The Spark

The Space Between: An Exploration of Systemic Well-being on Campus

Aino Mäki, the Facilities Manager for a sprawling, century-old university, had spent five years dedicated to the mantra of maximum efficiency: packing more people, more equipment, and more usage into every possible space. But instead of the smooth operation Aino expected, the campus was defined by brittleness: constant equipment failures, high staff turnover, and a low-grade sense of stress that affected everyone from the boiler room to the lecture hall. Aino’s pursuit of 100% utilization was making the system break.

One rainy Saturday, Aino picked up a book recommended by a colleague—Behaving As If the God in All Life Mattered by Machaelle Small Wright. The concept that struck Aino immediately wasn't spiritual but structural: the powerful idea that objects and, and by extension, systems need adequate space and respect to function optimally and thrive (Machaelle Small Wright, n.d.).

Aino began to see the campus not as a collection of fixed assets but as a living system that was deeply constricted. If the buildings were suffocating, what could be done to let them breathe? Aino decided to run an experiment, starting with the three most stressed areas on campus: the Central Mechanical Plant, the main Student Union lounge, and the busy, multi-purpose Lecture Hall B.

Discovery One: The Value of Breathing Room in Machinery

The Central Mechanical Plant was a nightmare of compressed pipes, air handlers, and boilers. Maintenance technicians could barely squeeze in to check gauges, let alone perform preventative work. When a boiler failed, it required removing three other components just to access it, turning a simple repair into a three-day ordeal.

Aino's solution was radical: they didn't buy new equipment; they removed the oldest, most unreliable, and least-used piece of equipment—an auxiliary chiller deemed "necessary" for the peak week of summer. The simple act of removing a piece of equipment, and thus clearing paths, immediately felt lighter. Maintenance paths became accessible. The technicians, relieved of the claustrophobic struggle, began their work with renewed patience and focus. The space itself, now properly cleared for circulation, ran cooler. Over the next six months, the number of emergency calls from the plant dropped by 40%. Less equipment actually led to higher reliability because it created space for maintenance to be proactive instead of reactive.

Discovery Two: The Psychological Power of Empty Space

The Student Union lounge was where every club meeting, study group, and impromptu gathering collided. The furniture was densely packed, designed to maximize seating capacity. Students felt pressured, constantly moving aside for others, and they rarely stayed long.

Aino replaced the mass of small tables and chairs with fewer, but better-quality, modular pieces. Drawing on concepts from the psychology of space (Falmouth University, n.d.; Gifford, 2014), they deliberately left one corner—a large, sunlit area near the windows—completely empty, designating it as the "Space for Pause." This empty corner served as a spatial buffer, absorbing the frenetic energy of the entrance and giving the entire room a more relaxed, sustained hum. People stayed longer, interacted more meaningfully, and reported feeling less rushed. Respecting the empty space ultimately led to better use of the filled space. The reduction in seating capacity led to an increase in the quality and duration of student engagement, transforming the lounge into a true hub.

Discovery Three: Mandating Time for Transition

Lecture Hall B was the campus workhorse, scheduled for classes, lectures, and events from 8 AM to 10 PM with back-to-back booking. The custodial crew had 15 minutes between bookings to clean up before the next group rushed in, often delaying the start of the next event.

Applying the principle of "space to thrive," which aligns with Lean Management principles of buffer time (Womack & Jones, 1996), Aino implemented a new scheduling policy: every use of Lecture Hall B must include a mandatory 30-minute buffer time after the booking, protected from all other scheduling. This time was sacred for the custodial team to perform a deep, respectful cleaning and for the AV team to conduct pre-emptive checks.

Initially, users complained about losing 15 minutes of potential time. But soon, the complaints stopped. Why? Every event started on time in a clean space with functioning technology. The Hall B team felt their work was respected, and the space, no longer pushed to its breaking point, became the most reliable lecture venue on campus. The buffer time was not lost time; it was an investment that shifted the hall's operation from constant crisis management to predictable success.

The Intentional Gap: Understanding Buffer Time

The success of Lecture Hall B stemmed not just from adding 30 minutes, but from redefining what that time meant. Before, the 15-minute gap was simply **downtime**—an unstructured, hurried period where staff frantically tried to catch up. If a class ran late, that downtime immediately evaporated, leading to compounding delays and inevitable stress.

The new buffer time was an intentional gap, a scheduled investment. It was:

1. Protected: No booking could encroach on it, signaling that staff labor was as valuable as lecture time.
2. Productive: It was specifically designated for preventative action (cleaning, testing equipment, fixing potential trip hazards) rather than reactive scrambling.
3. Stress-Reducing: The consistency allowed staff to operate with patience and precision, ensuring high-quality results.

Aino realized that systems pushed to 100% capacity are brittle; they break easily when faced with the smallest unexpected event. The 30-minute buffer was the shock absorber for the Hall B system, absorbing minor delays or unexpected needs and preventing them from cascading into major failures. This intentional gap was the real engine of true, long-term efficiency.

Reflection: The Safety Net of Intentional Gaps

Aino’s three experiments achieved more than just efficiency; they created a fundamental safety buffer across the campus. In the Mechanical Plant, the cleared space immediately eliminated trip and fall hazards. In the Student Union, the intentional spacing ensured pathways were clear for emergency evacuation. And in Lecture Hall B, the custodial buffer time became the ultimate defense against the most common campus accident: slips and falls (U.S. Environmental Protection Agency, n.d.; International Facility Management Association, n.d.).

Aino learned that facilities management wasn't just about managing assets; it was about managing **stewardship** and **well-being**. By giving the campus environment—the machinery, the common areas, and the operational schedules—the necessary space to breathe, to rest, and to be maintained with intention, they allowed the entire organism of the university to finally thrive.

This lesson extends beyond campus walls. Whether managing a busy schedule of classes and sports practice, or helping organize a group project, building an "intentional gap" ensures you have the buffer needed to handle the unexpected. Giving yourself (and your systems) room to breathe is the best way to achieve sustainable success, not just hurried efficiency.