Published on Thu Nov 06 2025 00:00:00 GMT+0000 (Coordinated Universal Time) by Orkid Labs

Use Your Mathematics, Son

A Dedication to Jesus Y Cavazos (1944-2017)

Born La Villa, Texas. Passed San Antonio, Texas. Known in the halls of Bexar County courtrooms as “the legend.” Known to his son as the man who taught him how to think.

I was eight or nine years old when my father first told me to use my mathematics. I don’t remember what we were doing—building something, fixing something, trying to solve something. The specifics have faded, but the moment hasn’t. He said it with the kind of certainty that only comes from someone who has spent a lifetime thinking clearly about complex things.

“Use your mathematics, son.”

I looked at him like he was insane. What mathematics? I was a kid. I could add. I could subtract. I knew how to count. But that wasn’t what he meant, and I knew it even then, which made it worse. It felt like Obi-Wan Kenobi telling Luke Skywalker to “use the Force… stretch out with your feelings.” I remember thinking: What fucking force? You crazy old man. What are you talking about?

But he kept saying it. Over the years, in different contexts, different problems, different situations. Sometimes I’d be frustrated with something and he’d say it. Sometimes I’d be taking a shortcut and he’d say it. Sometimes I’d be accepting someone else’s answer without thinking and he’d say it. It became a refrain, a mantra, a way of thinking that I didn’t understand but couldn’t ignore.

I wanted him to just tell me the answer. I wanted him to solve the problem for me. But he wouldn’t. He’d just say: “Use your mathematics, son.” It felt like a cop-out, like he was avoiding the question, like he didn’t want to help. I didn’t understand then that he was helping in the only way that mattered. He was teaching me how to think.

But before the refrain, before the frustration, there was something else. When I was three or four years old, my father bought me a Tandy 1000 computer. This was early—the 1980s, when computers were still exotic, still mysterious. He put that machine in front of me and he said something like: “You need to learn computers, son. Computers are just math. If you know math, you can take care of yourself. You’ll be able to do anything.”

I didn’t want to learn computers. I wanted to read. I wanted to listen to music. I wanted to be a musician, or a writer, or something like that. I didn’t like math. I didn’t like computers. They seemed cold and boring compared to the warmth of a book or the magic of a song.

But my father saw something I didn’t see. He saw a future where the world would run on mathematics and logic. He saw that understanding computers—understanding that they were just applied mathematics—would be the foundation of independence and capability. He was planting a seed, even though I didn’t want the seed planted. Even though I resisted it. Even though I had other dreams.

And here’s the thing: I spent all my time on that computer. I tried my best in math. It wasn’t natural at first. It was hard. I had to work at it. But I did it because he loved me and I trusted him. That’s the real foundation. Not because I understood the vision. Not because I saw the future he saw. But because I knew he loved me, and I trusted that if he was telling me to do this, it mattered. If he was telling me that computers were just math, and that math would set me free, then it must be true.

That trust—that willingness to follow someone you love into territory you don’t understand—that’s what changed everything. He was right. And it took me decades to understand that he was right.

Years passed. I grew older. I studied mathematics, physics, computer science. I learned about information theory, thermodynamics, optimization, algorithms. I learned about Shannon entropy and Boltzmann entropy, about Landauer’s Principle and the minimum energy cost of erasing information. I learned about optimization theory and how to find the best solution in a complex space. I learned about systems thinking, about how to model complex phenomena, about how to see patterns that others miss.

And slowly—so slowly I didn’t notice it happening—I started to understand what he meant.

He wasn’t talking about arithmetic. He wasn’t talking about equations on a blackboard or calculus or linear algebra or differential equations. He was talking about thinking clearly. About seeing patterns. About understanding systems. About using logic to solve problems. He was talking about not accepting the easy answer, not taking the shortcut, not believing the lie. He was talking about using the tools you have—your mind, your training, your discipline—to see what’s actually true.

My father was a lawyer. A legend in Bexar County courtrooms. He understood systems. He understood logic. He understood how to cut through complexity to find the truth. In law, “mathematics” isn’t about numbers. It’s about logic. It’s about evidence. It’s about building an argument that can’t be refuted. It’s about seeing through the bullshit to what’s actually true.

That’s what he meant by “use your mathematics, son.” He meant: think like a lawyer, think like a scientist, think like an engineer. Use logic. Use evidence. Use reason. Don’t accept what you’re told—verify it, test it, prove it. When you have a problem, use your mind to solve it. Don’t give up. Don’t take shortcuts. Don’t accept the comfortable lie when the difficult truth is available to you.

