Beyond Counting

On finding value where the world forgets to look

For the past three Thursdays I’ve had a little stall on Kirkham market. People stop by, smile kindly, and almost without fail ask the same question: “How’s it going? Have you sold much?”

Sitting by my little stall, sketchbook in hand.

And if I measured success only in the taps on my card reader, the answer would be: “Not really.” I’ve sold very little.

But that’s not the whole story.

Over these three weeks, I’ve had conversations that money could never buy. Two people have cried tears of appreciation for the care I’ve shown. A young man with mental health struggles has come to chat every single week. A grieving woman returned, not to purchase anything, but to say thank you. Others have stopped to talk, complimented my work, followed my blog, or signed up for my art classes.

By the world’s usual metric, this looks like failure. But I’ve come to believe the world often measures the wrong things. As William Bruce Cameron once wrote,

“Not everything that can be counted counts, and not everything that counts can be counted.”

It’s so easy to slip into the language of numbers: sales, followers, productivity and output. But what about the things that resist counting? The spark in someone’s eyes when they feel understood. The dignity of being listened to. The moment someone finds the courage to share their grief. These things live beyond spreadsheets, but they matter so much more.

Viktor Frankl, a psychiatrist who survived the concentration camps, observed that meaning is often found not in achievement or possession, but in love, in purpose, in the way we touch one another’s lives. David Brooks makes a similar point when he contrasts “résumé virtues” — the things people can measure and list — with “eulogy virtues,” the qualities people remember us for when we’re gone. Which will really matter in the end?

I think of Brené Brown’s reminder that connection is why we’re here. We are wired for it. When someone cries at my market stall because they feel cared for, or when a lonely young man keeps returning to chat, I know that connection is happening. And I know that’s worth more than the balance in my bank account.

Helen Keller once said,

“The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched; they must be felt with the heart.”

I’m beginning to understand just how true this is.

Maybe the real question isn’t “How much did you sell?” but “How much love did you share? How much presence did you offer? How many small moments of grace unfolded at your table?”

I’m offering watercolour classes for wellbeing because I want to create space not just for creativity but also for connection and mutual support. This feels like a natural extension of what’s been happening at my little stall.

I’ll be sending out an email later this week with details on how to join my monthly online sessions, which start on Monday, October 6th. I’d love for you to be part of it.