Math Class (15 years too late.)

by Anne Carmack

If you were here with me, in this little back office, you would see me smiling.

Earlier this morning, as I was cruising around the web, I stumbled across this site, discovering that the first issue would be all about TRANSFORMATION. I heard the bells go off in my head. "This is you!" they shouted. You can write this... what has your recent life been if not a total and complete transformation? Is anything as it was this time last year? Hasn't everything changed?

Two years ago my boyfriend of five years and I decided to leave the deadly Arizona desert behind and head west to the water. We arrived in L.A. a few weeks later, the U-Haul pulling up in front of an apartment we had never seen, in a town we had visited only once. I planned on being a nanny to the stars and had hoped to spend my free time painting and creating, exploding onto the Los Angeles art scene. He would start a band and make music that would save the world. We unloaded the truck, let the dogs sniff around a bit and began our life as Southern Californians.

We settled right in. We were thrilled at the idea of living in such an amazing city...the flowers bloom year round, your favorite band seems always to be playing, the ocean with its surfers and sea glass calms you down and heals your wounds. I was accepted into my first art show; he began meeting all the "right" people. Life on the water can be truly amazing...the rent gets a little steep, and roommates can rarely be depended on, but for the most part we thought we were headed in the right direction.

But then things began to happen, we started having problems, we began to fall apart. There was a breakup and a car accident. The money started running out. Suddenly our little life that had always been so easy became difficult. After weeks of searching for the perfect nanny position I took a job at a small hotel. The band was put on hold--you can't work 13 hours a day and expect to ROCK when you come home. And sadly, after one too many months of screaming, crying, and searching, he moved out.

And then, just like that, one morning I looked in the mirror and saw this tired single girl with two dogs and no car wondering: WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED?

I spent weeks in bed, licking my wounds, worrying about what to do next. How can I afford to do this on my own? How on earth will I be able to live AND paint? I've tried out a few different roommates, but none of them are him, and I don't like it at all. I've looked for a second job, asked my mom for money, written furiously in my journal.

I've cried more alone then I ever did with him, and sat silently in my room for hours, waiting and waiting and waiting for an answer....it's yet to come, trust me, I'm still here listening, hand to ear, glass to wall. Nothing. Nada. Zip.

So today I looked up the definition of transformation in the dictionary, as if that might be my way through all of this; if I have a clear idea of what is happening to my life, a way to define it, perhaps it will become easier to navigate. I am smiling still, because of what I found: Trans.for.mation: 1. an act, process or instance of being transformed 2. the operation of changing one expression into another in accordance with a mathematical rule

Aha! No wonder I am having such a hard time these days. I HATE math. Always have. Always will.

I can't stand the thought of rules and numbers coming together to kick my ass. Have I been stuck here in limbo because I can't find the stupid algebraic formula I need to climb out of this dark and scary place? Although my heart cries for change and transformation, my head is holding me back, afraid to do what's necessary to move forward.

I am reminded of an afternoon in grade school, when my math teacher invited me up to his desk and politely whispered that he knew I was copying the answers straight from the back of the book.

"How do you know?" I asked wide-eyed and horrified.

"Because there isn't any WORK here," he answered.

"So, maybe I just know how to do it," I lied.

"You can't come up with the answers, Anne, if you don't do the work," he said.

Words to live by, spoken by your red-headed sixth grade teacher. Sometimes it just takes a minute (or 15 years) to sink in.

I'm ready now.

Let the transformation begin.

( Know any good math tutors?)

The Author

My name is Anne. I paint and I write and sometimes on a good day, if I am feeling really lucky and the stars are all aligned, the dishes are all done and the damn dogs have been taken for their walk, I get to do both.