My dad avoided the number 8 and any combination of numbers that added up to 8. Not for him 26, 35 or 44.

Apart from numbers, my dad also observed the not-so-good times as stipulated in the Indian calendar. These ‘times’ loosely translated mean ‘night time’ and ‘evil time’,  occur once in the morning and once in the afternoon, and each time-out is 90 minutes. There are also certain days every month that are  designated as bad or evil due to planetary movements.

As a child, I found this belief or practice both interesting and confusing. I didn’t quite understand but never questioned it then. It was interesting how these ‘numbers’, ‘times’ and ‘days’ influenced one’s actions, at least my dad’s. Did it work for him? I don’t know. I used to wonder how difficult it must have been for him to fit and balance work and responsibilities with these restrictions. Self-imposed restrictions, the way I saw them, but restrictions all the same. It was fortuitous that my dad was in the civil service, where time was a little more malleable.  Imagine if he was a surgeon, who had to perform emergency surgery at a ‘bad’ time or a pilot who had to fly at the ‘wrong’ time.

I am not trying to make light of these peculiar behavior because I have acquired or ‘inherited’ some of his eccentric characteristics. It’s maddening that I am doing what my dad used to do. It didn’t make sense then, and it doesn’t make sense to me now.

I am partial to the number 6. My birth date is 24, which totals 6 and I like 2 and 4.  I find comfort in doing things in 6’es. My brain knows it is insane but my heart and conscience are happier for it. I am not mad just a little obsessive. 6 doesn’t mean buying 6 houses or 6 cars. I can’t afford it so I don’t go there. My 6’es are limited to locking doors, switching off lights and checking my car alarm. I count what I can or what is within my control. It gives me comfort, security and almost a sense of closure to each activity that I do.

I stay away from 8 and numbers that add up to 8, if I can. Luckily there are only three dates that total eight each month. I actually wait for the clock on my computer to get past any combination of time that totals 8, not for me 2.15 or 6.11, but only for things I consider important. I don’t start on a new piece of work, press confirm for purchases especially airline tickets or make bank transfers when the time is favoring 8. I know it is silly, but try telling it to my being.

I have a sister who was born on the 8th, a brother on the 26th and my husband’s birthday is on the 17th.  One of my sister lives in a house numbered 17 and my older brother got married on the 8th. Yes, I know. It makes no sense. Babies are born, people celebrate birthdays, couples get married, contracts are sealed and developments are launched on the 8th. Yes, I know. I just don’t know how to be less stupid about this anything but 8-thing.

I have two recent examples of how an 8 and 17 didn’t work for me. The first was a launch scheduled on the 8th. The launch was a success but the client has now parted ways because of a misunderstanding that had nothing to do with me. The second was a meeting that was held for the first time on the 17th. We worked well together until wrong information was published on the net. This followed a second parting of ways. We were at fault in the second case, but the result was the same. Not good.

I believe that if you do certain things in a particular way, follow set times, patterns or rituals for long enough, you are afraid to deviate from them just in case something bad or unforeseen befalls your loved ones or you. When a negative thing happens, it is more likely a coincidence and/or because of my own failing. I know that.

I want to change as it is embarrassing and time-wasting. I don’t want to fiddle with my keys and lock doors 6x, and then repeat it another 6x because I missed a step. I chide myself when I get repetitive. I don’t want to stop my life because the time or day is not right. I remind myself how silly I am being. It’s trying this compulsive behavior, and I am trying…