The Curious Comfort of Numbers I Don’t Believe In

An addendum to “Finding Patterns That Don’t Define Me“

I don’t believe in numerology. Not in the mystical sense. I don’t think the universe is secretly governed by vibrations or that a number can decode my destiny. And yet… there’s something undeniably curious—and oddly comforting—about the way certain numbers keep showing up in my life.

Take the number 5. It’s everywhere. Our first house was 23. Then 41. Now I currently own two condo units: 11 and 12; my mailing address is 2012. Add them up and you keep landing on 5. By the time I noticed the pattern, I had to laugh. It’s not like I was looking for it. But there it was, again.

I’ve dismissed numerology with good reason—it’s more vague suggestion than truth. Still, I have to admit, there’s a strange comfort in the familiarity of patterns, even ones I don’t put faith in. They’re like an old melody playing faintly in the background. You don’t take it seriously, but somehow it puts you at ease.

Maybe that’s part of being human. We’re designed to seek patterns, to organize the chaos, to look for meaning. And when life feels unpredictable, even a silly number repeating itself can feel like a breadcrumb—a reminder that maybe things aren’t entirely random.

But here’s the real comfort for me: I don’t need numbers to tell me my life has meaning. I don’t need to decode coincidences to believe that someone is guiding my steps. The peace I find isn’t in the pattern—it’s in the Person who walks with me through every unpredictable moment.

Still, I’m not ashamed to say I smile when I see another 5 pop up. Not because it holds power over me, but because it reminds me of something gentle and grounding: the God who knows me doesn’t need numbers to get my attention—but He’s not above using them either.