The Damn Numbers

I’m not a fan of metrics.

As a writer on Substack, I pointedly ignore the statistics on how my posts perform. How many views, what my email open rate is, you name it, I’d rather pretend none of it exists. Awareness causes me anxiety. I have a gestalt sense of how I’m doing, and specifics are nobody’s business, not even mine.

I don’t force content to meet a publishing schedule. I won’t put out anything that feels half-assed. I genuinely appreciate it when readers comment on my stuff, and it’s great to have followers, but in a void, I’d still write.

Granted, if a notification came up on my phone later today that this Substack post had zero views, zero comments, and zero likes, it would eat at me. But eventually I’d get over it and keep writing.

Maybe it’s because I don’t have a plan, but a purpose. Whatever the reason, it feels perfunctory, rather than profoundly necessary as drawing breath, the act of writing to hit or surpass a numerical goal, though I know this isn’t how everyone on the platform feels. The calculation that cripples me incentivizes others, and that’s fine. More than fine. We are all wired differently.

Here’s the thing. If I woke up one day to discover I was the last person on Earth, first, I’d freak out. That’s just true. But then, I’d find a way to write about it. Zero views, zero comments, zero likes; still, I’d write. I mean, somebody’s got to explain things to me.