Units of Measure

Let's admit it.  We are a society of compulsive measure-ers.  We measure and we count and we fastidiously record the numbers, praying to find the hidden answers to our pains and miseries, the secrets of the universe, in mystical algorithms.

From pencil marks on papered walls, we measure our children in feet and inches, while we sweat over the slowly rising numbers on the scale, counting our own self-worth in pounds and ounces.    We confuse numbered hearts on Instagram with actual love and nervously note the number of wedding photos crossing our Facebook pages, while mourning each ticking second on our biological clocks.  Not surprisingly, students learn early-on to measure themselves by standardized test scores.  Which might work better if only the students themselves could be as standardized!  We count the zeroes in our bank accounts and tally our salaries and the amount of furniture we can cram into our houses.  All the credits and debits and interest rates that ultimately amount to that corrupt king of all measurements: the Gross Domestic Product!  A calculation that is omnipotent and holy, worshiped by all the talking heads on the television with its thousands of channels.

Maybe we should try measuring in poetry instead of in prose, in some of those things that are less easily quantifiable, yet all the more valuable.  Could we measure the miles traveled beyond the comfort of home as meticulously as the square feet within?  What if we came to appreciate the time and money given freely to others as much as the miserly sum hoarded in the bank?  It is a delightful paradox of our humanity that the more we give without counting the cost, the more we stand to gain!

I propose a success not measured by the length of our resumes and awards given to us by people whose names we can scarcely remember, but rather by the number of chairs around our kitchen tables  and how often they are filled and how many hours of card games and big belly laughs are enjoyed there.  What joy, what power, what love might we find in ourselves if we stopped counting everything else long enough to count our blessings?

Maybe the problem isn't so much the measuring as the units of measure.