Brand growth or brand confusion

I am sitting in a cafe next to a fireplace. The chair is comfortable. The decor is anything but utilitarian. Above the fireplace sits a television playing the latest national news. There were barely any seats when I came in. But the one next to fireplace was calling my name as if I were at a Starbucks.

The conversations around me swirl like leaves in the autumn air. There's a lot of beeping, humming chitter chatter and employees squeezing back and forth as they make the next order to industrial perfection. 

If I had just woken from a coma, I would never have guessed I was sitting in a Tim Horton's. Tim Horton's has always been the "blue collar" coffeeshop. With the upgrades, it is clearly trying to attract a different crowd. 

I am the only one taking advantage of its free wifi. I'm the only person with a laptop. I've been saying for years that working on a laptop at Tim Horton's sounded weird. Now that I'm doing, I feel like a high school student who has no friends. I'm the fish out of water. I'm the outcast. The people here are regular people. Everyone is wearing jeans, sneakers and workboots. Pounding away on my Apple MacBook Air, in dress shoes, dress pants and button down shirt, I dress and act exactly the opposite of these people. Now I know how the guy who goes to Starbucks in steel toe workboots feels (if there is such a guy). 

The gentleman across the dining room glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. I'm sure he's thinking, "Who's that weirdo with the laptop?" 

The chair on the other side of the fireplace sits empty as customers don't gravitate toward it nor the crazy guy with the shiny computer. 

So why am I here?

I have a meeting in an hour. 

I could have gone somewhere else, but that would mean nestling in at Starbucks, and as I got comfortable, I would have had to leave. 

So I sit here and wait for my appointment admiring the new decor of this newly built restaurant cafe.

Is the new direction Tim Horton's going in going to be effective in increasing sales? I don't think it's going to stop the regular customers from buying.

Will it encourage a new crowd? Based on my discomfort this morning, it's going to take time. A lot of time. I doubt I'll see many people pounding away on laptops anytime in the near future.

I go to Starbucks because I can sit there all day and not feel like I'm taking away profit from the business. Tim Horton's is built on speed. The disruption of speed and wifi baffles my brain. I'm sure it makes sense to someone but strategically I feel weird to be taking up a seat when so many people would love to have it. 

I've been here 20 minutes and just took my first sip of coffee. Imagine if there were 10 other people like me in here right now. Someone would have to call the loitering police. The business cannot support that type of service. 

Tim Horton's needs a lot of customers to make a profit. They need people to move. They need the drive thru to move quickly just like they need dining room customers to leave quickly. 

There was a  time when you could find a "no loitering" sign near the door. I haven't found it yet so maybe it no longer exists to fit with the wifi idea. 

The strategy of this re-design is to encourage a new clientele: youth and working professionals. I don't see a lot of either in here today.

I'm not sure this strategy will work. 

Maybe I'm setting the bar too high. A customer just commented about the decor, "It's nicer than McDonalds".

If the strategy is to pull back customers who have left for McDonalds, maybe they are on to something. 

All this reminds me of the kids who came to school on the first day of a new year with a whole new wardrobe. The change in clothes gave them renewed hope, esteem and confidence. Deep down, they were the same people with the same friends with the same attitudes.  

You can put lipstick on a pig. It'll still be a pig, with pretty lips.

Tim Horton's is still the utilitarian coffeeshop. Only now it has pretty lips.

Women are stronger than men

Sitting here, typing away at the screen, I have come to the realization that women are the stronger sex.

Men have larger muscles, so they can physically lift heavier stuff.

But that's where it ends.

When I get a cold, I lie in bed for two days taking enough cold medication to effectively knock me until I start to feel better. The virus runs through my body while I lie in a comatose state. Life continues to swirl around me. The kids still need to be cared for. But I lie in wait for a better day.

My wife gets a cold and her voice changes. She gets up in the morning, puts on her best smile and gets to work. She may whimper a bit but she goes about her business like nothing is wrong. I always admired her for that.

This week, I did something to my back. I can't sleep. I can't walk for too long. I can barely stand up. It hurts all the time. And the wimp in me has emerged like a pro.

At first, like any cramp or pain, I sloughed it off. It will just go away I thought.

But it didn't.

It got worse.

Today is the eighth day of pain. And I'm useless. Stuck between a heating pad and medication, I can't do much. I can't sleep without taking melatonin. I can't walk without advil. I can't help with the kids.  I can't work or play. Life is seemingly over.

My life is in limbo as I deal with this pain and wait for an appointment with a chiropractor.

