Your Last Show

If you knew today's show would be your last, how would that affect your content?

If you knew you had these final 16 or 20 breaks to fill, how would you fill them?

What would you say?

Same old, same old? Liners, time and temp, Battle of the Sexes?

How would the ways you think about those who listen to you change?

What would you want them to know about you? What sorts of stories about you would you want them to tell?

What would you want to be sure they heard you saying to them?

How much variety your station has, or how yours is the best station at work?

Or...

would you want to thank them for sharing their days with you all these years?

Would you want them to know that everything about your job has been a gift, that the chance to make money talking and sharing with hundreds of thousands of people was so fun, so rewarding emotionally, you'd have done it free if you could've afforded it?

Would you want to be sure they heard the two or three most important stories of your life?

To understand why those couple of weeks after your father died, you weren't yourself on your show.

Or how it was impossible to concentrate and answer your phones those first days after your spouse filed for divorce.

Do you want your very final words to be some weak tease or live promo? Or will you share something personal, something fun or funny that leaves them smiling or gasping because they're laughing so hard?

What do you want to express? This is your very last chance.

Don't you want to, finally, make sure they feel how much all of this has meant to you, how much all of them have meant to you?

What are you waiting for?

This is the content they've hoped for. This is the personal connection they've always wanted to make. This is the substance that makes your show unique among all other choices.

And even if you've never done any content that caused emotional ripples, can't you now understand how powerful it can be?

None of us are guaranteed tomorrow.

And that's precisely why each show you do should be your last.