At the height of the holiday shopping, he sat alone in the outbuilding, the discount warehouse behind a chic, rural gift shop. In that cold, metal shed that boasted stacks of mildewing rugs, funky out-of-season decorations, imperfect mirrors, and broken toys, he was the aging security guard – lanky and underpaid. Lots of time on his hands.
But when my husband and I wandered into his domain, he grinned and greeted us with an enthusiastic “Hello!” I smiled and helloed back reticently, and at once, the man recognized me for a newcomer. He beamed. In fact, he almost fell over himself asking, “Is this your first time in the discount barn? Have you never been here before?”
I shook my head, admitting I hadn’t, and the man stood, full of the kind of full-blown pride that usually denotes business ownership.
“Oh well, in that case,” the menial employee radiated warmth, “Welcome to…here!” And he meant it.
I’ll never forget that man. I’ll never forget how very proud he was of the place in which he worked.
No one on that chilly day (besides my husband and me) had dared venture out of the warm gift shop into the sales barn. And nothing in that barn was beautiful or expensive or special. Except for that employee. He was extraordinary. He was joyous. He was the living embodiment of what our parents meant about when they taught us:
“Whatever you do, great or small, do it well or not at all.”
The Beatles grasped that concept. They owned it. Whether they were recording a Christmas holiday greeting or a Saturday Club segment or an LP, they worked tirelessly to produce the very best. Reading the liner notes on the new “1” DVD, I was struck by this passage from Mark Ellen:
“Modern pop stars tend to reach certain levels of wealth and celebrity and then feel no apparent compulsion to get back to the studio, yet in the seven short years The Beatles recorded, they never lost their thirst for artistic adventure. The larger their following and the louder its applause , the more it raised their game, improving their craft, stretching their creative range, and fueling ever-greater levels of imaginative ambition.”
Indeed, The Beatles were never bored with their work. They never found it tedious. And in their individual careers they were (and are) always excited to produce “the next big thing” (as John phrased it).
That is what I wish for you and me this year…hunger to do better, pride in what you do, desire to learn more and to improve, joy in putting out a good product, and above all, a sense of belonging in your nook of the world.
Your nook may not be “steel and glass.” It may not be Important (with a capital “I”) in the strictest sense of the word. But if you’re thrilled about it, others will catch the fever, too.
I fell in love with that chilly, unappealing discount barn because the security guard was “over the moon” about the place. His enthusiasm was contagious. If he loved it “Here,” then “Here” must be worthy of a second look…maybe, a third.
That afternoon, I bought one of the unusual mirrors stacked in the corner. I bought a few ornamental Easter eggs for next year…and yes, I bought one of the rugs (from under the pile where the mildew had not yet permeated). And I walked away from that place determined to have more faith in my own work…and inspired to celebrate it more.
From Hamburg to Apple, the quality that sold fans, critics, naysayers, newsmen, filmmakers, and business people on The Beatles was their unadulterated enthusiasm. With every song, film, and snippet of Scouse wit ’n wisdom, they shouted, “Welcome to HERE!”
They let their light shine. And so should we. It’s 2016; shine on!
Jude Southerland Kessler is the author of the John Lennon Series: www.johnlennonseries.com
Jude is represented by 910 Public Relations — @910PubRel on Twitter and 910 Public Relations on Facebook.