My wife has had back pain like this for years. Although in pain, she doesn't stop. She doesn't slide silently into the TV room like an old dog looking for death.  She goes about her day in pain, slipping on the beautiful smile I fell in love with.

And I don't know how she does it.

I believe God made women bear children because the species would not have survived if it were a man's responsibility.

Men might be stronger with lifting heavy items. But we can't bear the same pain as women.

Today, I thank all those women in my life who are so strong.

I don't know how you do it, but I'm grateful.

The story of your life in one sentence

Sit down and write the story of your life in one concise sentence.

Without any cues, the exercise will be impossible. There is too much that happened, too many relationships, too many experiences to summarize them into one sentence.

The story of our lives will be told either in our lifetime or in our death.
Wouldn't it be best the story is told by the main character while he is still alive?

Branding, by definition, is a story embedded in the mind of the market. A good story has the ability to pull emotions out of the audience.

People are also brands. Children tell stories about their parents, brothers, sisters. Parents tell stories about their children to whoever will listen.

The strength of the brand lies in the ability of the individual to tell a compelling story.

I learned how to tell the story of your life without even knowing you. I don't have to know you and I can tell you the underlying theme of your life.

The answers are in your heroes!
We emulate our heroes and they in turn plant their hopes and dreams into our lives.

I know this sounds a bit nuts, but allow me to show you how this works.

Heroes aren't just the people we look up to. They are mostly characters we invest our time with.

Take twenty minutes and write down your top five favourite movies, tv shows, bible passages, characters, poems, books. If you don't know the bible and don't know what a book looks like, skip it. But do the rest.

Don't give it any thought, just write your favourite stuff out on a piece of paper.

Then look at the list and see if there's a pattern in the list.

Some won't make sense.
This exercise is nuts anyways, so it doesn't matter.

You will see a pattern. If you don't, message me with your list and I'll try to find it for you.

The things you gravitate toward are already inside you. You may or may not have known it.

I did this exercise with a client and didn't know any of the books, movies or tv shows she mentioned. After she explained what she liked about each of them, I saw her story clearly.

She has the same story as mine.
Now I know why I like working with her so much.

This is crazy.

Hockey is supposed to be fun

I love hockey. And so does my son.

The scratching ice, the crisp, thick air penetrates the soul of every hockey fan.

I'm not good at the game. There was a time I could waste days pretending I was a hockey superstar.

I see me in my son's eyes. Sometimes I'm too busy to play with him. He pretends to be Sidney Crosby. He's excited to play organized hockey for the first time.

We don't want to take anything away from our son's childhood.

When I was his age, I begged my parents to play. But my parents couldn't afford it.

We never pushed our boy to like hockey. It's in his blood.

He started by playing on a team where the other kids have been skating for 7 years. They've been playing hockey for 5. Needless to say he's behind.

He loves it.

I was worried after the first game. He didn't touch the puck much as he wobbly skated. He spent  more time on his butt than on his skates.

Was he discouraged?
Was he be disappointed?
Was he mad?

I didn't know what to expect when I got in the dressing room. I rushed to him ready to console his boyish ego.

He was smiling. He was talking about all the good things he had done and how much fun he was having.

And that's all we wanted for him. To have fun.

We saw noticeable improvements in his hockey sense by game two. He was more aggressive and less wobbly. He was still slow but he was more involved in the play and less on his butt.

Every hockey parent knows this, but being new we weren't aware of it. The hockey bullshit started.  For some reason, there is always one parent who believe his kid is going to make the NHL. They believe that winning is the only thing that matters.

One parent commented on how our boy should go down a level to learn the game better. A fair statement but our son doesn't want to play with kids a year younger than him. He wants to play with friends from his class.

A second parent told us that if he stayed with his age group, it wasn't going to be fair for the rest of the players. Although recreational hockey is supposed to be fun, the boys have more fun when they win. Having kids who can't keep up will most definitely handicap the chances of winning.

I couldn't believe my ears. The second parent went on to say that as a parent I shouldn't put my child in a situation where other kids are going to blame him for the loss. I should provide a positive environment so that he doesn't fail, feel belittled, or feel inferior.

IT'S MY FAULT!!!!

Do these people actually believe their own bullshit sandwiches they force down others throats?
This is recreational hockey.

I coached baseball this summer. We didn't win a lot of games. But everyone played equally. And everyone tried hard. We didn't keep score. The kids tried but their attention spans couldn't keep up. When the kids thought they won, they won. When they thought they lost, they lost. We didn't tell them either way, mainly because we didn't know. The score didn't matter.

The only thing that matters is that kids have fun playing a fun game.

If kids don't have fun when they lose, then they shouldn't be playing.

