I roll to the red light as my engine settles to a low rumble. Glancing to my right, a perfect stranger … now a 2-wheeled, mortal enemy … who gives me an ever-so-slight nod of the head and rev of an engine. I return my own rev of approval. My pulse quickens. A bead of sweet sweat forms on my temple.
I roll to the red light as my engine settles to a low rumble. Glancing to my right, a perfect stranger … now a 2-wheeled, mortal enemy … who gives me an ever-so-slight nod of the head and rev of an engine. I return my own rev of approval. My pulse quickens. A bead of sweet sweat forms on my temple.
Our focus turns to our electronic taskmaster while we await its permission to unleash hell. When the cross light clickers from green to yellow I can sense our combined muscles tense, like TNT anticipating a lit fuse. I shift into first and back off the clutch as much as possible to shed precious milliseconds.
The cross light flickers from yellow to red … it’s time. My hand tightens on the gear shift. My feet, light on the pedals.
At green, our tandem of engines scream with excitement, like thoroughbreds released from their gate. My smaller, lighter foe pulls ahead with ease and I imagine his cocky, confident smirk just feet in front of me. My car, Sunny, and I are one as I listen and wait for just the right tone. When the engine hits that perfect note, I tap the clutch – scarcely long enough to slide into second gear. I pull even and sense my prey’s smirk turn to scowl as he torques his throttle beyond its limits.
Our dance continues from second to third to fourth gear. Though Sunny and I are smooth through to shifts and united in our desire, we simply can’t keep up. The Vespa scooter pulls away, not even looking in his rearview as he offers a triumphant wave.
With a sigh, I pat Sunny’s dash in our own sense of victory. We putt down the road with the satisfaction that we’ve helped yet another person smile with this bright yellow classic convertible VW bug.
Sunny will never win any races with her 78 horsepower, 35 year old engine. She’ll never take the prize in a car show with her dented trim and ripped rag top. But I’ve found in the year that I’ve owned her that she has a gift. When I pull her alongside the faster, flashier, more expensive machines at the local Friday night car show – she draws the crowd. More importantly, she demands smiles. Every single time I take her out, people point and flash a grin.
To be honest, Sunny fits me. She reflects my personal brand. Don’t get me wrong, I’d much rather see myself as a drop-top ’67 Camaro SS or a ’63 split-window Corvette. From a running perspective, I can make a case for being a Jeep Wrangler – at home in the solitude of nature, ducking under fallen trees and splashing through rocky creek beds (heck, I wrote this blog on last night’s trail run). But that’s just me for a few hours a week. Every minute of every day, I’m quirky. More interested in having fun than being flashy or high-performance. Looking to make people smile. That’s my ’78 bug. We know who we are and we own it. Voluntarily trading trophies and ribbons for smiles and waves.
So, that’s the branding challenge, isn’t it? To set aside a Corvette dream that may not really fit you or a cooler Jeep persona that doesn’t truly define you. There are hideous cars that win countless races and show-stoppers that spend more time on tow trucks than pavement. For yourself and your organization, know who you are, what you do naturally well, how it separates you, where that fits in the grand plan and work it like there’s no tomorrow.
Your brand isn’t built in your imagination or in your Board room. It erupts from your soul.
