The Influencers

Several weeks ago I spoke with a literary coach about ways I could do more with my writing. She helped me outline some specific goals and shared some valuable insights about the way the publishing industry works in 2019. I walked away from the call hopeful and encouraged about the possibilities if I am willing to do some work and take the process of writing more seriously.

But there are a few hurdles I have to overcome first. And the biggest of those centers on the buzz words that anyone in the publishing or social media industry regularly use. Those words are platform, branding, audience, and influence.

From a cultural or marketing standpoint, influencers are people who affect the behavior or purchase decisions of others because of their perceived knowledge, credibility, or authority. And the way one becomes an “influencer” is by means of an audience and platform. So it goes: the bigger the audience, the more powerful the platform, the greater the influence. The agent explained how the most direct path to publishing anything in today’s market is to show that I am influencing a lot of people by building more of an audience or online following.

This is all fine, and I completely understand the industry has to use certain quantifiable metrics to make the best business decisions. But building an audience and becoming an influencer is easier said than done. Moreover, I’m not sure it’s something I aspire to do.

As we come upon a season of graduations and celebrations, I want to make the case that the biggest influencers in our lives—mine and yours—might have the most modest platforms. Their audiences may be small, both in size and stature. They may not have a following of which to speak. They may not even be on social media. {Gasp} It’s possible, even likely, that they don’t think of themselves as influential. They’re just doing what they do day in and day out.

These “influencers” look like regular people. They’re school teachers, coaches, childcare workers, dance instructors, piano teachers, choir directors, grandparents, etc., leading seemingly ordinary lives. Their platforms are classrooms, ballfields, nurseries, studios, piano benches, choir rooms, and porch swings. Their audiences are babies, and first-graders, middle schoolers, and teens.

But their influence is incalculable.

“I wonder if we might pledge ourselves to remember what life is really all about—not to be afraid that we’re less flashy than the next, not to worry that our influence is not that of a tornado, but rather that of a grain of sand in an oyster! Do we have that kind of patience?” —Fred Rogers

I suspect that the real influencers do indeed have that kind of patience. They aren’t looking for their name to be up in lights, or for their following to be in the millions, or for their face to be on the back cover of a bestseller. They know their work matters without notoriety or accolade. They understand the work they are doing is at the foundation rather than the finish-line. And they accepted long ago that they may never see a return on their investment this side of heaven.

You don’t often hear a graduate say, “I’m so thankful for all the celebrities who helped mold me into the person I am today.” Or, “If it wasn’t for ______’s inspiring social media posts, I wouldn’t have had the confidence I needed to stay the course.”

No. That’s not who we acknowledge when we think about people who shape and inspire us. It’s far more often the people who took the time to notice something about us—a fear, a strength, a talent, a need, a dream, some potential—and acted on that something in a way that grew us. Those are the people we think about at the milestone moments because something deep inside us knows those are the relationships that made the most impact.

There is a reason that as we settle into adulthood there are certain things we can’t bear throw away. It’s the tiny picture of a beloved teacher on the worn pages of an elementary yearbook. Or the encouraging note from a favorite piano teacher we find stuck in an old hymnal. The “most improved player” certificate from a coach who took the time to love us even when we were hardly an asset to the team. Or the Bible held together by duct tape with a handwritten inscription inside from our grandmother. Those things make us tear up because they remind us what really matters. And who really shapes us.

It’s people, not platforms.

And that kind of influence is real.