Katherine Johnson Didn’t Fit the Mold...And That’s How She Got Us to the Moon ▲ joymath.me

With so many of us hyper-connected to our phones, I often wonder: what are we missing out on as a result?

Boredom.

That smoky, vague wilderness we get lost in until something takes shape. The eyes look up and inward. A pouty, contemplative frown. “Huh” stuck in the throat. The forehead creased to trace an invisible map. Sparks of questions begin to flicker, quiet, but insistent.

Boredom is the fuel that leads to noticing, wondering, and wandering into imagination. It lives in a pause, a question, a flicker of curiosity. But we swipe past it so fast, leaning into the next dopamine hit on our phones.

Our questions are answered instantly, without lingering. Arguments are won without debate, without the work of listening. In that rush toward certainty, something human slips away. The back-and-forth. The wondering. The why.

When someone else’s idea of efficiency smothers a child’s wonder, it tames their wildest dreams (Like flying to the moon).

I see echoes of this in our schools. Students are often asked to conform to a “graduate portrait,” this tidy visual of the ideal student product. Optimistic. Reflective. Resilient. A confident leader. A lifelong learner.

It’s meant to be inspiring. But to me, it feels like a cabbage farm. (Nod to Martha Nelson Thomas, the original creator of the Cabbage Patch Kids.)

We want every graduate to be robust, perfect, and ripe for harvest. Predictable outcomes mean we can measure success. But what if you’re a student who doesn’t feel optimistic? What if you don’t want to be a leader because you’d rather be a quiet builder? What if you did math just to survive it and have no desire to be a “lifelong learner” of it?

Remember who we are.

We don’t live in Minecraft. We can’t and shouldn’t craft every person from the same blueprint. Success must be measured in more than efficiency, output or conformity. What if, instead of shaping every child to fit the same mold, we helped each one bloom in their own direction, especially those who bloom sideways? Diversity, like biodiversity, isn’t just acceptable, it’s a strength and it’s essential.

If a cabbage moth learns how to take out one cabbage, and that’s all we’ve grown, what then?

Here’s my question: what are the weaknesses of everyone having the same strengths?

I return again and again to the deeper questions: What is school for? What do we hope our children will learn?

What happens if, in chasing that perfect portrait, we ask them to cut out parts of their soul to fit the frame? What then?

When students are constantly told what to do, how fast, how well, and still end up feeling like it’s not enough, they are never enough…they shut down. Some grow apathetic. Some leave. Some disappear from the world entirely. We lose them. These are hard truths happening in front of our eyes and yet we keep doubling down. Why?

Where is there space for curiosity? For truth-seeking? For self-discovery? Teachers know how to spark the kindling but if the fuel of boredom that leads to curiosity simply isn’t, what then?

Maybe the story of a little girl named Katherine has something to show us.

She Counted Everything

Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Katherine. She loved to count. She counted everything: steps, dishes, stars, people. She threw rocks with uncanny accuracy. She asked questions constantly. Not just why, but why not?

Her name was Katherine Coleman (later known as Katherine Johnson).

In 1923, when she was 5 years old she started school skipping straight to 2nd grade. By 10, she was in high school. By 15, in college. She graduated at 18 with dual degrees in Mathematics and French, summa cum laude.

Such brilliance should have opened every door. But it was 1937. The Great Depression lingered. Jim Crow laws enforced racial segregation. And Katherine was a young Black woman in America.

Her options were limited. The best she could do with her education was teach. And so she did.

But her questions never stopped.

The First Computers Were Human

Years later, when the United States was racing to send a man into space, NASA (called NACA at the time), had a problem: their new mechanical computers weren’t fully trusted. The math was too complex. They needed people, human computers, to calculate trajectories by hand.

NASA initially hired white women with math degrees to fill these roles, but soon realized they needed more brilliant minds. That’s when Katherine Johnson joined a group of other Black women including Dorothy Vaughan and Mary Jackson, working in what was then called the West Area Computing Unit, a racially segregated area with limited resources.

Katherine ran calculations by hand, double-checking the early IBM machines. When astronaut John Glenn prepared for his historic orbital flight in 1962, he refused to fly until Katherine verified the numbers by hand.

She didn’t just calculate. She questioned. She persisted. She proved.

A Legacy of Why

Katherine Johnson lived to be 101 years old.

She helped send humankind to space, to the moon, and importantly, back to Earth again.

She reminds us that mathematics is not about accepting what we’re told. It’s about asking better questions. It’s about computing for ourselves, not blindly accepting somebody else’s truth. It’s about noticing the patterns, wondering what’s missing, and daring to say: Why not?

She reminds us of something else, too:

“You are as good as anyone in this town,” her father told her, “but you are no better than any of them.”

She lived by those words, with humility, brilliance, and purpose.

A Trajectory Home

So what are we missing, really? With all our rigid controls and tight holds, our attempts to standardize children like cabbages means we lose the very thing we say we’re cultivating: growth.

But children don’t need to be optimized. They don’t need to be trimmed into portraits of perfection. They need space to wonder. They need someone to count stars with and to marvel at lengthening shadows. Someone to be awestruck by their sideways blooms and to believe in their wild, incredible, creative ideas.

Katherine Johnson didn’t fit the mold. She stayed curious. She persisted. She lingered in the questions. She made space for the why and let the world hear her why not.

That’s how she got us to the moon, and how she helped us find our way home.

💭 A JoyMath Invitation

This month, ask:

What questions still live inside you?
Which ones have never been answered and shouldn’t be?
What part of your child or yourself, might still be counting stars, waiting to be seen?

Let Katherine remind us: The most important thing we can teach is not how to follow, but how to wonder.

Try It: Set a timer for 5 minutes without distraction and do nothing.

✨ A JoyMath Reflection

What are you curious about that others overlook? What trajectory might your questions set in motion?