When I used to manage a multi-million dollar business unit, I got used to business metrics and analysis. I wasn’t a natural, I had to work at it, but over time the patterns that could be found in these facts and figures became fascinating to me. It was reassuring and satisfying. Analyze, make a plan, implement, review, repeat. I doubled the volume of my business unit in four years with equal parts devotion to metric analysis, creativity, and sheer dogged determination. And it was good. And then it wasn’t, but that’s a story for another time.

Flash forward to today in my life as a writer and working mother, trying to pursue my passion, carve out my niche, and contribute to the bottom line of Family, Inc. I wish I could say that I have doubled our volume over the last few years, but it’s not for want of trying. I play with different indicators these days. In terms of improvement in overall happiness (profit) and reduction in stress (loss) ours is a hot stock if I do say so myself. I still apply that dogged determination, but the lack of familiar and quantifiable metrics was a void from which my entrepreneurial soul cried out. Yes, Johnny 5, need input. And then, I got into the Google Analytics reports for my main blogging effort, Relevant Mom. And, ahhhhhhhhhh, information, an amazing amount of information, at my fingertips. And it was once again good.

For Example my own personal U.S. electoral map:

The patterns and effects of small modulations continue to fascinate me. I found out a few things that weren’t surprising, and one thing that was completely unexpected.

1. Google is scary powerful
2. Controversy spikes numbers, and how ( My biggest hits to this day are about Sarah Palin, much to my frustration)
3. Weekends are primetime
4. I can’t seem to crack Norway, not that I’m trying all that hard, but c’mon how about some love for a Viking Gal one generation removed! Sweden loves me (that should make the Norwegians a little bit nuts)
5. My Parents are interested in what I have to say, i.e. they love me.

A very little background on number 5 is necessary. Suffice it to say that for reasons I sometimes understand, or at least make up convincing justifications for, we barely interact. If we do, I’m usually making the phone call, writing the email, or scheduling the visit. Did I mention that I am an only child? I have produced the only grandchild, even a boy child, in many cultures the frustrating measure of a woman’s worth. Yup, leave your therapist referrals in the comments section, folks, I said only, singular, one, original and only. Don’t get me wrong, I love my parents, and I admire them individually quite a lot actually. I know they tried their best to make a good life for me, but I am angry about this state of affairs, and at times abjectly furious about it, in that paralyzing, ugly crying and screaming kind of way, which leaves a funk for a few days in its wake. And now that I have a child, it’s even more intense.

I enjoy it usually when we do talk. It’s just that we don’t, and that has always been a place where my fundamental confidence in myself has one sizeable gaping hole. No matter who your parents are, you want to know, not just hear, that they love you and are interested in the person you are, you want to know it from their actions; doesn’t matter if you are four or forty. Fending off a mother who calls you a little too often seems like a high-class problem to me. This leaves one with an unhealthy addiction to, and need for approval. And, I’ve turned myself inside out in my life in its pursuit.

So, imagine my surprise when I drilled down into my analytics reports recently to narrow in on cities that generate significant traffic, and high on the list is coincidentally the stomping grounds of my parents. Without going into too much detail, it is virtually impossible that traffic in those numbers is coming from this particular locale. Pay attention to the large bulls eye in the area of Southern California:

So, as the holidays approach and my normal mixture of complicated feelings surrounding my family ushers in a wild ride on an emotional roller coaster that my husband girds himself for each year (God bless him), I will have a small measure of satisfaction that they may not call, write, or visit, but they are apparently big, albeit lurking fans. 

Now, about Norway. I have a great piece to comment on about Norwegian prisons coming soon on the blog. I won’t apologize people; I’m in it to win it…dogged determination, dogged Viking 2.0 determination courtesy of Google Analytics. And, a little bit of renewed confidence courtesy of my parents thrown in for good measure.