Authors I Couldn't Be Me Without

April 2, 2025

The idea's been floating in my head for a while of "authors I couldn't be me without." It's a title reserved for those whose work does more than just impact me: they've fundamentally changed how I look at the world. Their works serve as anchor points for interpreting myself and the world around me and, in both cases, have introduced me to hobbies or passions that take up most of my time today. This post is a thank-you letter to these two authors.

Paul Lockhart

A good problem is something you don't know how to solve. That's what makes it a good puzzle, and a good opportunity.

As an engineer, it's fitting to start with the one who showed me the essence of mathematics. I originally landed on Lockhart's essay A Mathematician's Lament in the middle of high school, right after nearly failing geometry and fully failing algebra. All this while I was sort of enjoying computer classes but hadn't yet found my stride. I took a liking to problem solving without any clear outlet for it.

The essay is written with a passion bordering on violence. I remember it for being human, speaking to the problems I experienced. Reassuring me that in spite of everything, math could be loved. His student's proof left me in awe, with enough of an impact that years later it served as the basis to win a math logo contest. The problem at the essay's end was fascinating enough that I wound up spending several hours afterward trying to solve it, getting it wrong, spending a few more hours, and learning some trivial information about pyramids that I'll never forget.

This started a series of dominoes that led to meeting a mathematical mentor and getting involved with the hobbyist math community. Math then served as a springboard to learn more computer science, and eventually I got a career as a software engineer. I don't think it's an understatement to say Lockhart's redefined my life. It's certainly not an understatement to say A Mathematician's Lament is the work that I've reread the most.

At first, the essay only leaves one with an anger at what could have been. His later books, Measurement and Arithmetic, tempered this a bit and helped me direct that anger more productively. In the present day, where I've thankfully graduated and don't need to deal with school's mistreatment of math directly, Lockhart's works serve as the foundation that informs my mentoring style.

In any case, I never failed a math class again.

Jay Dragon

I trust that someday, I will arrive at a town and lay down in the grass and know that this is where I was meant to be.

As a kid I was into roleplaying communities. It originally started as small scenes on Roblox, and as I grew out of that, it turned into posting on forums and similar online groups. When I found myself getting increasingly unsatisfied with the ceremony there, I started playing Dungeons & Dragons, which even back then felt a bit clunky and awkward to me. I loved storytelling, but I felt like these systems kept getting in the way. I liked collaborating but felt regularly let down by a strangely competitive attitude. In hindsight, I think the only one competing was myself.

I had quit roleplaying for several years because of this. I want to take a moment to show what that means. This was no small amount of my time before college: I spent hours daily writing with others from late elementary through high school. It singlehandedly kept my willingness to read books alive, gave an outlet for a developing design sense, and taught me how to string sentences together. All skills that nowadays I'm rather thankful for. The years without that hobby I remember as somewhat empty.

I found Jay Dragon's Wanderhome from a recommendation and picked it up by chance.

Where Lockhart's essay was a cathartic revolution, Dragon's game was a therapy session. It directly refuted several attitudes I had before and enabled me to be more ready to work with others. It taught me new meanings for both kindness and collaboration. It showed me a beauty in the small things in life that I never quite felt before. I learned to appreciate the road, to appreciate moments of rest. Beyond all that, it and Dragon's other works brought life back into storytelling.

For a while I leaned on Wanderhome as a cure for arrogance and a template for showing kindness to others. With time, the journeying tools of Wanderhome later developed into becoming an active member of some smaller TTRPG communities, participating in improv, and reigniting some creativity that had burned out for a while. Nowadays, many of my best friends are from these circles.

To Impact a Malcontent

I like Andrew Bosworth's description of malcontents and identify with the label. I think that it's a good word to describe a student who's been influenced by these works. The fiery passion of Lockhart to openly speak of the flaws in our systems and the soft optimism of Dragon that we are alive and our care can change our communities. It got me thinking about the most influential mentors in my life and what I remember them for.

For one thing, authenticity goes incredibly far. The mentors I remember are those who say, "Yeah, this sucks; I've been there, and you have to deal with it anyway." Explaining concepts in a human way, ideally as a dialogue but even just with the acknowledgement that topics are complex. This is something I've noticed continually improving in Grant Sanderson's work over time. He continually makes references to the real material as he simplifies. He uses the pi creatures to convey the expected emotions of the students, which I usually relate with. Acerola and Angela Collier make videos that embody it by default. Saying exactly why a topic is difficult is powerful as well.

Another thing: empowerment. Both Lockhart's Lament and Wanderhome put you in a position to take what you've been shown and use it. In fact, they make it almost impossible not to. In the Lament it's explicitly a challenge that provides light from a position of hopelessness. Wanderhome indirectly does it by constructing an environment in which it's hard not to feel empowered. The material doesn't present itself as the destination but as the starting line, usually with several explicitly-stated continuation points. Ben Robbins's Microscope encodes this mechanically by forcing you to choose blank spaces and fill in the gaps. Avery Alder's Variations on Your Body has a powerful voice that grabs you by the collar of your shirt and dares you to explore its implications.

It's hard to find a moment in my present life that isn't in some way colored by these authors. If you add the rippling effects they've had on me, or include lessons by mentors who teach through the above traits, I'm not sure such waking moments exist at all.

I thank the authors who made me. It's a short list, yet I feel like I still have so much to say.