How Our Copywriter’s Old Motorcycle Changed His Perspective Of Connection, Communication And “Home For The Holidays”
Every morning, I wake up to a pot of Hulk Hogan-strong coffee and quaff it while brewing equally strong plans for the workday ahead. Then I sit on my old motorcycle and hope it starts so I can turn those plans into actions for my clients. I open fuel lines and the choke, turn levers, twist keys and flick switches. I don’t know how much you know about old motorcycles, but they can be… temperamental. What I’m coming to find, morning after morning, is that no matter what – a lightbulb, the spark, the cold or hot air, me or the machine – whether it’s perfect or problematic, the roar of my engine comes down to one thing. The Connection.
Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about connections and the importance thereof. Favorite clients, recent contacts, pets, parents, new flings, old friends… the crux of each of these relationships is connection. The building of it, the maintaining of it. Polishing it, not just so it looks and feels good but works really, really well. All communication is based on connection.
For instance, we’re currently rebranding a company that works to provide seamless connections in the more-mysterious-than-you’d-expect realm of hotel high-speed internet. They’re responsible for each guest’s web connection, their communication with the world away. Maybe something will come of it, a campaign or a commercial, but I can’t help thinking about all the people in all the hotels, or the military men and women abroad, to whom “home for the Holidays” will depend on a strong internet connection. Suddenly, this niche, new brand means so much to me. After all, I’ll also be watching my family open gifts and send Christmas wishes and I Miss You’s through 13 lonely inches of LED.
So tonight, after work has wrapped up and all the lights have been shut off, their connections disconnected till the morning, I’m going to sit on my motorbike, my old friend… I’m going to open the fuel lines and the choke, I’m going to turn the key and try to transcendentally communicate my good intentions, my drive to drive us both home safely. I’ll flick the START switch and hope the connection is good. See, I don’t give up on things that don’t give up on me – clients, family, friends… 1985 Honda Nighthawks – because when the connection’s good, I know I’m in for an unforgettable ride.