The small, tinny voice of the podcasting guru explained EQ settings, and I felt a dull ache behind my eyes, number 22 on a scale of 1 to 22. My official title was ‘Marketing Manager,’ but today, just like the 22 days before this, I was also the audio engineer. And the copywriter. And the graphic designer. And, if the Wi-Fi so much as flickered for 2 seconds, the resident IT support. The glow from the screen reflected my own weary face, a stark reminder that ‘lean’ wasn’t a philosophy we subscribed to; it was a state we were forced into, often without a single logical reason for its existence.

We talk about ‘lean’ as if it’s some sacred scroll handed down by efficiency prophets, a path to agility and reduced overhead. And for a while, I bought into it, hook, line, and sinker. I once presented a slide deck – PowerPoint 2002, if you must know – extolling the virtues of minimal waste, streamlined processes, and maximizing human capital. I remember the nods, the quiet agreement, the collective sigh of relief from the finance department when I proposed we could probably do more with less. What I failed to see then, what I frankly refused to acknowledge, was that ‘less’ wasn’t a sustainable strategy when ‘more’ kept piling up at the door, 22 new tasks every week.

There’s a subtle violence in how we praise lean teams without ever interrogating the human cost. It’s not about doing more with less; it’s about pushing people to the absolute edge of their capacity, then asking for 22 percent more. It’s about taking specialists – the kind of person who could probably explain the difference between a dynamic and condenser mic for 2 hours straight – and expecting them to also understand SEO algorithms and the nuances of email segmentation, manage a CRM with 2002 contacts, and debug the printer. It’s a fundamental misunderstanding of value, where the spreadsheet’s tidy column of ‘savings’ obscures the slow erosion of morale, expertise, and mental health. This isn’t just about individual burnout; it’s about systematically weakening the entire organizational structure, one overstretched employee at a time, until it becomes brittle, like a dry twig snapping under the slightest pressure.

The Case of the Diluted Expert

I remember Wyatt B.-L., a true artisan of words, the kind of podcast transcript editor who could catch a misspoken syllable or a pregnant pause that added 22 layers of meaning. His ear for nuance was legendary, his commitment to linguistic fidelity unwavering. He was dedicated, meticulous, and incredibly good at his very specific job, often completing 2 episodes a day with an accuracy rate of 99.2%. But then came the ‘lean initiative.’ Suddenly, Wyatt wasn’t just transcribing; he was formatting for 22 different platforms, managing social media clips, trying his hand at basic animation tutorials he found online, and even designing rudimentary cover art for 22 different podcast segments. His quality dipped, his enthusiasm waned, and the very thing that made him exceptional – his specialized focus – was diluted to the point of disappearing.

He left after 12 months, saying he needed to find a place where he could just ‘edit words again, for 22 hours a day if need be.’ The company thought they’d saved $1,002 a month by not replacing him, but they lost countless hours in quality control, rework, and the intangible value of a truly passionate expert.

The Paradox of Fragility

The irony is that in chasing this phantom of ‘lean,’ we create systems so brittle that a single point of failure can bring the entire operation to a screeching halt. Someone gets sick, someone takes a much-needed vacation, someone just has a bad day – and the whole delicate house of cards collapses, because there’s no backup, no redundancy, no 2nd person trained in that specific, critical task. We strip away the very slack that allows for resilience, for innovation, for the breathing room that prevents burnout. It’s a paradox: striving for maximum efficiency often results in maximum fragility.

I once championed the removal of ‘redundant’ roles, arguing that every person should be operating at 100% capacity for 52 weeks a year. My mistake, a critical one I see now, was mistaking constant activity for genuine productivity, and assuming human beings were machines that could simply be re-tasked without consequence. The reality is, a well-oiled machine needs oil, not just a frantic technician frantically wiping down every surface for 22 hours.

The True Cost of Specialization

This is where the true cost emerges, hidden in plain sight. It’s the missed deadlines, the shoddy output, the innovative ideas that never see the light of day because everyone is too busy just keeping the lights on. It’s the constant churn of employees, each departure taking with it institutional knowledge that could have saved the company $2,002 in future problems. Imagine if a company expected its CEO to also handle the detailed, specific requirements of, say, an end of tenancy cleaning Cheltenham. You wouldn’t. You’d recognize that such a specialized, detail-oriented task requires dedicated experts to ensure the job is done to an impeccable standard, safeguarding the tenant’s deposit and the property’s reputation. So why, in the corporate world, do we continually ask our marketers to be designers, our developers to be customer service reps, and our managers to be everything in between? It’s absurd.

The value of true specialization is undeniable. Dedicated experts save time, prevent costly mistakes, and deliver a level of quality that a ‘jack-of-all-trades’ simply cannot consistently achieve. It’s a lesson that takes some of us 22 years to truly learn, and often costs businesses far more than they ever ‘saved’ in the process.

Fighting Context

My own experience, staring at that podcast software, reminded me of a door I pushed just the other day, one that clearly said ‘PULL.’ It’s that same feeling of fighting against what’s obvious, ignoring the clear instruction in favor of what we *think* should be true. We push for ‘lean’ because it sounds good on paper, because it promises a world where resources are optimized to the nth degree, where every cog in the machine hums in perfect, synchronized motion for 22 hours a day. But the reality is a constant battle against context, against the inherent messiness of human work and the unpredictable nature of business.

The actual numbers, if we cared to look beyond the immediate savings, would tell a different story – one of missed opportunities, declining quality, and a workforce stretched thin, often past the point of return, losing their zest by their 42nd week, leading to a turnover rate that could reach 32 percent within 2 years.

True Efficiency vs. Empty Bench

This isn’t to say that waste shouldn’t be eliminated, or that efficiency isn’t a worthy goal. Of course, it is. But there’s a crucial difference between thoughtful optimization and indiscriminate headcount reduction disguised as ‘lean.’ Genuine efficiency comes from smart processes, appropriate tools, and clear delegation – not from expecting one person to wear 22 hats and juggle 22 different skill sets.

It’s about respecting the value of distinct roles and acknowledging that sometimes, a little redundancy, a little slack, is precisely what makes a system robust, resilient, and, ironically, more productive in the long run. It’s the difference between a carefully constructed ecosystem and a house built with just 2 planks and a prayer, perpetually at risk of crumbling. We need to stop mistaking an empty bench for an efficient team and start valuing the bench strength, the specialized skills waiting in the wings, ready to contribute their unique expertise. It’s not about having 2 people do the job of 22; it’s about having 22 people do their specialized jobs effectively.

The Breaking Point

What happens when the ‘lean’ person finally breaks, and there’s no one else left to pick up the pieces, leaving an organization 22 steps behind?