The birth of a blog.
When I was born, I took an exam.
As I sat wailing in my first minute of life, my doctor observed my appearance, checked my pulse, smiled at my grimace, noted my activity, and scrutinized my respiration. Like a hermit crab, I sat as she prodded me for reactions. After an eternity, she nodded, wrote on her clipboard, and turned away.
Then, just as I began to forget what had happened, she did it all again.
As I sat sniveling in my fifth minute of life, my doctor observed my appearance, checked my pulse, smiled at my grimace, noted my activity, and scrutinized my respiration. Like a pair of Twinkle-Toes-Light-Up-Sketchers®, I responded as she delighted her fascinations. After an eon, she nodded, wrote on her clipboard, and turned away.
It was my sixth minute of life, and I was already annoyed. No one told me these two exams were coming. No one gave me a study guide. And no one was around to compare answers. Instead I was simply expected to pass.
After leaving the hospital, I continued to take these types of exams. The questions were hard and the answers were ever changing. I usually failed.
“Should you put <<random object>> in your mouth? Why or why not?”
“What do you want to be when you grow up? Include at least two examples from the text.”
“Summarize your life. Use details from the passage to support your response.”
As time went on, I began to understand the purpose of these exams in all of our lives. From receiving an Apgar score at birth to a gravestone at death, our lives are meaningful because they are measured. Without metrics of success or failure, it is impossible to know what to do next.
While I cannot ascribe an Apgar score to the birth of my blog, I can ensure that every piece of writing I post will fall into one of the following five measured categories:
Achilles’ Other Heel: These blog posts will focus on lessons I have learned from those around me .
Modern Day: These blog posts will investigate the lives of some of the most famous historical figures and piece together how they are similar to us .
Regular Raconteur: In these blog posts, I will tell stories from my life. Some will have a message, most will not .
Vujà Dé: These blog posts capture that funny feeling you get when you look at something you have seen many times before and suddenly see it with fresh eyes .
Funny Enough: These blog posts may seem random… Hopefully they’re not .
While I do not proclaim to be a writer, I promise you I will try my best. In every post, I hope to provide quality content, an engaging story, and a new idea for your mind to mull over.
And don’t worry; this won’t be on the final exam.
 Walking in another’s shoes can be eye opening. Just as this activity can reveal an Achilles’ heel, it can also reveal Achilles’ other heel – strength to be found in perceived weakness.
 I believe that we are more alike than we are different. Thus, it seems to follow, we are all just a similar to Albert Einstein as we are to our mothers. To test this theory, I will act as a historian and see if we can become more like the greats by simply changing a few mannerisms.
 All of our interactions are memories and all of our memories are stories. Since stories are a big part of life, they have to be included in a blog!
 What is Vujà Dé? It’s the opposite of Déjà vu and no; it is not an actual French phrase. George Carlin has a hilarious comedic bit on this subject as well.
 The phrase “funny enough” is actually a phonetic palindrome. It sounds exactly the same forwards as it does backwards. Record it, reverse it, and play it back – I dare you! Better yet, check out Bach’s Crab Canon!