The Desk for My Calculus III Final
As I sit here preparing to take my Calculus III final, the sheer inadequacy of the desk in front of me becomes painfully clear. This desk, with its modest size barely accommodating my hand, is the stage for tackling problems involving three-dimensional vector fields, multivariable integrals, and surface equations. The absurdity of the situation feels like a test in itself—a trial not only of mathematical skill but also of adaptability and patience.
The small, curved surface, designed more for jotting down quick notes than solving complex equations, highlights the struggles of students in spaces that weren’t designed with their needs in mind. My hand, outstretched on the desk, occupies most of the surface, leaving little room for a calculator, scratch paper, or even a textbook. I imagine grappling with matrices and limits here, my work overflowing onto my lap or precariously balanced on the chair beside me.
This isn’t just a complaint about furniture; it’s a reflection of a larger issue in learning environments. How can we expect students to perform their best when their physical setup is so restrictive? Proper desks, ample space, and supportive environments aren’t luxuries—they’re essentials for academic success.
Yet, despite the constraints, there’s something almost comical about the situation. The desk becomes a metaphor for the challenge of Calculus III itself: tackling enormous concepts within tight parameters, finding elegant solutions to seemingly impossible problems. In a way, it’s a fitting stage for this intellectual endeavor—proof that we persevere, no matter the circumstances.
As the clock ticks down to the start of the exam, I take one last look at this desk, resolve hardening. It may not be ideal, but like the equations I’m about to solve, I’ll find a way to make it work. The irony of the situation isn’t lost on me, but perhaps it’s just one more hurdle to overcome—one more lesson in resilience.
