Perhaps I have always been a bit too obsessed with round numbers, those symmetrical, whole figures that seem to promise completion, contentment, and ever-elusive satisfaction. I know I’m far from alone in being struck by this notion. In the online world, round numbers are extremely sought after, especially when they count followers, subscribers, or page views. These sorts of milestones are shiny objects, but round numbers are much more than that; they are milestone markers that denote some type of progress, whether real or imagined.
The first round number milestone I remember vividly from my own life was when I turned ten. On the morning of my tenth birthday, it was as if a shimmering aura surrounded that glorious double-digit number. Up to that point, I’d lived a single-digit existence, and now, turning this round number, it was as if I now held the keys to a new kingdom.
Even at this relatively young age, I yearned to leave the realm of the naive and cross the threshold into the world of the wise and sophisticated. Of course, I didn’t yet understand that this was only the first round number that would greet me before I was ready to truly comprehend its meaning. But there I was, wide-eyed and expectant, waiting for the wisdom and sophistication that would undoubtedly accompany this monumental transition.
Ah, the sweet, naive innocence of youth. How little I knew that turning ten was less about crossing into new realms and more about being old enough to know better but still young enough to believe in the magic of milestones. I thought I’d awaken to newfound knowledge, but instead, I was the same kid, just older by a day. The world didn’t change; only the calendar did. But in my mind, I’d entered a new epoch.
Many of us feel sheer bliss of anticipation for numbers that aren’t round at all; the birthdays of our eighteenth and twenty-first years are considered fateful days for a number of reasons. But, for me, it has always been the round-numbered birthdays, ten, then twenty, then thirty, that hold the most significance. There’s a certain symmetry and order to them, a sense of completeness that other ages simply don’t possess.
Of course, no matter how significant a certain marker of another revolution of the sun might be from our own perspective, it’s not really that significant in the grand scheme. The sun will rise and set, as usual. Our globe will still continue spinning on its axis. The universe at large will remain quite indifferent to our newfound condition or status. But, try telling that to a ten-year-old convinced they’ve unlocked the secrets of the universe after a decade of fooling about.
The great paradox of birthdays for me is that as much importance as we ascribe to them, it’s not as if our world changes dramatically in any meaningful way. Yes, in the United States of America at least, turning eighteen means you gain access to new privileges; when one turns twenty-one, many more privileges become available to us. But, on your birthday, you don’t suddenly gain new wisdom or grow any more than you would from any other yesterday. We chase round number milestones yet seem to devalue all the numbers which come in between.
It took me years to realize that the milestones I so eagerly anticipated were nothing more than arbitrary markers. They didn’t bestow wisdom or maturity; they didn’t transform me into a better, more enlightened version of myself. They were just numbers, and their significance was a construct of my own making. But at ten, I was blissfully unaware of this harsh truth. So, I celebrated my entry into the double-digit club with all the fervor of a true believer.
The Social Media Era and Chasing Round Numbers
By the time I turned twenty, the intoxicating promise of social media’s quick and instant success had taken hold of me. The pursuit of big round numbers became not just a hobby, but an all-consuming mission. Each new follower, each additional like, each increase in page views was another step closer to validation, or so I thought.
I remember the thrill of earning my first $10 from an affiliate program. It was as if I had discovered a hidden treasure chest, brimming with the promise of financial freedom that had eluded me for most of my young adult life. With the marriage of my witty prose and my growing social media influence, success seemed all but certain. Soon, I made my first $100, and about a year later, with the help of other affiliate commissions, I’d made my first $1,000.
Each of these milestones felt monumental at the time. I was on my way up, each round number a new rung on the ladder to success. The dopamine hit of standing at the summit of each new round number milestone became an intoxicating, mind-numbing addiction. I began to savor every ounce of validation like a narcotic; with each new hit the sensation would fade a bit sooner. Too soon, these round numbers quickly became targets further in the distance, leaving me to traverse the vast expanse between them, driven by the insatiable thirst for more.
When I earned my first 1,000 followers on social media. I was on top of the world, convinced that the next 1,000 would come even faster and easier. Spoiler: it didn’t. The first thousand were the low-hanging fruit, the friends, family, and fringe acquaintances who felt obligated to support my endeavors, plus a handful of strangers who found me interesting enough to click “follow.” The next thousand were a far more elusive quarry.
