How to Resonate: A Framework for Building Bigger, Innovating Faster, and Reaching Higher in Your Work
We start today with one of life's most important questions: What is the best Disney film of all-time?
I'm here to tell you there is indeed a correct answer, and that answer is...
A Goofy Movie.
(Stay with me. It's gonna get weirder before it gets better.)
A Goofy Movie is the best Disney film of all-time. I know this because of one fateful evening my senior year in college.
It was early August, about a week prior to most students arriving to school. My friends and I had decided to rent a house just off campus. Among students, it was known as the Blue House, but it was equal parts light blue, moldy gray, and dusty brown. The place was like a hundred years old. Its bones were sturdy, but with a body by Uncle Jerry, your crotchety relative who makes an alarming array of noises when he sits down. HERRRG-yaaaahhhh.
The steps would creak. The windows were cracked. The front balcony, where we'd often hang out with five, six, or twelve friends, was sloped dangerously downward. (If most balconies look like the top of an F, this one was doing its best K impression -- and not the top part.) The backyard was mostly mud, with a random dumpster on wheels sitting in the corner. We later discovered a dead possum rotting inside, which only made our love for A Goofy Movie grow, given the animatronic possums in the film.
(Still with me? We’re almost there.)
The Blue House was three stories of off-campus peril and possibility, and we were the kings of the castle.
* * *
Our first weekend at the house, I was hanging out on the third floor with housemates Jody, Jake, Josh, and Tim (we also had a Joe and Mark in the house, making us The Five Js and also Mark and Tim). For some reason that night, someone mentioned A Goofy Movie. “Oh man! I haven't seen that in forever!" So we found it online and eagerly watched it. No big deal. Just some 21-year-olds, totally sober, watching Goofy be Goofy. Ah-hyuk!
That film has everything. Animatronic possums. High school stereotypes. Pithy life lessons about family and love.
Pauly Shore.
And then, in Act Three, the culmination of the entire goofy ride, there's the Powerline concert. OH!... the Powerline concert! The character Powerline, voiced by singer Tevin Campbell, is a kind of Michael Jackson-meets-Vanilla Ice-meets-humanoid dog. He sounds terrifying, but he sounds glorious. (This track slaps.) (This one too.)
Anyhoo, Goofy ends up on stage with Powerline. (Long story.) Predictably, he's pretty awkward about it, and Powerline gapes at this random Also-Maybe-a-Dog who just crashed his stadium tour. Watching from the rafters above the stage, Goofy's son Max (oh yeah: Goofy has a kid!) shouts to him, "Hey Dad! Dad! Do the perfect cast!"
The perfect cast is the hilariously complicated motion Goofy does as a wind up to casting his fishing line. (Oh, right: a major storyline in the film is how Goofy is worried he’ll lose his son to drugs and rock-and-roll and girls and Other College Things, and so he yanks Max away from his friends to go on a fishing trip, but Max lies to the girl he likes and says he's really going to the Powerline concert in LA, then does everything he can to trick his dad into taking him there. Because high school.)
So, on stage with Powerline, Goofy does the perfect cast. Impressed, Powerline joins in. Then Max drops to the stage, and he does the perfect cast too.
Back at the Blue House, we watched this, grinning ear to ear -- a bunch of college seniors trying to stave off the real world for a little while longer. Naturally, being of sober mind and nostalgic heart (half of that statement is true), we decided: we're gonna learn the perfect cast!
And so we did. We memorized the dance exactly as it appeared on screen.
(Narrator: They didn't.)
We showed our housemates, and they thought it was so cool!
(Narrator: They didn't.)
And every so often, at parties, one of the guys who was there that first night would shout, "Hey Jay! Jay! Do the perfect cast!" And so I would. Then they would. And everyone would gather around us and watch and think we were so cool.
(Narrator: They really, truly didn't.)
And THAT, my friend, is why A Goofy Movie is the best Disney film of all-time.
* * *
Of course, you might be thinking a couple things:
Thing 1: "Jay, you're right, that dance IS so cool, and you must have looked even cooler doing it."
Thank you. I value your opinion. And you are correct.
Thing 2: "But Jay, that is NOT the best Disney film. The best Disney film is Moana. (Or Frozen. Or Snow White. Beauty and the Beast. The Lion King. WALL-E. Soul. etc.)
Thank you. I value your opinion. But you are wrong.
Also wrong: Harper's Bazaar, Rotten Tomatoes, Seventeen, The Independent, Good Housekeeping, Cosmopolitan, and every listed ranking of the 875 million Google results for "best Disney film of all-time." Their picks are wrong.
A Goofy Movie is correct.
I just explained why.
