Hi! I’m Kyle, an expressive mathematician!

During high school, I never imagined I would come to enjoy math so much. However, in elementary school, I loved the challenge of mathematics. My friends and I would brag about all the arithmetic we could do or how high we could count. In truth, I wasn’t very good, but I understood it. I felt confident in my ability. I had a few friends in higher grade levels, and they would say things like, “What!? You think that’s tough? Wait till you see division!”

They were right—division was a beast!

Somewhere between learning multiplication and the basics of algebra, I lost interest. Though I did reasonably well in math classes (A’s and B’s), I felt disconnected from the subject. Despite not getting the content, I kept trying. My first pre-calculus course was too confusing for me to follow. I resolved to do only the bare minimum of math required, abandoning any further study of the subject.

I received slightly above-average test scores in science and math. Eventually, the time came for me to choose a path for college. Feeling like I wasn’t good at anything, I reviewed my grades from high school to help me decide how to move forward. I was rather disappointed to see that the grades showed math was my strongest subject. Despite my reservations, I gave it a go. That was the best decision I ever made.

For math majors, after calculus, math changes. It shifts from a formal, calculated topic to more of a discussion. Math becomes more about the arguments you present rather than the rigid, unchanging topic it is in previous courses. Yes, a lot of proofs, but those proofs come with understanding. What I didn’t realize is that I had developed somewhat of a superpower. Through long-lasting confusion (math classes), I had built enough number sense for things to click. Despite years of confusion and frustration, my persistence in math unexpectedly cultivated an intuitive understanding that proved invaluable. Yes, it was still challenging. Yes, I regularly considered choosing a different field. What kept me there? I was acquiring significant insights into the inner mechanisms of one of the most intricate and dependable systems ever devised by humankind.

Before my student teaching experience, I was wildly excited to teach the things I learned. I wanted the world to know about the shift in math education after the calculation courses. Student teaching was more challenging than any math course I took previously. I stuck with it and finished out my degree program. Utah Valley University awarded me a bachelor’s degree in math education. Shortly after graduation, I received a job offer from a local tech company. It was double my potential teacher salary and a fraction of the headaches. As a father of two, I took the offer.

Though I didn’t know it at that moment, this decision provided me with a critical resource—time. Yes, there were long days, but nothing like what teachers experience. Despite this, I experienced burnout within the first 3 months. Some careful self-reflection helped me realize I didn’t want to waste away my time in an office. I needed something interesting to do in my free time. My passion for teaching led me to explore ways of conveying the true essence of mathematics. All signs pointed to a clear gap in my ability: creativity.

Without bloating this page into a full-length biography of myself… oh, wait… it’s already there… Sorry…

I, like most, had a long list of insecurities about my ability to do creative things. I gave up on ever being “good” at drawing in 3rd grade. Around 6th or 7th grade, I steered clear of creative subjects. The one thing I had going for me is what I learned in math class: continuing to try despite having terrible results.

Over the next few months, I researched the most effective methods for learning to draw. Each recommendation focused on simply drawing—spending the time doing the activity. My math experience taught me that’s something I could do. My plan was simple—for one full year, sacrifice the first 45 minutes of my 3–4 hours binge-watching streaming services. That year changed my life.

Math lends itself well to scientific research because it provides the abstract skeleton. For every new skill, I created a hypothesis and a plan. I stuck to the plan with ruthless dedication until it either failed or I met the end of my study. This led to a review where I measured and reflected. The measurements were wildly informal, like, “Is this better?”

As my language skills and abilities developed, my measurement accuracy improved significantly. Though still informal, my questions shifted to, “Which emotion am I feeling from this line?” “The proportions of the head are too large compared to the body. It works—why?” or “That sky doesn’t feel natural—why?” Notice the questions are more specific. More refined. This often would prompt a new hypothesis, which allowed me to repeat.

My newfound ability astonished me, leading me on an eight-year journey of self-discovery and intense learning. The first step in learning a new skill is finding time to do it. The second step is showing up repeatedly. I would max out my vacation days—not to go on vacation, but to explore learning new things. I diligently observed a 9–5 schedule, refusing extra work unless it was essential. As a result, I was not in the lead roles or projects. What I had found was more priceless: a drive within me to learn as much as possible from every avenue I could. I picked up piano, digital painting, 3D sculpting, 3D modeling in Blender, sewing, and many others.

All along the way, I was uncovering the true story of math’s contributions. Math underlies every field of human knowledge. That’s because math studies the abstractions. Our brains naturally connect abstract ideas and pull them together. Math gives us tools to spot patterns and extract unbiased insights from data more efficiently. The best part is, it doesn’t need to be formal or rigid. It can be expressive.

Over these 8 years of learning, I was in search of new ways to teach people about the “cool” mathematics—the stuff they didn’t learn in school because they weren’t math majors. The search sparked the development of my ideas for Arithmetic Island. A place where numbers came to life. Where numbers were more than simply a data point. They were alive with emotions, hopes, and desires. My fantasy tied magic to math.

The concepts were building, but I was also receiving more pressure from work to spend more time in the office. My solution was to take a sabbatical—see where this leads. I know there is something important within the context of what I’m learning. I’m trying to uncover it so others can benefit from it, too. But honestly, I’m also just curious about what’s at the end of all this. I’m not striving for perfection or pure awesomeness. I’m persistently pursuing something I don’t fully understand yet.

Assuming you’ve made it this far—thanks! I always figured I’d write a bio after accomplishing something noteworthy, but here we are. Perhaps you didn’t read it and just skipped to the end. Regardless of which category you fall into, I am offering a new perspective on mathematics. One less rigid. One you might leverage to help you achieve your personal goals. It won’t solve every problem, but it may provide you with new perspectives. Those perspectives are key to finding solutions. To solve an unsolved problem, you need a solution no one has found.

Let’s find expressive solutions that change perspectives—together.