If I were to write the story of my life, I would entitle it, “Nick With An N, Not Rick”. It would be a story about self-identity, conquering one’s anxieties, and name forgetting. Children in American (AKA “the Good Old Dandy”) are taught that individuality is of the utmost importance. In fact, how are we to go about our daily lives if we didn’t perform every mundane task in a unique manner? For example, whenever I take my grandmother (she used to be a pies maker in Wales, but now she is just blind) for lunch at the Cheesecake Factory, I perform a voluminous amount of unique actions in order to assert myself as an individual in my country, the Good Old Dandy.
Firstly, I wait fifteen to twenty minutes in order to get a table for my mum-mum and me. Secondly, I order my meal. I usually order Dunderbell’s Brisket, though I do enjoy the Hash Honeys from time to time. Thirdly, I eat my brisket (or Hash Honeys). Fourthly and finally, I exit the restaurant with my mum-mum. This is just one possible scenario of unique actions that could have been performed at the Cheesecake Factory (Note: it is not a real factory and I am just as disappointed as you are to learn this news). I could have worn a gentleman’s nightgown, or recited passages from Warren G. Harding inauguration address during my time at the restaurant. In fact, there are over fifteen hundred unique options to enact in everyday situations. I wish there were more choices, but numbers cannot go higher than fifteen hundred. Of course, I feel that this example has taken too long to justify the name of my life’s story (I am sorry for this).
Let me get back on track. “Nick With An N, Not Rick” represents my existence, or my mistake existence. The title represents myself restating what my name actually is to an unidentified party that has gotten the name wrong (perhaps that is you). No one likes getting his or her name mispronounced or forgotten. A person always wants to make an impact on someone, and the worth of that person’s impact can be measured in terms based on if his or her name is remembered. We all remember Eli Whitney’s name because he invented the cotton gin. However, no one is going to remember Esther Helmet’s name (except for myself and whoever may be reading this). In case you are wondering, Esther Helmet is my neighbor and he happens to own a rather larger collection of porcelain amphibians. Of course, if you are a porcelain enthusiast, you will be more likely to remember Esther’s name, so maybe he is a bad example. In the end, our lives are governed by our individual choices and our willingness to develop a sense of identity. We judge our worth in life on many things, and in many ways, we always succeed in finding a purpose. This is what the title of my story represents.
