I started my counting practice decades ago when I was trying to stop smoking. Counting cigarettes was a way of being aware of my habit. The fewer cigarettes I counted, the more self-control I thought I had.
These days, tobacco long ago controlled, I still count. In 2012, I started to count the number of my lily plants that came into bloom.
And then a few years ago, I put in dozens of daffodil and tulip bulbs, and then I started counting them when they flowered.
With the cigarettes, I was practicing self-control. Then one obsession replaced another. Now, with the lilies and daffodils, I am simply giving in to counting.
And I enjoy just having an excuse for counting. I am practicing self-indulgence instead of self-mastery. I am escaping from non-counting... and from having to make sense.
Besides, counting one thing is always about counting something else. Totals mean less to me than repetition. Process is more important to me than outcomes. Intent changes the equation, makes its own meaning and skews the math to its own designs.
This morning, even though the daffodils are fading, the tulips are coming in strong. That's all that really matters.
This is Bill Felker with Poor Will’s Almanack. I’ll be back again next week with notes for the third week of Late Spring. In the meantime, if you don't have daffodils or tulips count something anyway.