What the heck is going on here?
If THE BEST option actually existed, we'd all agree. Our own personal experiences of the world wouldn't matter. Instead, we'd use some kind of universally accepted list of criteria to rank each film and then declare the one with the most points or most favorable ranking THE BEST.
Of course, people are not objective. We're subjective. We're emotional. We can't separate ourselves from our world-views and our own personal experiences and narratives.
As a result, we can't agree in objective fashion about which is THE BEST film ... or THE BEST in any category at all: the best restaurant, the best dish, the best team, the best fashion brand, the best actor, the best city, color, podcast, newsletter, software, accountant ... you name it. We can't agree on what's best, even though each of us will freely and confidently declare plenty of things we know as "the best" ... at least, according to us.
So maybe, when we declare something THE BEST, we aren't really thinking about what's best at all. No, I think when most of declare something THE BEST, what we're really saying is this:
"That … is MY FAVORITE."
And if that's true, if your favorite things supersede any other types of things, then we have to rethink how we usually approach our work. Because we spend a shocking amount of time trying to prove to ourselves and to others that we are, in fact, the best. But maybe that’s not possible— nor would it matter to anyone if it did.
I get it. We want to be the best -- at our jobs, in our categories, in the minds of those we serve -- because we think that's how to grow our businesses and leave our legacies. We want others to adore our work as a result:
Not just followers. Superfans.
Not just customers. Evangelists.
Not just coworkers. Teammates.
Not just new hires. Difference-makers.
If only they knew we were the best, if only we could make them see, then we'd be hugely successful.
If only they were aware of our greatness.
The thing is, awareness is just a proxy for what we really want: affinity. We just assume if they knew we existed, they'd love us. Why not focus more on the "love us" part? Instead of obsessing over reach, focus on resonance.
👉 We work so hard trying to be relevant, we've stopped trying to resonant.
But that's the job. That's the work. That serves others better and more deeply, but that's also how we help ourselves. Others make decisions to pick you, stick with you, and stick up with you … based on what resonates.
Resonance supersedes everything.
* * *
The question in all of this is... how? How do we create work that resonates? What would make others declare that WE are their favorite? What is within our control, and where do we focus our efforts?
I have no idea, but it feels worthwhile to figure this out.
Let's start with trying to visualize the challenge and the work, end to end.
Let's use a flywheel to do so. I'll call it...
The Flywheel of Favoritism
I like flywheels for two reasons.
First, they illustrate how our work should compound. Everything we do adds up to spin the wheel faster. The benefits of today’s work shouldn’t just be today’s results. Today’s work should make tomorrow’s work (and thus results) better and easier. Too often, work feels like digging holes in dry sand. The moment we aren’t shipping something or reactively hustling, it all caves in. Flywheels are about compounding, sustained momentum.
Second, I like flywheels because the process needn’t be linear. That’s usually a false hope anyway, especially with creative work. With a flywheel, you can focus your efforts anywhere and the entire thing works better. This fits the reality of work a lot better than an exhaustive list of steps which must be followed sequentially for the approach to succeed. A flywheel-based system promises the chance to slowly evolve the whole by focusing on the parts you can control. No need to start at Step One because, really, any improvement anywhere is worth the time investment.
For instance, you might recognize that the very idea or message driving your work needs to be improved or reinvented, but that might take a lot of time, research, testing, discussions, and/or buy-in from others internally -- and you have to deliver each week. So, why not apply a little force where it says "The Experience" right now? Make the next thing you ship slightly better this week, while you start laying the groundwork to adopt new ideas or a new message over the next few weeks. No need to halt the work, start at “Step One: The Idea,” and then proceed station to station. Any work applied anywhere will help the flywheel spin, and thus produce more Passionate Fans.
Here's how to understand the flywheel:
Around the outside (the black words) are things we can control and actively work to improve, while the yellow labels around the inside remind us of the purpose of those outer pieces -- and therefore help us focus on ways we might improve.
First, you might work on your Idea. The purpose of an Idea is to Say Something That Matters.
It’s not enough to “have” a great idea. The way you articulate that idea must also be great. It must resonate with others.
To improve, develop your ideas into a pithy, powerful premise that prompts initial interest. "OMG, you're speaking to my soul" is a far better initial reaction than, "Oh yeah, I heard about them once."
The very idea driving your work should resonate, immediately. That requires us to develop the premise informing each project or the overall brand. (In future writing, I’ll explore this process in more detail — along with the frameworks and stories supporting each section of the flywheel. Be sure to subscribe to my newsletter for all of that.)
Second, you might work on the Experience. The purpose of the Experience is to Hold Their Attention.
