I was raised in a very Roman Catholic household. In fact, in the early days of World War Two, my mother had just completed nursing school. She was preparing to join the convent when her cousin introduced her to a sailor attending training at the Brooklyn Navy yard. That sailor proved to be a great salesman as he became her husband and later, my father, providing me with my life and depriving the Church of a great nun. They say the Lord works in mysterious ways. Anyway, part of being raised in a Catholic home was Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve.
I still vividly remember Christmas as a child, each year it began with Advent and lighting four different candles a new one every week. There was a ritual in getting and decorating the tree, assembling the Manger, seeing Santa Claus, the secrecy of not being allowed in certain rooms. Then came Christmas Eve. I remember lots of excitement, and hustle and bustle. We had an early supper, and Mama made me nap afterward. As the youngest, I found this both humiliating and frustrating. I laid there listening to my parents, and my older siblings going about whatever it was they were doing. After what seemed an eternity my mother got me up and we dressed and headed to Midnight Mass.
I even remember the Mass. The smell of incense, the carols, a long sermon; excitement and anticipation that was not only emotional but physical. I remember my heart racing, acting as my parents would say, “fidgety”. Then the drive home, my father looking into the sky and saying with all his naval aviation authority, “what are those lights up there? That doesn’t look like any aircraft that I’ve seen before.” Then home and right to bed, finally falling asleep.
When I awoke, I am sure my Christmas morning was not much different from anyone else’s. There we were, running down the stairs, into the blinding glare of a Bell and Howell camera light bar. My father, the Steven Spielberg of Christmas home movies saying, “Stop, slow down, wait for your brother!” The movie was recorded, and then, and only then, were we allowed to rip, tear and jump into our presents. It all came back to me many years ago through my son, then three years old and his first real Christmas, the one when he could remember the previous and therefore anticipate Christmas morning. He was so excited that he ran and jumped headfirst into the presents under the tree. He may have watched too much television, as he started his exciting leap with the cartoon version of running in place before he took off.
Think of the exciting, emotional, wonderful, childhood experiences you can recount, what are the common denominators? I think you may find that it was anticipation, created by memory and a cadence and rhythm that the lead up to the crescendo. It doesn’t matter what your traditions are, Christmas morning would be nothing without the anticipation of Advent and Christmas Eve, and a memory of last Christmas. Hannukah, eight days of daily anticipation for an evening of celebration, and song. In my informal research, it seems most cultures’ holidays include a sense of memory, and anticipation; of waiting and then celebration. The joy of homecoming of a loved one, without the memory of the person and their absence would be meaningless. It is the shared experience of those absences that allow us to respond with nostalgia even watching someone else’s reunion in a video clip.
I recently listened to an episode of TED talk radio hour. Indre Viskontas is a neuroscientist and operatic soprano. She decided to use her love of music and knowledge and education in neuroscience to help teach people music and improve her own performances. As a student, she focused on the high note. If you know opera (and I know very little) it is the high note at the end, known as the “money note” that garners all the attention. It is easy, as well as tempting to focus on the money note it is the ending that people remember and judge. In sales presentation training we are taught that people only remember the beginning and the end. But neuroscience taught her that the high operatic note is nothing without the gradual lead up to the big finish. Just like Christmas morning, without the anticipation of Christmas Eve, While it is the end that we remember, it is all the other notes that are important, it is repetition and cadence that the human brain craves, that sets up the rush of excitement at the big moment, that gradual build-up in your sales story that allows the buyer to fill the thrill of owning, even mentally what you are selling.
Happy Holidays to everyone. As you go through your holidays and into the New Year allow yourself to focus on the little things, the rituals, and the traditions. Feel the anticipation. It is there that we build our stories, and it is the story that makes the experience human. It is the story that builds the anticipation. It is the story that sells. I wish you a great story and a wonderful new year.