Whenever I tell people that I am majoring in math, I almost always get one of two responses: “Wow, you must be so smart!” or “Yeah, could never be me.” As tiny as those phrases seem, they immediately shut down any further conversation. Mathematics has the reputation of being really “nerdy” and inaccessible, so most people are too scared and/or lazy to even try to understand it. I love math, and I want to share that love with others, but I may as well try to explain relativity to my pet cactus. Even my college-educated peers seem to be wholly unwilling to engage with the subject that I love.
Willful ignorance is not a problem exclusive to mathematics, nor something of which I am innocent. In my experience, the hard sciences (i.e. math, physics, astronomy, medicine, etc.) are the subjects that most often elicit those knee-jerk reactions. I admit, whenever I hear the word “chemistry,” my mind is filled with an overwhelming sense of dread, and I start planning escape routes.
Mathematicians have to understand a complex language of definitions, axioms, laws and theorems that govern the field. The language of math is incredibly specific and precise; even more so than other hard sciences. Learning math is necessarily sequential, and almost every class builds off five previous ones. If I were to explain my Partial Differential Equations class to a non-mathemetician, I would first have to give a crash course on Advanced Calculus, Linear Algebra, Ordinary Differential Equations and more.
All this to say, the hard sciences in general, as well as math in particular, are not necessarily more difficult than subjects like communications, business or psychology. They do, however, have a much higher bar of entry. To give an example: when I talk to my history professors, I can generally hold a conversation about what they are studying, even if I’ve never heard about it before. I can ask questions like, “When did this person live?” “Who were their contemporaries?” “Why are they important?”
On the other hand, when I recently talked to a friend about his doctoral research in mathematics, I didn’t have questions to ask because I could barely comprehend the words coming out of his mouth (something about functors?). I am reminded of an xkcd comic: “My hobby: sitting down with grad students and timing how long it takes them to figure out that I’m not actually an expert in their field. Engineering: 48 seconds. Linguistics: 63 seconds. Sociology: 4 minutes. Literary criticism: eight papers and two books and they haven’t caught on.”
Math is complicated and hard, so why do I try to talk to my friends and acquaintances about it? Because I love it, and like almost everything I love, I want to share it with others. I want to have others participate in my joy and wonder at math, even if they may be unable to fully grasp it. Most (if not all) of us want to be heard when we rant about the strange, obscure things we love, but how many of us actually listen? Empathy is already scarce in today’s world. We are an individualistic culture, all caught up in our own lives and our own problems, rarely opening the doors of our hearts to let others in.
The little gestures in life matter. Whether it be holding the door for a stranger, making a meal for a friend, or listening to a college kid excitedly talk about the wave equation, they all matter. Now, having to listen to someone ramble on about a subject in which you have no interest can be very obnoxious (believe me, I know). Yet, is there anyone reading this who couldn’t use a little more patience?
I want to challenge you and myself: listen to nerds. You may even learn something cool.