The Obstacle is the Path

On finding your own metrics for success in a world obsessed with everyone else's

Six years old Tivadar, in front of his parents’ i386. (1996, Hungary, six years after the collapse of the Soviet Union.)

I met Cédric Villani, the Fields medallist mathematician in Sweden, when he was invited to give a plenary talk, celebrating the 100th anniversary of Institut Mittag-Leffler.

After his lecture, we had a short conversation; completely unremarkable to him, profoundly impactful to me.

“Why do you always wear that spider?” — I asked.

“Because that’s who I am. It’s a part of my personality.” — came the reply.

Cédric Villani and one of his famous spiders. (Image source.)

The answer caught me in the right part of my journey. I was 26, nearing the end of my PhD and my academic career, and I suddenly realized: it’s not that successful people don’t care what others think, but people who don’t care what others think are the successful ones.

Let’s rewind to the late 1990-s. The words of my elementary math teacher labeling me dumb in front of my entire class used to hurt for a long time. I have come far since then, but these words defined how I viewed myself for years.

Sadly, I never managed to climb out of the box my first school teachers put me in. At least not in their eyes. Deep down, I knew that they were wrong. I started not to care what they thought.

I became defiant, and devouring books became my rebellion.

I didn’t care what anybody thought of me. Academically, I was still only slightly above average, but my knowledge and passion rapidly grew. Mind you, it was not the usual curriculum that captivated me, no. I learned the paradoxes of time travel before Newton’s laws of gravity. I read Stanisław Lem before I read Homer.

My interests were vast but formless.

I still remember the exact moment it had changed. I randomly picked up a popular science magazine, read the article “The Nature of Chaos”, and by the end, I knew I wanted to be a mathematician. That was around twenty years ago. That couple of pages yanked me out of the boring world of Cartesian geometry that we were learning about in class, straight into the frontiers of science.

So, my journey started. In high school, I ended up in a supporting environment where teachers lifted me up instead of bashing me down. Rewarding me when I performed well, instead of punishing me when I didn’t. Though, as you might have guessed, I wasn’t exactly a model student. Despite my problematic behavior, I wanted to learn. When the time came, I applied to university and became a math student.

My new teachers were wonderful. Not only were they top mathematicians, but also kind people who treated students with respect. In their eyes, we were young colleagues in training. I soaked up knowledge like a sponge absorbs water.

Soon, the pendulum swung back.

I wanted to make up for my lost years. I wanted acknowledgment. Fame. Awards. Grants. Thus, my relentless pursuit of excellence started. As math became my only focus, I got detached from all the people around me. Even though I became a skilled mathematician, I felt alone. I had no friends.

Another rebalancing was due. At that time, I stumbled upon Cédric Villani, who gave me one final piece of the puzzle.

Do you recall the big realization that I told you about? “It’s not that successful people don’t care what others think, but people who don’t care what others think are the successful ones.”

There are two sides of this coin. You shouldn’t let anyone drag you down, but you shouldn’t let the cheering get to your head either.

The concept of “success” is not objective, but personal. In truth, the publication count doesn’t matter. Number of citations doesn’t matter. Grades don’t matter. Awards don’t matter. Grants don’t matter. Praise doesn’t matter. Clout doesn’t matter. Follower count doesn’t matter. Subscriber count doesn’t matter. MRR doesn’t matter.

You probably expect me to tell you what success is, but if you got the message, you know I can’t. It’s up to you to tell.

You bend the world to your will, not bend your will to the world.

For me, what matters most is not solving some ridiculously hard scientific problem but being the teacher I wanted to have as a kid. One who has the right words, not just the math. One who inspires, not just educates.

After I finally realized this, I began to open up. Started a math blog — the prototype of The Palindrome — and found my passion for teaching and education. Started working out, and within a couple of months, I was doing push-ups with one arm. I felt good, probably for the first time in my life.

I realized that our skills are not fixed at birth but gained by hard work. As a child, obtaining a PhD in math felt impossible. As a student, doing push-ups with one arm felt impossible. Yet, there was me doing both.

The key was not intelligence or strength; I’m quite average in both aspects. I’m persistent, though.

I’m almost 35 now, about halfway of my expected lifespan. Even though this post will end, my story doesn’t. Life is like setting the optimal water temperature in the shower. It’s too hot. It’s too cold. It’s hot again. It’s cold again.

We are never on track, and it’s alright.

The obstacle is the path.