn’t for a silly piece of paper I have in my wallet that says I’m a member of the 2 percent, I would be convinced that I’m a real dope). So currently that confidence is at an all-time low, and as I pursue a master’s degree in science education and endeavor in my quest to truly understand physics, I’m starting at the very beginning all over again: Introductory Mechanics with my adviser, David Hammer, who eschews the traditional approach to physics education. No spoon-feeding of facts, figures, and equations via lecture, no cookie-cutter lab experiments, no reliance on a textbook crutch. He wants us to use our noggins. He wants us to use our experience with the physical world and help us refine the thinking that results from those everyday interactions. He wants us to deconstruct the equations that describe the motions surrounding us and rebuild them with our common sense so that they make sense to us, so that we own it. Will this experience set me straight and restore my faith in my ability to know physics or will it render the past five years of my life a foolish pursuit of an unreachable goal? For more on that, stay tuned…
This is such an intriguing story! I’d love to keep reading the coming posts!