the urgency of numbers.

This morning I was in Barnes & Noble sitting in a sturdy wooden chair sipping coffee, side-by-side, with a friend.  Every now and then I would glance up from my book at the test preparation books across from me. So many tests: SAT, GRE, ACT, PRAXIS, GRE, GMAT, NCLEX.  So many scores.  So many futures to hang in the balance.

A couple of high school kids and their moms passed by and chattered anxiously about math.  Was there a test or mathematical subject area that fell between analytical geometry and calculus.  Was it math analysis?  I shuttered.  My math analysis teacher used to bark at us.  In this case, bark is not a metaphor.  She barked.  I turned back to my book, "Dance of the Dissident Daughter," hardly math.

Voices started rising in the kid's section.  I heard a little boy stridently counting to ten.  I think he was asserting his seniority over a younger sibling.  One, two, three, four.  A crescendo and strong annunciation as he reached the final digits. Eight. Nine. TEN!  The urgency of numbers seemed inescapable.

Numbers, I think, are neutral. Numbers have no emotional essence in and of themselves. They are the stuff of birthday, sales, and grade calculations.  They need context for meaning.  They need other numbers and operators to do something.  I don't really know enough about numbers to write a glib essay on math, but I am chagrined to say that I am too often pushed around by numbers.  Do I have enough money?  Am I too old?  Do I need one or two?  How much does that cost?  How long will that take?  Is my salary out of range?  I don't have children so I don't have much experience with the countdown.  (My cat could care less about the countdown.) Many of us, at one time or another, have watched the New Year's Eve countdown with Dick Clark whose youthful appearance did not jive with his number.

There is little doubt we need numbers, even if we don't name them.  I'll see you in a few hours.  Sooner or later "few" will be defined, precisely.  "Where did the time go?" can be calculated.  And time, that number, is precious.  So what is the antidote to this sum of anxiety that bears down on me?  Love.

Love makes the time in between fall away.  Love slows the heart when fear wants to speed it up. Love lifts the spirit and softens the eyes.  Love helps us look just the same after all these years.  Love is sitting with, regardless of the hour. Love is my cat's paw reaching out to pull me close. Love is delighting in my nieces' debate over the characteristics of fairies. Love is trying to help a friend with taxes and a subsequent meltdown met with uncommon patience and concern.

Love is an unnumbered and incalculable exchange of words, silence, touch, and truth. Love.  Boundless love.