On My Relationship with Numbers
This morning, I was notified of my 49th granted patent in 4 years. It’s approximately a 47% success rate from the 103 submissions I filed. Strangely, this makes me only the 7th most prolific inventor in my hometown. (It seems I live in a hotspot of inventors). It does put me in the top .8% of inventors of all time. Which I prefer to round down to the top 1%.
I’ve only published 3 books, but I have another book that is complete that has a contract, so in 6 months, I anticipate my 4th book will be published. I do have over 50 publications, 2 or 3 degrees depending on which way you count it. And I have a penchant for knowing the exact amount in all of my accounts at all times.
None of this is important. And yet the narrative swirls in my head on a near constant basis this week. I have been here before. A few times. Typically when the world feels like chaos, it is my subconscious creating some sense of order.
I recall one particularly hard time in my life when I would find myself driving on the highway, looking at license plates and adding up the numbers.
792IEN = 9
And
1602DvT = 9
In case you were wondering.
Meaningless.
All of these numbers are made up. They’re factual. But the concept of numbers generally speaking is a human invention. These things that I’m measuring - patents, books, license plates - are all human inventions - and modern ones at that. These numbers that my brain clings to as I navigate challenging times are (ironically) completely made up. Someone somewhere, and perhaps it was me, placed significance in these arbitrary things. Arbitrarily.
And yet here I am. Adding, counting, measuring. Not because the numbers have meaning, but because they are quantifiable in a world that won’t stop spinning. Some people take up pottery. Others become sommeliers. I, apparently, keep a mental spreadsheet of my existential milestones to maintain an illusion of control.
Perhaps if I keep counting, I can come up with some statistical likelihood that we will come out of this period all ok. Which, if we’re using the license plate method is somewhere between 9% and you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
I suppose there are worse coping mechanisms.
