For as long as I can remember, I have counted. If I’m on a train I might count the electric lines we pass or the rows in my car or the number of windows on each side of the aisle. When I’m bicycling, I count pedal strokes. It’s not something I do deliberately; I’ll just suddenly catch myself doing it. It feels like my mind doodling.
I’d never really thought about it, until once, years ago, my aunt Sandy, my mother and I were driving by a string of power lines on the Kansas prairie and somehow Sandy mentioned that she’d been counting the power lines. Big deal, I thought. Doesn’t everybody do that? Mom didn’t know what the hell we were talking about.
My dad does though. As I was writing this just now, I called him and asked, “Dad, do you count?” He knew immediately what I meant. He does it just like I do, and he says that his mom, my grandma Friesen, counted too. So did her dad, my great-grandpa Neufeld. “It has no purpose, I’ve just always done it,” Dad says.
As I recall, Sandy and I counted differently. She counted like this, “one, two, three, four…” while my count went, “two, four, six, eight.” She knew the exact number of power poles we’d passed since she had started counting. I was mentally arranging them into groups, and was concerned only with the number of poles in a given section, not the running total.
My counting isn’t about quantifying numbers—it’s about observing patterns. I seek symmetry and motifs–pairs of lines on each side of the power line, a fence line that’s divided into segments of four. My brain instinctively looks for these patterns and counts them as a way of finding order. I rarely keep a tally. I don’t count that there are 240 telephone poles, I count that there are three sets of four between county roads. Then I count that the next section also has three sets of four. If you ask me an hour later what I’d counted, I’d have to think for a moment.
The picture window in my office has little farmhouse-style cross hatches in it, and they divide each side of the window into eight rectangles. Sometimes when I’m stuck on writing or just sitting on the couch daydreaming or talking on the phone, my mind will count the rectangles. There are two, four, six eight, going up. And two, four, six, eight down. Four across. I’ll count them diagonally and up and down. I have worked from this office for more than seven years. The number of rectangles on my office window has never changed, and yet I still catch myself counting them nearly every day.
I am not an OCD kind of person, and it doesn’t matter to me if my counts are accurate. My counting doesn’t feel like touching the light switch again to make sure it’s turned off; it feels more like tapping my foot or twiddling my thumbs. I do it during drawn-out conference calls and road trips, but never during an interview. If I had to guess, I’d say that it’s a way to keep my mind occupied when it’s not sufficiently engaged in something else.
My habit does require a kind of release though. When I count stairs (always), I count them whichever way makes them even. If it comes out odd on the first flight, I’ll count the landing or the floor as a step to even it out. If I’m in a bathroom and the tiles on the floor run out the seventh time the tile pattern repeats, it’s somehow dissatisfying–I want it to go to eight or stop at six, and I’ll look for something extra to throw into the count to make the numbers work out the way I want. Though I prefer even numbers, my mind also finds satisfaction in patterns of three. I don’t like seven, but 21 is pleasing.
The volume setting on our car radio is numbered. I will set the volume to 10 or 12, but never to 15 or 17. If my husband turns it to a number I don’t like, I’ll reach over and adjust it to a more pleasing number. I can’t really explain why I like 13 but not 15. I especially dislike seven and 27, but I like 23 and I can’t tell you why.
I’ve wondered whether my relationship with numbers represents some kind of synesthesia, but I don’t associate numbers with colors or sounds, though my mind does automatically produce a kind of intuitive number form–a distinct spatial map of where particular numbers belong–but I find this mind map difficult to describe. It feels automatic, and when I try to explain what it looks like or how it works I become disoriented, in the same way I do when I try to give someone directions to a familiar place. I know where the right turn is, but it’s automatic for me, and if I try to articulate whether it’s before or after the red house, I suddenly lose all sense of direction. I know the route in a spatial sort of way, and it’s difficult to turn this intuitive map into a verbal one.
Am I thinking purely mathematically when I count? I’m not sure, but I’ve noticed that I think of numbers a little differently in others languages. I don’t like seven in English, but when I’m counting in Italian, I like sette very much. I don’t like 12 in German, but I like 11 in all three languages. And I can’t explain any of this.
