I am one of those people who desperately needs validation. Lots of validation. I once walked into a building simply because there was a sign posted indicating that they offered validation. Imagine my disappointment when I discovered it was just for the cost of parking. If you’ve been reading this column for a while (Have you? What do you think? Am I funny? Do you like it? Do you like me? Do you really like me?), you’ll notice I gravitate toward endeavors that lend themselves toward receiving feedback from others — things like blogging (followers!) and running (medals!) and Peeps diorama contests (entire media tour through the Midwest!)

I’m ridiculous.

The need for validation spiraled even further out of control when I began writing a regular column that offered readers a chance to recommend and comment every week.

Honestly, one of the reasons I became a writer was because I simply don’t care for anything to do with math. I don’t like statistics, spreadsheets, budgets or interest rates. I have no idea what a gallon of milk or a gallon of gas costs. These are things I have to purchase, so I pay whatever the retailer charges me when I need them. There is simply no room for figures in my head. 

This distaste for math may come as a surprise to my mother who funded the same Quantitative Analysis course for me in college twice because I enjoyed it so much. It was more apparent when I neglected to study for an accounting final when I was in grad school because a Real World marathon was competing for my attention and I had to make a choice. (For those who swear professors will not give less than a “B” in grad school, that is patently untrue.)

And yet, now that I’m writing more than ever, numbers are continually in the forefront of whatever I’m doing. I’m constantly checking analytics to see how many people visited sites, recommended articles and commented. I’m checking to see how long readers stay on sites and if it is more or less than the day, week and month before. My self-worth is now partially (read: completely) determined by the numbers.

It’s very healthy. 

The past few weeks have been especially hard because the recommendations on my column have plummeted. My editor assures me that my views are still really high (I asked, of course); it’s just that the recommendation numbers are down. And that is reassuring. I mean, I don't like to brag, but my following still numbers well into the tens of readers.

So as much as I want to implore you to recommend this column because it is much cheaper than therapy, I will not stoop to such a thing. I will, however, take a moment to mention that the people who do recommend and comment upon my writing tend to be extremely intelligent, uncommonly good looking, exceptionally successful, hysterically funny, wildly popular types who donate a lot of money to charity.   

Addictive, isn't it?