Initial interest isn't enough. The flywheel faces some friction once people glance your way: their time commitment. They can't just pick us. They have to stick with us. Otherwise, no trust and love are earned, no actions are taken, and no results come our way.
That takes time, so we need to hold their attention. The only way to do so, the only “tactic” that works, is to offer a better experience. I think we can do so by telling a better story. Just as a better premise is the output of improving The Idea, a better story is the output of improving The Experience. It’s not about the gloss or frills or gimmicks. It’s about the audience sensing that something is building, they’re a part of it, and they really want to go with you.
The need to "tell a better story" applies whether we're selling something or creating content or trying to hire someone — and more. Anytime someone is on the receiving end of our work, how we frame our ideas and deliver the resulting experience will determine whether they feel any motivation to stay at all. This can be as simple as using techniques like open loops and tension in your communication, or as all-encompassing as your design, copy, audio, or video style, your tone of voice, and whether or not your mission and vision (once clearly articulated as The Idea) can be used to inform the work and elevate it.
If you work on mastering any of these, master the use of tension. Central to all stories -- and the reason you'd feel compelled to stay if I told you a story -- is tension. Set the stakes. Raise some questions. Introduce some unknowns. Then deliver closure later. The desire for closure is why people stay.
Thus, while the premise provides motivation to subscribe, the story provides motivation to stay.
Third, work on the Relationship. The purpose of the Relationship is to Connect Emotionally.
Even if they stick and stay, endless choices threaten to stop forward motion and remove them from our flywheel. Being “relevant” or even “enjoyable” isn't enough. Nobody sticks with things that aren’t relevant or enjoyable. But feeling personal just might be enough to remove all threat of competition and choice removing someone from the flywheel.
Here, we can use our personality and our ability to speak to the personal, emotional reasons they care about our ideas. (In B2B, this is the difference between all the generic how-to articles we see from each competitor in a given set … and one brand becoming a trusted, inspiring leader in the space. In short, the marketers at the leading company speak to their buyers as whole people, not just a job function or flat persona. They make the work feel more personal.)
What can you do to go beyond an enjoyable experience to make it an emotional one? Competency is table stakes. The goal is to create a connection.
Even still, once we do that, we encounter yet more friction in the flywheel: stagnation. The wheel can stop spinning unless we continue to add additional force to it. The tried-and-true becomes tired-and-terrible. Even a strong, emotional, and personal connection between us and others can fade over time. Stagnation is the enemy. We have to adapt, evolve, surprise and delight them, and generally improve over time.
To do that, we need better insights about our work and the people we aim to serve…
Fourth, work on the Learning. The purpose of the Learning is to Refresh the Experience.
Even your deepest feelings of favoritism towards something can lose their potency if that something never evolves -- or else you have.
In our work, we can learn to explore our ideas more deeply or find new and delightful things to add or change about our work. In my world of podcast and show development, we talk about developing “IP” and then creating “IP extensions.” You have the idea, sure, but you also look to explore that idea more fully, or in different ways, or through different angles or mediums, by “extending” the idea.
As we learn new skills and crafts, pull from a broader array of sources, and get to know our audience better, we can breathe new life into our work.
This is where our experiments matter most. Consistently resonant work consistently changes. (In a later piece, I’ll write about the five Rs of reinvention. Subscribe for that.)
If we can keep learning, experimenting, and improving, that allows us to continue saying something that matters ... and the flywheel turns once more.
* * *
We all want others to appreciate what we do. We want to grow our businesses or leave our legacies. To do so, we spend a lot of time trying to climb some kind of imaginary ladder, where we beat out the competition or else prove ourselves to be good. The pinnacle, we think, is to be the best. But this desire to be the best focuses our work on the wrong things.
Instead of doing something others truly adore and appreciate, we start to focus on the optics, on vanity metrics. We over-value one small piece of the relationship, like initial interest, awareness, and reach -- proxies for what we really want like affinity and resonance.
Look, I'm not (too) crazy. I know A Goofy Movie wouldn't out-rank the classics in any objective list. But here's the thing: not only does a truly objective ranking not exist, it wouldn't matter if it did. That is my favorite Disney film, and so in my mind, it's the best. It's a purely personal choice, driven by emotion and connection. Quite literally, something about my experience with the film resonated with me -- that is, reverberated off me. It reflects who I am. Favorite things are part of our identities.
THAT is how we as humans make choices. It's what causes others to pick you, stick with you, and stick up for you. It has nothing to do with whether you're the best. That's not actually the goal. It's not even possible to determine, nor would it matter if it was.
What if we all stopped focusing on being visible and learned how to be memorable?
Don't be the best. Be their favorite.
* * *