Every game has a winner and loser, when you keep score. Hockey is one of those sports that keeping score seems to be important.

But it's not.

My child will play where he wants.
If kids blame him, we'll give him the skills to deal with adversity.
If parents blame us, we'll bite our tongues and laugh at their own immaturity.

If parents blame him, we'll cut out their throats.

Hockey makes good people crazy. Did you know that?

The clock said 4:18

I rolled over in bed wondering what time it was. I had been awake for a few moments as thought particles entered by consciousness at warp speed.

How could this be? I just went to bed.

The previous day shook me at 3:47 am so I could prepare for an annual pilgrimage to Austin, Texas. After a long travel day, dinner with old and new friends combined with a nightcap, I rested my head down to see the clock scream 11:58 pm. Living in a timezone 2 hours earlier, the clock keeper in my brain translated the time to 1:58 am. I had been up for almost 24 hours. 

No wonder it was time to go to bed.

How the hell could I not sleep with only 4 hours and 20 minutes of shut eye? I had to be tired. I needed the rest. Today is going to be a thought provoking, eye screamer type of day that requires my full attention and concentration. There will be no snooze button in the middle of this day.

But right now, I can’t sleep.

Thoughts are racing through my brain synapsis like Formula 1 racecars in Monaco. The sound of the engines are deafening my ears. My body vibrates as the roaring cars slither across the pavement. My heart skips a normal beat as I realize I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be on this fine Thursday morning at 4:18 am.

It’s time to get up. I have two choices: exercise my body or my brain. I decide to make the body wait. The brain must release its juices or I will forever regret this little window of opportunity, the universe has bestowed upon he.

I start by reading a book I’ve already read. But it’s like I’m reading it for the first time. There’s something new I hadn’t seen before. With every page, I’m sitting further up in my bed. I’m getting more excited.

That’s it. I must write, I mutter to myself. I shower my decayed thoughts from the day before.

Today is a new day. Everything starts fresh today. Sleep has washed away my unimportant memories. And today I write with a clean slate that every new morning brings.

I can’t sleep. But… I feel awake.

A boy's love

The love a boy has for his mother is dependance.
A mother's love for her son is eternal.
The love a boy has for his father is respectful.
A father's love for his son is envy.

When the boy feels the love of his mother slipping away like a lowering tide, he fears his own mortality.

When the boy feels the love of his father pulling away like a rope on a fishing net, the boy recoils and pretends that that it doesn't bother him.

Regardless of age, the son is a boy to his parents.

The love will always exist. Clouded in the dust of emotional tornadoes, it tries to run and hide.
But it cannot disappear because the soul cannot exist without it.

A parent will always love their boy.
And a boy will always love his parents, differently...

Something exhilarating

I ran a red light today.

I was sitting at a red light at 4:30 am. There's not normally a red light here. A construction crew installed it because the bridge is reduced to one lane.

It's been there for two months. I hit the damn red light every time, invariably slowing my travel time by 63 seconds.

This morning, there was a car on the other side of the bridge waiting for his light to turn green. There is 18 seconds between the time my side turned red and his side turned green. Someone smarter than me in the realm of traffic studies figured out that it takes 18 seconds to clear the bridge before the opposite side is given the right of way.

There wasn't another car behind me nor behind my opponent. He cleared the bridge while his light turned red. I could see the glare of the light in the darkness on the other side matching the light on my side.

I wasn't in a hurry. I saw no need to remain seated, so I went through the red light expecting a policeman to emerge from his hiding place to give me a ticket. What else is there to do at 4:30 in the morning except sit and wait for petty breakers of law to create a traffic sin?

It is not my nature to do something like this. The last time I ran a clear red light was about the same time 19 years ago. I was on my way to work in the city and the traffic light stayed red for what seemed forever. There wasn't any opposite traffic, so I put on my hazard lights and went through the light pretending I had some sort of emergency.

Both times, it felt wrong. Both times, it felt great.

I was breaking an inexplicable law that wasn't going to hurt anyone.

Half way through the bridge this morning, I could see the red hue still lit in my rear-view mirror.  My discomfort turned to exhilaration and joy as I got through the other side without incident.

Time isn't the only thing I saved this morning. In my delinquent behaviour, my body secreted a small amount of dopamine. With that, I'm a bit happier today.

You don't need to be a delinquent to secrete dopamine. You need to do things outside of your comfort zone.

That's why some pleasure seekers jump out of perfectly good airplanes, ride roller coasters, and do extreme sports.

Your pleasure can be found in smaller, less risky adventures. You need to run the proverbial red light from time to time.

Otherwise life is soooo boring.