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Photo credits:
Red train and poles by SP8254 via Flickr.
Cyclist and power lines by Ruth Friesen.
One of my strongest memories of growing up is staring out the window of the rear passenger seat and watching the white line on the side of the road. I could do this for hours. After a minute or two the line starts to “float” – to rise above the asphalt and become a dynamic, living ribbon of white. The line moves slowly back and forth, sometimes disappearing for a moment. It put me into something of a zen-like state, quite calm.
I thought I was the only person who ever did this, until I met another visual artist who talked about doing the same thing as a child. That makes me wonder how many little kids stare out the window and let their brains go on auto-pilot, counting, or dreaming, or floating along.
I get the power poles and stairs bits because I do it all the time. I only count stairs or footsteps when I’m walking uphill though – curious!
When I’m walking on concrete pavements, I have to take the same number of steps between the gaps in the laid cement, or between trees that have been deliberately planted along paved pathways – or between street lamp poles.
Even numbers are better.
It’s nice to know that there are other ‘normal’ people out there doing the same! ;.)
I count when I’m walking, but I’m not counting anything. I’m just saying numbers in order like a little chant or song. I have two theories: 1) it’s a way of getting our minds to, as Sally would say, STFU; and/or 2) it’s a way of imposing a comforting order.
I’ve counted ever since I can remember — usually it’s the number of words in sentences, but also things like power lines or windows or cars. I try to make the counts end in multiples of 5. Mine feels exactly as you describe: mind doodling.
I’m very happy to see a post on this little phenomenon!
I’ve been counting for as long as I remember. More than anything else, I count the letters in road signs. I always feel a little disappointed when a sign ends on a number that isn’t a multiple of 5. Sometimes I’ll cumulatively count road sign letters until one of them ends on a multiple of 5.
Since college track & XC, I’ve counted down from sixty–over and over–on most any solo run I’ve done that’s exceeded five miles. I find I can run farther when I’m counting, and that the running doesn’t seem as painful. It fully distracts me! I actually prefer counting down to listening to music.
I’m pleased to learn that it’s not just me and my family members who do this. My husband thinks I’m completely crazy. And he’s a math guy.
I’m fascinated by the different ways and things that people count. I don’t count words or sentences, but it sounds like a lot of other people do.
This is so interesting, Christie! I never knew this about you — I’m a counter, too. Chris calls me “the enumerator.”
As for you, my counts don’t always have to be accurate. But they do have to be rhythmic — I often count “ONE one one one TWO two two two” and the like.
My gosh! I never knew I was not alone in this! I’ve been counting since I was a very young kid, but never shared this habit with anyone because I felt it was too strange. Something I kept for myself until now – well, my husband and close friends know I like to keep track of time – but that is another side of this “habit” – I “count” the time.
I count steps, I search for patterns, I finish my food in an even number of bites.
and all of a sudden, I feel less lonely thanks to your post! 😉
I’ve never really been a counter, but when I walk I do the same thing that Michele does – I keep track of my steps and make sure they fall in even patterns. For example, if I step on a sidewalk crack with my left foot, I then have to step on another crack with my right foot.
Also, two of my college roommates had preferences for certain numbers. When we watched TV, one would want the volume setting to be an even number, and the other wanted a multiple of 5. It was common to hear them have conversations like, “No, I don’t like 25. Can you do 28?” “I don’t like 28, but I suppose I can do 24.”
I love that I found you all. I alternate pressure in my toes when driving to get a count between cars that pass by me. I also count the steps between telephone poles and sidewalk. I get thrown off when my counts mess up but as you all, I’ve been doing it since I was little. Never told anyone though:) til now
Fascinating and weird! I count when I am walking, not actually counting something, just reciting numbers which are not even always consecutive. I am not sure how I do that, but all of a sudden I will wonder where the number 867 came from, as I have been walking less than2 minutes.
I never knew anyone else did that, let along my own sister.
I don’t think I’ve ever left two comments on the same thread, but this post made such an impression on me, I came back and cannot help but say again, wonderful to see “others” like me.
Very hard and disturbing to admit that I’ve lived for 52 years so far with no idea that I was NOT alone!
