A Crash Course In Escapism

What A Statistics Class Taught Me About Learning

The day before the L.A. fires disrupted and changed this city, I had started an accelerated six-week statistics class at my local community college. When we evacuated our house, I didn’t bring precious photographs or artwork. I brought my class materials and computer, thinking I would get some homework done if nothing else. My mind is practiced at downplaying disasters in the moment, and I imagined doing statistics while waiting for the winds to die down and the fires to start getting contained, hopefully by the next morning.

Statistics turned out to be a great escape. As the fires raged on for days I was (understandably) afraid to go back to Pasadena even after it was clear the danger for our neighborhood had subsided. My new text book was an excellent diversion, full of solid information, rules, formulas, and predictable outcomes. I was still understanding the trauma we’d been through and parts of Altadena were still burning. I was not in a hurry to get home or to see the destruction of my neighborhood. When we eventually moved back to our smoky neighborhood, our footing was wonky. Everything felt, smelled and looked weird. My teaching schedule was postponed and there was no traffic in our normally congested city. I busied myself with new statistical methods, taking notes with pen and paper. It felt good to get cozy with a side of my brain that hadn’t gotten this much exercise in years.

I think we all assume that being a student gets harder as you age. Maybe we fear our memories aren’t as good, we’re out of practice, or the technology has changed. But when I was young, being a serious student eluded me. I was depressed, boy crazy, drinking too much, etc. Forty odd years later I’m much more disciplined, curious, and open to learning things that aren’t my so-called “strengths.” In other words, I’m smarter. In college and grad school, I followed the things that gave me confidence. Much of why I studied art was because I was good at it. Sure, I loved making things, but I also loved the praise and attention. There is freedom in not needing that anymore. I can get serious about other things.

As a teacher who believes anyone can learn how to paint and draw no matter how old they are, I make it my business to convince people they can do things they don’t think they’re “good at.” I value determination over talent. I don’t buy into the ideas of intelligence I was brought up on, that some people are just better at things. Whatever you spend the most time doing is what you’re going to be best at. So I had no resistence to taking statistics. I’d already taken extension classes in French for several years and I actually thought it would be easy, somehow forgetting that this was a real college class with tests and assignments. And grades.

(I had no idea how obsessed I would be with my grade.)

Thank goodness that first week was pretty easy. I was still in shock and busying myself with trying to help people and process what had happened. But I was also getting acclimated to the class, which was all online, and “asynchronous” as they say. Asynchronous means on Monday the teacher gave us assignments for the week and everything was due by midnight on Sunday. There were no lectures but she did give us videos to watch on Youtube that helped explain each chapter in the textbook. She eased us in with some easy homework that first week to “get to know each other,” ensure we’d looked at the syllabus, and understood the first three chapters which were comprised of fairly simple concepts.

Week two was much harder: 5 chapters (30-50 pages each) with a quiz and an assignement for each one. I actually complained to my professor that she’d told us the class would require 15-20 hours per week but after 20 hours I was barely halfway through the week’s material. She said yes, some students are slower. I crammed and got it all done by 11:59 pm on Sunday. I realized two things about myself: I’m slow to comprehend new concepts and afraid to move forward if I don’t fully understand them. I kept going back and reviewing things, taking more notes, and redoing problems just to be sure I got them. If I kept doing that, clearly I wouldn’t make it.

Over the next month I became a learning machine. I forced myself to read faster, skip things I didn’t fully understand, and let go of being a perfect A student. My Capricorn perfectionism is strong, but the fires had loosened me. Concerns about the future fell away as the present demanded my attention and action. Doing everything right wasn’t possible as I managed day to day anxieties about my community, the toxicity of the air, my mental health and the mental health of my friends and loved ones. I let go of saying all the right things to friends whose homes were gone, or knowing exactly how to support their kids, or mine. I had to let go of exercising, hiking the trails of Altadena or running the streets of my neighborhood. We were locked inside with the air purifiers and echoes of Covid. Nothing felt safe or secure which made hunkering down to do math problems all day the most comforting solution.

A few days alone at a friend’s house up the coast, allowed me to concentrate better. So when I came home I moved my study zone from the couch in the living room to the desk in my studio. Sitting up in a chair increased my stamina. Hours would flash by, like they do (sometimes) when I’m writing. On the days I wasn’t teaching, I would often spend 8 to 10 hours studying. I got better at taking notes and keeping them organized for the many assignments and tests. I crammed information into my brain the way I’d pack a suitcase. I was surprised by its capacity to absorb increasigly complex problems day after day. Suddenly I was cooking, the concepts flowing, and it all made sense. I no longer backtracked, or redid problems. Instead I whizzed through chapters, enjoying my facility with numbers and hollaring aloud to no one when I got the answer to a three-page-long equation right.

Meanwhile the collective grief of the fires has calmed down. It’s been raining and the air smells good again. The blackened hills above Altadena are a constant reminder but buds are beginning to sprout on my fruit trees. Life is getting back to normal for many of us. For those who lost their homes and studios, schools and businesses, it’s a very different story. But people are settling into new living situations and realities. For some, the grief is just starting to kick in. But I’m no longer waking up in a state of dread and slogging through tearful days. I’m feeling stronger, smarter, and better equipped to support those around me. And the mini-season of the podcast on the fires is starting to come together.

I turned in my final statistical analysis yesterday and took my final exam this morning. Intro to statistics is over and I’m going to miss it. It’s been six weeks since the fires and six weeks since I embarked on the class that taught me how hard I can work. I’d forgotten that hunkering down to accomplish one thing can be the best antidote to the chaos of catastrophe.