I used to think of becoming a mathematician, but I have too many doubts and not enough certainty.
I live in Murphys, California, which is a kind of sleepy Gold Rush town on Route 49. I deliver newspapers, mostly Sacramento and Santa Rosa papers, all over town and to some folks in Angels Camp, where Mark Twain set his great story “The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County.”
I’m a canine person and know the dogs at each place I deliver more than I know the people who live there. I love dogs: Shepherds, retrievers, labs—you name them. Dogs are understandable and predictable. But that brings me to my problem with becoming a mathematician: if the human world is plagued with so much confusion and anxiety, how can you feel sure enough to be a mathematician?
