At the dawn of the 20th century, no less a respected publication than Scientific American reported that economic growth in Manhattan was about to reach its limit because the island could not support any more horses.
Economic growth did continue continue in Manhattan in spite of its equine capacity, largely because people found new ways to use the space they had more efficiently. The lesson to learn is that economic growth stems not from cramming more horses onto your island, but from figuring out new, smarter, better ways to use the island that you've got.
Fast forward a hundred and ten years to Baker University, the little university that tried to be big. Truth be told, the marketplace is tough--Baker looks a lot like a thousand other small, struggling, liberal arts colleges. To compete, Baker tries to offer as many opportunities as possible to its students. We have dozens of sports teams, organizations, honor societies, and fraternal organizations. And that's just for students (and a relatively small student body it is). As faculty (and a relatively small faculty it is), we're advising or sponsoring those groups, serving on committees and task forces, supervising internships, and advising students. This in addition to teaching a heavy load of classes and trying to stay current in our fields.
Last year, I served as a faculty advisor to a student group. The group suffered, as groups sometimes do, from lack of mission. The meetings were poorly attended, and in a vicious spiral of causation, the main topic of conversation at each meeting was how to get more students to come to meetings.
This exercise in absurdity is symptomatic of a life in which people are stretched too thin to give their full attention to the pursuits they have chosen. Baker will not distinguish itself, nor will it effectively compete with its rivals, if its faculty and students persist in the attitude that growth occurs because we've crammed more opportunities, activities, committees . . . horses onto our little island. True growth, the growth that allows a village to become a New York City or a Baker to become a Harvard, comes from doing fewer things, but giving them the time and attention necessary to do them better than anyone else.
In that spirit, this year I plan to spend less time worrying about "more and more," and more time focusing on "better and better."
