Wonderful article on how the author became fluent in math at an older age and how she used her skills with learning languages to do it. She explains the process beautifully:
When learning math and engineering as an adult, I began by using the same strategy I’d used to learn language. I’d look at an equation, to take a very simple example, Newton’s second law of f = ma. I practiced feeling what each of the letters meant—f for force was a push, m for mass was a kind of weighty resistance to my push, and a was the exhilarating feeling of acceleration. (The equivalent in Russian was learning to physically sound out the letters of the Cyrillic alphabet.) I memorized the equation so I could carry it around with me in my head and play with it. If m and a were big numbers, what did that do to f when I pushed it through the equation? If f was big and a was small, what did that do to m? How did the units match on each side? Playing with the equation was like conjugating a verb
Reading this reminded me of my grandfather who loved doing mental math with us grand-kids just as he had done with his own children. He would challenge us to explain what the problem meant in our own words and talk through the different ways we could come up with to solve it. He insisted that we develop an abiding friendship with math and not just have a passing acquaintance. In true friendship there should be no feelings of fear, mistrust, inadequacy or ambiguity. The relationship would have a peaceful, free-flowing quality. His way of getting us to that point was through these mental math exercises that were aimed to illustrate the beauty of math. He was able to pass on his love for it though not all of us grandkids can claim the depth of friendship he had with his favorite subject.
When learning math and engineering as an adult, I began by using the same strategy I’d used to learn language. I’d look at an equation, to take a very simple example, Newton’s second law of f = ma. I practiced feeling what each of the letters meant—f for force was a push, m for mass was a kind of weighty resistance to my push, and a was the exhilarating feeling of acceleration. (The equivalent in Russian was learning to physically sound out the letters of the Cyrillic alphabet.) I memorized the equation so I could carry it around with me in my head and play with it. If m and a were big numbers, what did that do to f when I pushed it through the equation? If f was big and a was small, what did that do to m? How did the units match on each side? Playing with the equation was like conjugating a verb
Reading this reminded me of my grandfather who loved doing mental math with us grand-kids just as he had done with his own children. He would challenge us to explain what the problem meant in our own words and talk through the different ways we could come up with to solve it. He insisted that we develop an abiding friendship with math and not just have a passing acquaintance. In true friendship there should be no feelings of fear, mistrust, inadequacy or ambiguity. The relationship would have a peaceful, free-flowing quality. His way of getting us to that point was through these mental math exercises that were aimed to illustrate the beauty of math. He was able to pass on his love for it though not all of us grandkids can claim the depth of friendship he had with his favorite subject.
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