Fast forward to 2025. I’ve built a routing infrastructure company called ORKID. We route customer flow through decentralized exchanges. We work to protect them from MEV extraction. We’re integrated with Tycho, the routing infrastructure by PropellerHeads, and we have a collaborative relationship with Tanay and the team there. We share data on our fills and research. The partnership works because we’re focused on helping customers route efficiently.

Now, here’s the thing: we could theoretically deploy our own contracts. They’re open source. We could pursue different paths. We have the means. We have the infrastructure. We have the sophistication. We could use our mathematics to optimize for extraction. We could pursue different strategies. We could leave money on the table for ourselves instead of for our customers.

But we don’t.

Instead, we use our mathematics to serve. We use our mathematics to optimize routing, to find the cheapest path through liquidity, to protect against adverse moves, to scale safely, to prevent extraction. We use Financial Molecular Dynamics—a physics-based detection engine—to understand market dynamics and route flow more efficiently. We use sophisticated algorithms to adapt slippage, size orders appropriately, and protect customers from MEV.

Everyone has access to the same infrastructure. Everyone can deploy the same contracts. Everyone can route flow. But not everyone chooses to use their mathematics to bless instead of extract. Not everyone chooses the harder path. Not everyone leaves profits on the table to serve the ecosystem. We believe that choosing to serve the ecosystem—rather than extract from it—creates more value for everyone. We’re building ORKID on that principle. Whether others see it the same way, we can’t know. We can only know our own choices.

People talk about moats in business. Network effects. Switching costs. Brand. Proprietary technology. ORKID has some of these things. We have good relationships with Tycho, Unichain, and Balancer. We have sophisticated mathematics. We have proven execution. But these are not the real moat.

The real moat is the mathematics. And not just the mathematics—the choice about how to use it. Everyone has access to the same infrastructure. Everyone can deploy the same contracts. Everyone can route flow. We choose to use our mathematics to serve. We choose the harder path. We choose to leave certain profits on the table in service of the ecosystem. That choice is the moat.

This moat is defensible in a way that code and infrastructure are not. You can copy code. You can deploy the same contracts. You can hire the same engineers. But you can’t copy the choice. You can’t copy the philosophy. You can’t copy the commitment to serve the ecosystem. Because that choice comes from somewhere deeper. It comes from values. It comes from how you were raised. It comes from your father telling you: “Use your mathematics, son.” That foundation is not easily replicated.

This moat compounds over time. When we use our mathematics to help customers route efficiently, we build trust. When we focus on protecting customers from MEV extraction, we demonstrate our values. When we share data and insights with our partners, we strengthen relationships. When customers see that we’re protecting them, they have reason to trust us. Each partnership we build makes the moat stronger. Each customer we serve makes it more defensible. We believe that serving the ecosystem creates more value than extracting from it. That’s the principle we’re building on.

My father was a lawyer. A legend in Bexar County courtrooms. A man who understood systems, logic, and how to see through complexity to the truth. He taught me: “Use your mathematics, son.” He meant: think clearly, see what’s true, use your tools wisely, don’t take shortcuts, don’t accept lies. He meant: when you have the power to extract, choose to bless instead. He meant: the real moat is not what you can do, it’s what you choose to do. He meant: your character is your competitive advantage.

In 2025, I’m building a routing infrastructure company. We have the means to pursue different strategies. We have the mathematics. We have the infrastructure. But we’re choosing to serve the ecosystem. We’re choosing to protect customers. We’re choosing to collaborate with our partners. We’re choosing the harder path because we believe it creates more value for everyone, including us in the long run. That’s what you taught me, Dad.

I finally understand what you meant. I’m using my mathematics, son. Not to extract, not to beat everyone else, not to get rich quick. But to serve. To build. To create value for everyone, including myself. We’re building ORKID on the principle that serving the ecosystem creates more value than extracting from it. We don’t know what others think or feel about our choices. We only know our own.

Your love is the moat. Your wisdom is the foundation. Your legacy is the reason we choose the harder path.

You left me more than a name. You left me a way of thinking. You left me the understanding that the real power is not in what you can do, but in what you choose to do. You left me the knowledge that the longest game is played by those who serve, not those who extract. You left me the wisdom to use my mathematics not for myself, but for everyone.

I’m using it, Dad. I’m finally using it.

Jesus Y Cavazos La Villa, Texas (1944) → San Antonio, Texas (2017) “El hijo de pueblo” “The legend” of Bexar County courtrooms My father. My teacher. My inspiration.

“Use your mathematics, son.”

I finally did, Dad. I finally did.

Written by Orkid Labs