What About This One?!
Yesterday afternoon, I wandered aimlessly up and down a series of gentle grassy slopes as the frigid air slowly numbed my face. I held a curved, orange-handled saw loosely in one hand and stared up into a pale sky, watching tiny flurries with delusions of blizzard-hood dance in front of my eyes, waiting for the words to come.
Because I knew they would come. Any second now. The words I’d heard over and over again for the past half-hour. Those four short words I’d no doubt be hearing in my sleep.
“What about this one?!”
The voice was my partner, yelling to me from somewhere over my shoulder.
Then, “What about this one?!” her teenage son echoed, from an entirely different direction.
And so I made my way through an evergreen menagerie to where each of them was, to evaluate their latest Christmas tree candidates.
My job in our family, as always, is to say things like, “The trunk looks a bit crooked,” or, “It’s kind of sparse on the one side, don’t you think?” At least until I see a tree that has some actual promise. Then my tune changes, and I’ll shrug and say something vaguely noncommittal like, “That one’s actually not half bad.”
It occurs to me that while I may have some slightly OCD tendencies, for somebody who is truly OCD, this process would be a nightmare.
Because the fact of the matter is, every tree on that farm had some feature that somebody would consider a deal-breaker. A curved trunk. A sparse side. A “wonky” bit. Too round or short. Needles that are too hard. Branches that are too weak.
So anybody who goes there looking for perfection will invariably walk away miserable.
The key, of course, isn’t to try and find a perfect tree. But to find a tree that’s right for you. Which can be difficult when the “you” in this case is a family, every member of which has different tastes.
“I want one that’s really tall and full.”
“I want one that’s more thin and triangular. You know, like a classic Christmas tree.”
“I don’t want one where the needles get stuck in my socks and hurt my feet.”
Yet every year, defying all odds, we manage to find the tree that’s right for us. Maybe not one that’s perfect to everybody in the family. But one that’s right … and that we shower with love and decorations … and that in spite (or because) of its imperfections we’re sad to see leave us in January.
No matter what business you’re in, odds are you’re not the perfect tree for every customer. You’re probably not even the right tree for most of them. But that’s okay. Because for many of them, you are the right tree. And maybe even the perfect one.
Let’s face it. At the end of the day, we’re all just a bunch of goofy, differently shaped trees hanging out on the tree farm, hoping somebody will pick us. Believe in us. See the potential in us. And take us home with them.
And so what also occurs to me is that my job, as somebody who helps small businesses tell a better story — through words and websites and sometimes even videos — is to make people stop, stand in front of my client, and say, “What about this one?”
Because this is what people do, right? All day and every day. What about this brand of toothpaste? What about this internet service provider? What about this video conferencing software? What about this life coach or accountant or logo designer?
After all, in a time of Google Search and Amazon and virtual solutions, the “tree farm” of options for almost anything just keeps getting bigger and bigger every day.
And as markets change, so does marketing.
Not so long ago, the best way to get more business was to be bigger, flashier, and more noticeable than the competition. To be the equivalent of the Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree in your field.
These days, though, we have more options. It’s more possible than ever for any tree on the lot to get picked, if we can get just one person’s attention. And if we can then tell that person a story that inspires them to yell to somebody else (who may then yell to somebody else and somebody else and somebody else):
“What about this one?!”