Wow, this was an eye opener! I’m more of a data collector than a counter. I don’t normally count stairs. In fact, I think I prefer measurements to counts. But it really is all about looking for patterns, symmetry, order, etc. I call it looking for meaning where none should be expected.
OMG! I do the same exact thing with the volume knob! This is sort of spooky!
Lovely piece, Christie. I just want to chime in to say that what you experience actually does qualify as synesthesia (which does not have to have either color or sound)–not because you count, but because you form a hard-to-describe visual map of your numbers as you do so. You’d be happy to know that Richard Feynman experienced the exact same kind of phenomenon. I have a lot of research on the topic for some writing I’m doing, if you’d like to see more. Also, highly recommend the work of David Eagleman.
I am a counter too. It is more rhymical and I lose count sometimes. I also categorize some words as being even or odd. Like days of the week. Monday is odd and Tuesday is even, but Sunday is odd. Dinner is even and supper is odd.
Aaaahh. 21 I had a sigh of relief when I saw that, it feels so calm. But I really like 27, it just feels right? I also do the volume knob thing!
And I also count, I’ll count the number of oncoming cars passing a highway light pole before I pass it. I count my steps, always starting with 1 on my left.
So glad to see this “weird” thing isn’t so weird after all.
I count – but it is also about patterns and spaces. I will count the light posts and the how they line up between the gaps in the lines in the middle of the road. I twitch my fingers & toes to time the gaps. I am a little OCD ish, my symptoms are related to stress, but the counting / patterns, etc aren’t a part of that psychological process in that it is, as you say, habitual, etc, etc. I find geometric patterns hypnotising and will spend time looking at different configurations. Repeated “random” patterns on tiles are also quite absorbing. I will count the line – patterns and how many in a row, how far it goes before the repeat, etc. It is mostly a visual habit, I guess.
And the number preference – I definitely get that! I like cubics & primes for preference, but find multiples of “5” annoying.
This is insane. Not the what you’re (May I speak to you directly? Is that awkward? I don’t know…) talking about, but that other people do it. I do it with letters and phrases. I can barely verbalize this, so I’m not sure how I’m going to write it out, but I will count letters/words/phrases into 4 groups of 4. For example, here’s one phrase “No fire and no light.” If you break that phrase up into 4 groups, it’s “Nofi–rean–dnol–light.” Wow, that looks really odd in writing. I count these on my fingers usually, saying 4 letter per finger. Anyway, I get this feeling of satisfaction when that happens. It used to happen a lot more when I was younger, but I still catch myself doing it. Also, I do the volume thing, too. I like it on even numbers and hatch marks of 5. Weird, but I guess, common.
Another counting person here, from Sweden. It’s very nice that you share your thoughts on this, as it’s reassuring to hear more people have these “problems” (not that I see it as thus). I’ve always hade them, for ex. counting how many parts the inner ceiling is made of when I’m in a hospital waiting room. Or how many lamps on the walls of the cinema. It makes me calm and my mind at ease when having something mundane to do. But I must admit, certain numbers are alarming for me, 17 for instance, though not 13 for some strange reason. We have a saying in swedish “Fy sjutton!” It literally means “Bad seventeen!” I’d really like to know why that number is shunned…?
Love this, Christie. We’ve talked about it before. I don’t count (my husband does). But even since I was introduced to the buddhist mantra, om mane padme hung, while travelling in Asia eons ago, I can’t take a walk, hike or run without it punctuating my footfalls. I had a coach who also loved tying mantras into sports performance (which is probably one of the reasons that I loved working with him). But he counselled coordinating steps with each syllable (so six steps to each round of mantra). That totally didn’t work for me. I do four steps per round. It’s been going on for close to 25 years and I don’t see it stopping anytime soon. I’ve always seen it as a form of mind ordering.
I can also use it for self-hypnosis … like when we’re hitting turbulance on a flight and I get that warm, barfy feeling. Or recently in an MRI, when I had nothing better to do.
God, I really thought I was abnormal counting things in my head all the time. It is normally when a sentence is said then I will count the number of words, and if the total doesn’t end in one of my favourite numbers then I will start counting the sentence again from a number which I know will end the sentence on one of my numbers!!! I hope someone understands what I am trying to say???