I never considered myself a “numbers” person. I don’t mean I wasn’t good at math (Mathlete, y’all!), but I care more about stories than stats. On the Myers-Briggs Typology Instrument, for example, my F to T (Feeling to Thinking) ratio is the most unbalanced, and I’m a strong F.

What I do — every thing I do — while seemingly disparate, is all connected by that trait. Every little project or endeavor I undertake is driven by my goal of making the world a safer place for all people.

So it’s as surprising to me as it might be to you how numbers-driven my day-to-day life is, and how much I find myself trying to turn that part of my brain off so I can focus on the present. The numbers eat at me, often glaring at me from within little red circles, screaming “Click me! Make me go away!” Others are tucked away within more complex websites or spreadsheets, whispering more gently, but still persuasively.

Following is a small taste of the numbers that are almost always whizzing around my brain, attempting to distract me from the task at hand. Every one of these things pops into my head at once when I wake up every morning, then attempts to suckle my brainjuice every minute of every hour I’m awake.Keep Reading

I did a show earlier today, which isn’t that odd, or thought-provoking. I do shows a lot. It’s what I do. But the show today was different from any show I’ve done, because it was over Skype. That was a first for me.

Doing a show over Skype is different for a ton of reasons: there’s a delay between delivery and reaction, it’s hard (or impossible) to hear laughter, I was sitting down, I didn’t have to wear pants, I can’t feel the energy, and more. It was weird on so many layers. And while it was awesome to make a show happen hundreds of miles away without the costs and inconveniences of travel, I didn’t feel great about it afterward. And, honestly, that was the only thing that was not new about the show.

It’s fascinating to me how often I will decide after a show that it didn’t go well. In my head I’ll hear things like “I know that I could have done better,” or “I have done better,” or “I didn’t vibe very well with that crowd,” or “the economy is pretty weak right now.” I focus on that bad. I’ll be sure. Even though it’s ridiculous to be sure. Pretty much all of the data, if I decide to actually allow it into my brain, would push me toward another decision.

I’ve performed hundreds of times, in dozens of different formats, for just as many types of crowds, and types of people. And the vast majority of those shows have gone well. So, just going from statistical likelihoods, I should lean toward “this show went well” instead of “this show went terribly” when not presented with other data. But there are always other data. Did people laugh? Did people’s heads nod? Did I get most of my words out in the order they are supposed to be said in? And in most cases, as well as in the case of the show today, all signs point toward good show. Yet, despite all of these data, I am sometimes able to convince myself that a show didn’t go well.

And that’s what I did today. I was so sure the show today went poorly that I texted my manager/bud Chum today after my show and apologized preemptively. I felt guilty. After the show, I was sitting there and wondering what I could have done differently, how I could have given them a better show, where I fell short, if I should ever accept a Skype show ever again or just turn my computer off forever. I knew I gave it my best — I would never do anything else — but I blew it. Then I saw this:


That’s Mary, the person who coordinated the show, who reached out to me after (with no prompting) and told me how wrong I was. Mary’s tweet unknows everything I “knew.” And that’s happened every time. If shows went as bad as I beat myself up for every time, I wouldn’t have a job. If the things I wrote were as poorly received and terrible as I convince myself as soon as I publish them, I wouldn’t be writing this write now (ha! That’s now how you do words!). There are so many times in my life where I decide things are bad before they are even things, even though I, intellectually, know how ridiculous it is. But I still do it. I’m grading tests I’m not qualified to grade.

When completing a test in school, regardless of how great or not-so-great we were feeling about it, we wouldn’t write the grade at the top, would we? Did you? I didn’t? Particularly if the test didn’t go that well. I wouldn’t write a bold-faced “F” at the top, hand it to my teacher, and walk out of the class with a peace sign up. But that’s what I did today. And that’s what I do, and have done, in so many times aspects of my life. I grade tests I’m not qualified to grade, and start allowing my body to react to that grade, before ever giving my teacher a chance to respond.

I’m going to try to start letting the teachers in my life grade my tests, and using the time when I’m waiting for my grade as recess.