The Metrics You're Using Are Probably Wrong

We tend to think of metrics as sacred, handed down from on high like laws of physics. But here's the truth: they're invented. Somebody, somewhere, chose those measures because they served their interests. And ultimately, their metrics got so much traction that now everyone treats them like gospel.

There's nothing magical about ROI or EBITDA. There's nothing inherently true about GPA or box office receipts on opening weekend. In sports, everyone agrees on the measurements — points or runs scored — so we can figure out who wins. But in the rest of our lives, we just inherit these performance indicators and somehow come to believe they're the "right" ones.

Consider the nation of Bhutan. Nestled in the Himalayas, this small country decided to buck the trend. Instead of chasing Gross Domestic Product like everyone else, they declared their measure of success would be Gross National Happiness. They literally made it up. And it was a brilliant move. Of course, Bhutan and its population of 700,000 can't compete with other countries — much less its neighbors China and India — on pure economic output. But it can absolutely try to compete on how happy its citizens are.

This brings us to a crucial point: the metrics you choose should matter to your audience, not just to you. I've seen organizations stumble by focusing on what they care about most. That's the wrong approach. Choose something the people out there will care about, even if they don't know it yet.

For example, universities that can't boast the highest-profile professors often promote their low student-teacher ratios — something nobody talked about when I was in school. Why the shift? Because the ratio appeals to students and parents who value individual attention and a more personalized learning experience. These universities are playing to their strengths and their audience’s interests.

Here’s how I’m doing this in my own work. Families facing pediatric cancer are often left adrift. Sure, they get support from doctors, nurses, and hospitals. But there's little help for managing the rest of their lives — their finances, jobs, marriages, friends, or the patients’ siblings. And our research shows that this is partly because most of us don’t think or talk about all that other stuff outside the clinic.

So, my colleagues and I are developing a new way to capture all of that: whole family impact. We're hoping that by measuring this — and not just medical progress — we can change how families, nonprofits, foundations, and even businesses think about all the challenges related to pediatric cancer. We're not accepting the standard metrics; we're creating a new one that better reflects what matters.

What metrics are you blindly accepting? What new measure could you create to truly capture what’s important to your audience? Don't be afraid to challenge conventional wisdom and invent your own measure of success.