What matters most can’t be measured
I like the kind of success that’s visible and easily measurable — items crossed off my to-do list, likes on my latest Instagram post about my dog Misty, paying off my credit card bill at the end of the month. Quantifying my progress feels good, as does the dopamine rush of speedy gratification.
And yet, my real work can be slow and meandering, fueled by curiosity and empathy, by careful consideration more than quick reactiveness. I am a writer and filmmaker. Crafting stories, I’ve come to accept, takes a lot of time and painstaking effort. It’s an inconvenient and inefficient process, and there’s no way around that fact.
Angela Bortone paints a mural in Coan Park, Atlanta.
Before I even tackle the blank page or turn on the camera, there’s the work of figuring out what the story is, whose story is it and why I’m telling it. Questions of perspective and voice, of style and message. Then there are the myriad creative decisions during production and editing, the large-scale revisions and small but meaningful tweaks. And once a film is out in the world, there’s the question of success. The dreaded ROI. How do you measure it? And are the number of views (or other measures of engagement) a true reflection of impact?
It’s tempting to do the quick thing and set goals according to what we can measure — number of followers, views, shares, and/or immediate purchases. Quick posts and short-term successes still matter after all. But what if we privilege short-term wins over our long-term goals? What if the ultimate goal is to build a lasting campaign, thriving community, or iconic brand? What if the real work is about touching hearts, shifting perspectives, and communicating values? Or, in other words, the work of storytelling.
Stories are not only time-consuming to craft, but their true impact can only be seen over a longer horizon. Our coach Raina Sun (who is excellent, by the way) calls this human time, which is far slower than social media time. A story’s true impact isn’t as easily gleaned from an analytics dashboard (though I do love a good analytics dashboard). I still think about stories I heard, read, or watched years ago. Memorable stories influence my actions years later — driving where I donate, what organizations or causes I align with, what I buy and where I live. As far as true impact, there’s really nothing like it.
That’s why I’m drawn to this work, why I make films and write stories, why I forgo the dopamine rush I crave for an endeavor that is slower, less efficient and harder to measure.
-Monica