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4 min read

Can KPIs really measure what matters?

Distilling down worth risks losing something sacred

Rick writes and speaks on leadership, transformation, and culture.

A person leans on a balcony rail.
Which box this year?
Yogi Atmo on Unsplash

I remember recently when I was reduced to a data point. I became an inconvenient name on a spreadsheet. 

"Your services are no longer needed. We have to let you go," he stated with feigned empathy. Just like that, years of my work and contributions - hours, days, weeks, months - ceased to matter. I didn't matter. "HR will contact you shortly to explain the final details. Again, I am truly sorry." 

The Zoom meeting ended, the camera went blank. I sat in my home office, staring at the blank screen of the company-issued laptop. The only sounds were the disheveled thoughts scrambling in my head and the gentle hum of the fan circulating cool air from the ceiling above. All went quiet. Just like that I was reduced to a KPI - a key performance indicator.

Having spent years in the business world, I'm well-acquainted with its dynamics, including hiring and firing. I recognize ambition and its relentless pursuit of progress. Still, it felt like a personal blow, like a scene on Instagram or YouTube you replay endlessly on loop, trying to comprehend, trying to make sense of it all.

As your value is quantified and found wanting, a sacred inner part of you perishes. In that moment, it’s hard to feel the wonder and mystery of your creation. You don’t feel what for centuries has been called the imago Dei - that we humans are made in God’s image. Instead, you think about how you were just told “we don’t need you.” You think about paying your bills? How will this impact your career? Where will you find your next job? 

As a leader, I understand metrics are crucial for business. However, this pervasive culture of metrics has warped our perception of worth. Instead of marveling at the wonder of being made in the image of God, we have become trained to value only what can be counted. We’ve become both deaf and blind to the unquantifiable beauty of human existence.  

We’ve prioritized metrics over people. We’ve created a world where efficiency presides over meaning and productivity overshadows purpose. Ironically, this has crippled entire organizations, not optimized them. Critical components like morale, engagement, and productivity are at an all time low. Just check the numbers. (See what I did there) 

We have built a ruthless culture defined by a dehumanizing machinery of metrics. People have become problems to be optimized rather than mysteries to be revered. 

If we let our job define us and if as leaders we let it define our mystery and those we lead, we succumb to a cancerous, spiritual violence. To treat a person as a set of outputs is to willinging deny our capacity to reflect a divine truth.   

Does it have to be this way?

William Blake's poem, "The Divine Image," eloquently conveys a core theological principle: humanity mirrors the divine, embodying God's very image. We are an irreducible, immeasurable value. 

For Mercy, Pity, Peace and Love

Is God, our father dear

And Mercy, Pity, Peace and Love

Is Man, his child and his care.

Are we imago Dei? Are we the very image of God the first chapter in Genesis speaks of?

Is this true? Are we always irreducible, immeasurable? Or is this just a conversation to have in a broader discussion when contemplating humanity’s place in the cosmos? 

What about the workplace? What about when human worth is distilled into key performance indicators that then become the only thing measured, the only things that defines a person’s worth? What happens when our irreducible human value, this imago Dei is distilled to mere data points on business dashboards? To KPIs.

On one hand, nothing happens; we are still a complex mystery of God’s creation. We are still immeasurable, irreducible. We are imago Dei. On the other hand, something does happen to the person. Something sacred is expunged. Our infinite complexity like emotions, dreams, quirks, ideas, feelings, and virtues are reduced and transcribed into metrics and evaluated against random data sets. Perhaps this is where the shallow quip originates? “It’s not personal. It’s just business.” 

I mean I get it. In the business world, we are a metrics driven culture, quantifiable data points are seemingly the only identifier of worth. It drives the business, right? 

We read in our company handbooks that, “our people make the difference.” In reality, we all know that data is the true currency. It is here, I argue, that the soul gets buried beneath spreadsheets and the image of the divine is lost within a myriad of data sets. 

We must raise a quiet but profound rebellion. 

Our spirit of God’s very image that thrives in a mutual wonder and shared humanity cannot be replaced by a zero-sum race for higher scores. 

Ask someone at work “How are you doing?”, actually listen to them and engage, and only then ask, “How are you doing with your targets?” Metrics are important, but the person behind them is essential.  

When we become our job or when we think those we work with are defined only by how well they do their job, we are all vulnerable to this sacred loss. Our goal is not our job. Our purpose is not how and if we hit our metrics.  Instead, our sole aim should be to seek how to better understand this mystery of this life - this imago Dei - that we have been given and how to share it with others.  

This reminds me of the saying, "Not everything worthwhile can be measured, and not everything that can be measured is worthwhile."

