Thursday, March 26, 2026

Doubling

(From 2007)

There’s restlessness to the air tonight. The weather here is unsettled. As usual, the beginning of my workweek was intense. If weeks had an emotional cycle, Mondays often are times of uncertainty. By the end of the week, Fridays, I usually feel highly energized, engaged by my work, hopeful about the future.

But Mondays are times when problems can seem suddenly overwhelming, when my chosen path in life -- to swim uphill -- just requires more energy that I can muster.

At such times, my mind tends to revert to some very old patterns, most of them mathematical. My childhood propensity, whenever I felt anxious, to start doubling numbers (i.e., 1, 2, 4 8, 16, 32, 64, 128, 256, 512, 1024, 2048, 4096, 8192, 16384, 32768, 65536 -- that’s usually as far as I could go at age 8 without hesitating), has recently returned to haunt me as I drive alone along the highway, much to my chagrin.

I thought I’d eliminated this particular ghost over a decade ago.

Usually, something in my universe is not quite right; otherwise my mind doesn’t race away into this mathematical wasteland -- this hopeless attempt to control the uncontrollable. Somehow the center of balance in my world has suddenly shifted.

What’s disconcerting is how I know these things without knowing anything about the particulars. Sometimes, I find out a detail that helps justify these distractions; other times, the person or factor responsible chooses to remain silent, leaving me to no choice but these crazy calculations, which never end and lead to no conclusion.

My dear Chinese friend invited me to a ramen restaurant in San Mateo tonight, and somehow we revealed our inner calculation nightmares to each other. She gave mine a name (Doubling) and then discussed hers. She squares numbers to rectify her proclivity, even after eight years in this country, to translate miles back to kilometers, and Fahrenheit back to Celsius.

After thinking it through, maybe I’ll adopt her particular mathematical obsession in place of my own. I think I like hers better; it’s more practical. She may move to the Bay Area this summer, and if so, I extracted a promise that she will teach me, at long last, the Fundamental Theorem of Calculus, crashing against which ended all notions that I might be math major four decades ago.

Ramen took me back to Koenji, Japan, where I rather wish I was right now. The weather here is so unsettling; the skies are alternating dark and light; an uneasy wind blows. I wish I knew why I am so uncomfortable in my own skin tonight.

My Grandma believed she was psychic, and most of the rest of us believed her. I have always hoped I am too, though actually I don’t want to be. I hate premonitions,, when they come to me, and when they turn out to be correct.

But not always are they real.

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