People often connect over shared memories. I’ll show you how your brand can ally with your clients.
He stood by the kitchen window, staring at a small photograph of his daughter in her graduation gown. His finger traced the blond curls in her hair as a tear dropped soundlessly onto the table. He slid the photo into his coat pocket, pulled on his tuque, and slipped out the door.
It’s not what spring should have looked like. A blinding snow squall greeted him as he stepped off the city bus and onto the paved trail of that park. He shielded his eyes as he peered into the whiteness — seeking his bench.
Tiny ice crystals stung his face like crushed shards of glass. He drew the woollen tuque over tufts of gray hair and down over his ears, hunched his shoulders, and slowly trudged along that snowy path. Frozen hands filled his pockets; thick gloves lay forgotten on the kitchen counter. When he finally arrived, he was surprised to find someone already sitting on his bench.
It was a woman bundled up warmly, perhaps his age. He brushed away the snow, sat down, and blew long breaths into his cupped hands. He turned and nodded, and she nodded back, acknowledging his plight, then gazed ahead. Neither of them spoke as they sat. Snow swirled between and around them… to confirm their silence.
In the distance, the dull rumble of city traffic murmured; eerie wails of police sirens echoed, while wind whistled through leafless trees. They watched as a car dangerously sped along that icy road up in front of them. It passed a large old maple tree, swerved around the bend — the one that held ghosts — and disappeared down the hill.
Minutes passed. As if choreographed, they both stood up at the same time. He turned towards her hesitantly and mumbled the obvious: “Miserable weather, isn’t it?”
“It’s our typical spring,” she chimed.
“Do you come here often?”
She nodded quietly, smiled, and then pointed with a mitted hand. “There’s a café down that road. Would you like to join me? I could use one, and it looks like you sure could.”
“You’re right about that. I sure could.”
One year later — to the day — he walked out of that bus once again. The weather hadn’t changed much from the previous spring; it was cold and windy. There was one difference this time. He waited and reached for her hand as she stepped off the bus. They both ambled up that path together. She locked her hands around his arm as he held her tight.
Before long, they’d found their bench and sat down. She leaned her head against his shoulder as he pulled her close and shielded her from the biting wind. Tears had welled up in her eyes as she looked up into his. She exhaled as if to clear her throat, then choked back a sob. He tenderly kissed her forehead as tears spilled down his cheeks.
For many springs, she had come here alone, grieving her son. He had done the same — mourning a daughter lost on that bend over there, beneath that old maple tree.
As they hugged, the wind had stopped blowing. Only the whisper of falling snowflakes filled the air.
They held each other as tightly as they could — afraid to let go.
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The Takeaway:
People don’t always connect over features; they often bond over shared memories. Successful brand narratives have to reach their audience on a level deeper than a simple request for a transaction. Do you ally with your audience? I’ll show you how.
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