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4 min read

Don’t just hustle or quietly quit. Work hard at rest

Here’s what BrewDog's CEO doesn't get about work-life balance.

Callum is a pastor, based on a barge, in London's Docklands.

A man lies asleep on a closed lap top on a desk.
Vitaly Gariev on Unsplash.

 

Is work-life balance just an excuse for people who hate their jobs? James Watt, the CEO of BrewDog, seems to think so. But is his vision of work-life integration the solution - or a recipe for burnout? Recently, Watt faced criticism for claiming that work-life balance was "invented by people who don’t like their job." Instead, he advocated for work-life integration, arguing that if you enjoy your work and want to achieve, it won’t feel burdensome to be constantly "switched on."

Watt is correct in some respects: extraordinary achievements often require extraordinary focus. Hard work can be immensely satisfying, providing purpose, goals, and rewards. However, Watt’s perspective lacks nuance and risks promoting a culture of overwork.

Work-life integration, as portrayed by Watt and his fiancée, Georgia Toffolo, revolves around relentless focus on achieving goals, coupled with a willingness to make significant sacrifices. It means finding a partner who champions your ambitions while relentlessly pursuing their own. For Watt and Toffolo, this appears to work—they seem to thrive as part of the privileged minority who genuinely enjoy every aspect of their work. But when viewed realistically, their vision of work-life integration paints a bleak picture. It involves checking emails during family meals, taking calls while driving, scheduling loved ones around work, and sacrificing whatever doesn’t fit. As Watt illustrated in his social media post, referencing figures like Sir Tom Hunter visiting sports stores with his children or Sam Walton working in his warehouse on Saturdays, this isn’t about integrating work into life - it’s about subordinating life to work.

In many ways, the hustle culture that Watt embodies mirrors modern unrealistic beauty standards. Just as social media often promotes unattainable images of physical perfection, Watt’s idealised version of work-life integration advocates a way of life that leaves little room for other forms of hard work - relationships, parenting, creativity, or rest.

The backlash against Watt was swift, and Gen Z’s ‘quiet quitting’ movement has been lauded as a counterpoint to this culture of overwork. By prioritising mental well-being and relationships, quiet quitters resist the idea that their entire identity should be tied to their job. However, they too risk missing the point. A reactionary disengagement from work, while understandable, does not offer a holistic vision of life where every area - work, rest, relationships - receives the effort and attention it deserves.

Work - life balance isn’t about doing the bare minimum at your job or resenting periods of intense work. It’s about recognising that work is one part of life, and other areas - relationships, hobbies, rest - demand hard work too. The challenge, then, is not to reject work but to embrace the harder, more deliberate work of rest.

A radical alternative: working hard at rest

What could a meaningful alternative look like? It might involve working hard at work, yes, but also working hard at rest.

As a vicar in Canary Wharf, one of London’s financial hubs, I regularly see young professionals wrestling with the tension between ambition and rest. They understand the demands of their careers and the effort required to achieve extraordinary goals. But they also grapple with the reality of burnout and the importance of mental health. Watt’s vision of work, without clear boundaries, poses a danger: the mental load of being "always on" accelerates burnout and diminishes the joy of achievement.

The biblical concept of Sabbath offers an ancient yet powerful antidote to the demands of both overwork and disengagement. It reminds us that work is good, but so is rest. By intentionally organising and prioritising rest, we resist the cultural pull of constant hustle and grind. Taking one day each week to step away from work entirely—no emails, no calls, no productivity—becomes an act of resistance.

Sabbath rest allows us to engage deeply with other areas of life. It provides the space to focus on relationships, creativity, and renewal without the constant demands of work encroaching on every moment. This doesn’t mean filling the day with endless activities—brunches, housewarmings, and run clubs are good, but Sabbath also requires intentional space for rest and reflection. In ancient farming societies, Sabbath for the land meant leaving fields unplanted, allowing them to regenerate naturally. The same principle applies to us: regular rhythms of rest make us healthier, more focused, and more productive when we return to work.

Seeking balance while recognising that work is part of life isn’t a sign of weakness—it’s wisdom. Sabbath rest isn’t a retreat from ambition but a way to ensure our goals don’t overshadow the rest of life. Success isn’t just about professional achievements; it’s about thriving in every area - work, relationships, creativity, and rest.

What if rest wasn’t a sign of weakness but a declaration of what truly matters? What if success meant working hard, not just at our jobs, but also at rest, relationships, and the things that bring us joy?

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If you’re enjoying Seen & Unseen, would you consider making a gift towards our work?

Alongside other benefits (book discounts etc.), you’ll receive an extra fortnightly email from me sharing what I’m reading and my reflections on the ideas that are shaping our times.

Graham Tomlin

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