Great piece in The New York Times by Alina Tugend about our growing — and misguided — obsession with measuring everything in our lives:
Numbers and rankings are everywhere. And I’m not just talking about Twitter followers and Facebook friends. In the journalism world, there’s how many people “like” an article or blog. How many retweeted or e-mailed it? I’ll know, for example, if this column made the “most e-mailed” of the business section. Or of the entire paper. And however briefly, it will matter to me.
Offline, too, we are turning more and more to numbers and rankings. We use standardized test scores to evaluate teachers and students. The polling companies have already begun to tell us who’s up and who’s down in the 2012 presidential election. Companies have credit ratings. We have credit scores.
And although most people acknowledge that there are a million different ways to judge colleges and universities, the annual rankings by U.S. News & World Report of institutions of higher education have gained almost biblical importance.
As the author of a newly released book about working retail I haven’t once (honest!) checked my amazon ranking number.
Seriously, what good can it possibly do?
Will my hips suddenly shrink or my bank balance double? I wish!
My thesis about why retail associates are so horribly paid is linked to this data obsession: you can’t measure kindness!
Think about the very best salesperson you ever met — (or hotel employee or waiter or nurse or teacher).
The EQ — or emotional intelligence — the skills that really left the strongest impression on you, are probably not their technical mastery of that new Mac or their grasp of the essentials of calculus, but how they helped you: with patience, humor, calm, grace.
All of these are essential qualities we simply cannot put on a graph.
And that which we cannot measure, we do not value.
I was in the hospital in March 2007 for three terrifying days, on a IV with pneumonia, from overwork and exhaustion. (Don’t ever get pneumonia — it makes you cough so hard, for hours at a time, you can break a rib.)
I finally begged the nurse to swaddle me tight in a cotton sheet, like an infant, to ease my aching muscles. She never raised an eyebrow at my weird request, but did it at once, with a compassion that I will never forget.
That healing quality of care, invisible, unmeasured and therefore too often undervalued, is not inscribed anywhere in my medical records.
It should be.