The Problem With Measuring Success

In follow up to my article last week on strategic planning, I have found myself thinking about a related and equally important question.

We can define our priorities. We can align resources. We can articulate a clear direction. But how will we know if we are actually succeeding?

It is a deceptively simple question.

Because evaluating impact, particularly artistic and civic impact, is far more complex than we often acknowledge. It is not as easily captured in a dashboard. It cannot be reduced to a single number or benchmark. It lives in the quality of the experience, in the depth of engagement, in the conversations that continue after the performance ends, and in the relationship between an institution and the community it serves.

We struggle with this as a field in part because it is difficult. There is no clean, universally accepted way to measure whether a work of art has mattered, how deeply it has resonated, or whether it has meaningfully contributed to the civic life of a community. And how can that be evaluated meaningfully by anyone other than the communities we serve?

And yet, not long after asking how we measure success, a more fundamental question begins to surface.

Who gets to define success?

If you go back to the founding of the American regional theater movement, there was a very different understanding of success. Leaders like Zelda Fichandler were explicit about what these institutions were and were not meant to be. As she often reminded her peers, “The regional theatre is not an adjunct to Broadway. It is a theatre for its own community.” Success was not defined by transfer, scale, or external recognition. It was defined by whether the work mattered where it was made.

That perspective feels both foundational and, at times, distant from how we operate today. In practice, what is valued is often shaped by a broader set of signals. What is being produced nationally. What is being recognized. What is being elevated by the field.

But what happens when those definitions are not aligned?

When the work that resonates most deeply with your community does not align with where the field is heading or expects? Or when the field elevates work that does not meaningfully connect to the community you are meant to serve? We are a diverse country, shaped by different histories, perspectives, and needs, and it should not surprise us when those definitions of value diverge.

There is no easy answer.

But it does clarify something essential. These institutions were not created to serve the field in the abstract. They were created to serve their communities. That does not preclude contributing to the national conversation, but our founders were clear in where the center of gravity should remain.

What makes this tension more complicated is that even when we are clear about who we are meant to serve, the ways we measure success do not always reflect that clarity. The indicators we rely on most often are not designed to capture community impact. They are designed to measure scale, growth, and financial performance. Useful, certainly. But not necessarily aligned with the question we are trying to answer.

Blake Robison, Artistic Director of Cincinnati Playhouse in the Park, captured this tension well in a recent reflection on artistic leadership. He described the moment when someone asks, “How was the play?” and the response becomes, “Great. It made 110 percent of goal.” His point was simple and difficult to ignore — that was not the question. And yet, it is often the answer we are most prepared to give.

Because the metrics we tend to rely on are the ones that are easiest to quantify. Attendance. Revenue. Fundraising. Subscription trends. Engagement data. These are important. They tell us whether the organization is functioning, whether it is financially viable, whether audiences are continuing to show up.

But they do not tell us whether we are successful in delivering on the deeper purpose that organizations like these were built to serve. And so we default to what we can measure easily. That does not mean those measures are wrong. But it does mean they are incomplete.

At the same time, there is another side of this conversation that deserves equal attention. If we accept that quantifiable metrics do not fully capture impact, it does not follow that they are unimportant or that they should be ignored. In fact, the opposite is often true.

How many organizations develop clear key performance indicators and consistently measure against them? How many use that data not just for reporting, but for learning? To track progress against strategic priorities, to identify obstacles early, and to adjust course in real time? Being data-informed is not at odds with being mission-driven. It is one of the ways we become more effective in delivering that mission.

In some cases, the challenge is not whether we measure, but whether we understand what our measurements are actually telling us. Are we measuring activity or impact? Are we tracking financial performance or mission delivery? Are we using data to inform decisions, or simply to validate them?

Because over time, organizations tend to become what they measure. The metrics we prioritize begin to shape behavior, decision-making, and ultimately identity. If we measure only what is easy to quantify, we risk narrowing our understanding of success to what can be counted, rather than what truly counts.

What I have come to believe is that measuring success in our field requires holding two ideas at the same time.

1. We need the discipline of strong metrics. Clear KPIs. Thoughtful analysis. A willingness to engage honestly with what the data reveals.

2. And we need a broader understanding of impact. Work that is deeply meaningful within the communities we serve, and at the same time contributes to the evolution of the field.

Which brings us back to the question we began with. How will we know if we are actually succeeding?

The answer is not found in any single metric, nor in abandoning them altogether. It depends on who is doing the measuring, what they are measuring, and why. Because in the end, success in our field is not simply what can be counted or recognized, but whether the work truly matters to the communities we are meant to serve.