While my early achievements were certainly noteworthy, I finally stalled at mid-four figures in many measurements. My bank account never swelled during the pursuit of these numbers; it often proved to be just enough to scrape by. All through my twenties, I chased these milestones across myriad landscapes, from my familiar stomping grounds of Massachusetts, to the rocky terrains of Colorado, to the long, winding avenues of backroads America.
At some point, I realized that I was measuring my self-worth by these round numbers, but the numbers didn’t reflect the true value of my work or my life. They were hollow markers, devoid of real substance. They gave the illusion of progress, but in reality, they were just distractions from more meaningful, albeit less glamorous, measures of success.
The Reality Check
By age thirty, I felt I had reached my peak, far from what I’d hoped to attain going into my third decade. I would pause, surveying the horizon for the next round number beacon, but I quickly began to lose hope. The reality of reaching the five-figure milestones seemed out of reach.
In quiet moments, which began to come all too often alongside bleak circumstances, the intoxication of my superficial achievements receded. The validation I sought in round numbers was fleeting, and the satisfaction they brought was temporary at best. I began to question the very nature of my pursuits. What was it about these round numbers that held such allure and such power over me?
Was it the promise of completion, the tantalizing notion that I would finally be whole through gaining the widespread attention of others? Or was it something deeper, a need to impose order on a chaotic world through the neatness of round numbers? In the end, the sheer beauty of round numbers for me lay in their symmetry, the soothing order they brought to a chaotic world. But, they were not the guideposts I thought them to be; for too long, I was lied to in terms of their true value.
It took a long time, but I eventually began to see through the illusion. The numbers that really mattered were not the ones that could be easily counted or displayed on a screen. In fact, numbers themselves weren’t anywhere as important as the things that can’t easily be quantified. I needed instead to reevaluate the quality of my relationships, the depth of my experiences, and the authenticity of my self-expression. So, unlike the round milestones I had chased for so long, these qualitative aspects of my existence were far more difficult to quantify, but infinitely more rewarding to pursue.
It was a sobering realization. I had been measuring my worth by arbitrary numbers that ultimately meant very little. The milestones I had chased so fervently were mere illusions, hollow markers that gave the appearance of progress but lacked any real substance. The validation I sought in round numbers was fleeting, and the satisfaction they brought was temporary at best.
I was fortunate to not have to reach forty before I realized the error of my ways. I stopped caring about the numbers; I finally let go entirely of my social media pursuits. I no longer chase followers, likes, or page views. The only round numbers I now recognize as meaningful are the ones that matter most, those that mark the passage of time, urging us to take each moment for what it is, a beautiful gift.
Closing Thoughts
In many ways, I am still that wide-eyed child of ten. Perhaps I will never know the answer to all those burning questions I still have. Yet, long as I’m making progress, that I’m growing a bit each day, the ideal of chasing incremental improvements day by day, I’ve learned to be content. Perhaps the very inevitability that many round numbers will remain out of reach, that many of them will forever be unfathomable to my own realization, is what makes the chase for infinity so irresistibly enchanting.
I no longer chase the next round number milestone like a moth drawn inexorably towards a flickering flame. Yes, I’m still a seeker, a dreamer, and a believer; I shall never cease to wander. I’m quite fortunate that the round numbers I encounter now in my daily life are more than enough to satisfy my needs. While these numbers can be your friends, there’s so much more to life than rounding up or down.
Looking back, it’s almost comical how much power I gave to those round numbers. Like sirens they’d lure me in with their perfect symmetry and false promises of fulfillment. Each milestone was supposed to be a definitive marker of progress, a beacon of success that would finally make everything fall into place. Instead, they were hollow achievements, offering fleeting satisfaction at best and often leaving me more disillusioned than before.
Using round numbers as milestones to chase turns them into arbitrary markers that can be easily manipulated and misleading. The true milestones in life are not the ones that can be measured so neatly. Now, I value the in-between moments, the subtle progressions that don’t fit into the neat boxes of round numbers.
It’s in these spaces that real life happens, where the meaningful experiences lie. I’ve learned that true fulfillment comes not from hitting a certain number but from appreciating the journey, the small victories, and the lessons learned along the way. These are the building blocks for a fulfilled life.
Now, I understand that the allure of round numbers was never about the numbers themselves but about the meaning I assigned to them. I’ve come to realize that life’s true milestones are often found in the unexpected, the imperfect, and the unquantifiable. Life isn’t about reaching a specific milestone but about living fully and authentically in each moment. This, I’ve learned, is the most satisfying achievement of all.
~ Amelia Desertsong
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