Editor’s Note: I stole this post from the introduction of my unfinished biography. A biography I started and abandoned when I was in my early twenties, approximately 25 years ago. I’m posting this here for two reasons: 1) I never let any good writing go to waste, and 2) I’m inherently lazy. Prior to now (to the best of my knowledge), no one has ever read these words. I know I haven’t.

I was born at an early age, though I base that information entirely on rumors and hearsay because I do not remember the actual event. I was what some people call a miracle child, being that it is a miracle that I developed into a (semi) mature, responsible adult. I survived my childhood, got a passing grade in adolescence, squeezed through puberty, and escaped into early adulthood. That’s where I am now, an adult. 

At least that’s what people tell me. I’ll let you assess that for yourself.

Life–as life often does–has brought many interesting things my way. Sometimes good and sometimes bad things. Sometimes sad and happy things. But mostly, interesting things.

I have also been given a very unique characteristic: I am able to learn from my mistakes. No, I haven’t always learned from my first mistakes (or even second or third, for that matter), and of course, there are still some things I have yet to learn, but the important thing is that throughout my life, I have been able to create a learning process within myself. At times I’ve even been able to learn from somebody else’s mistakes. But that’s usually because other people’s mistakes are so stinking funny. 

I’ve learned a great many lessons over my years. More, I daresay, than the average person my age. But what is life unless you are going to take the time to learn?

There are two important lessons here. 1) If you want to learn from your mistakes, you first must be willing to make them. 2) If you want to learn from somebody else’s mistakes you must be there when it happens. Or read about it in the newspaper. Editor’s note for the kids reading this: A newspaper was like a printed version of social media where only a few “influencers” were allowed to post.

I have never in my life kept a diary. They’re for girls anyway. Nor have I ever kept a journal, except as a requirement in English class, in which I kept a detailed list of complete nonsense. My life, as I remember it, is just that: as I remember it. It is now nothing more than a collection of memories, and here, for the first time, I have tried to recall an actual event–with no help whatsoever beyond my freshman year typing lessons.

I hope the stories you will read in this book (ahem, blog!) make sense. If not, I refer you to the “you had to be there” clause.

More than anything else, this book (blog!), is a textbook (textblog? No, that’s not right.) The stories here can be taken, read, and most importantly learned from. They are neither complete nor completely accurate (I have a tendency to embellish, not too much unlike the authors of today’s history books), – but it does contain lessons that I have learned over my years. Lessons which you can, in turn, learn from, if you at all interested in learning at someone else’s expense. I know I am.

All I ask is that you don’t hold my past against me. I have matured… some.

Editor’s second note: I said above that no one has ever read these words before. I fully understand the inaccuracy of that statement. Most of the words written here have been read many times over thousands of years, just never in this particular order. The anal-retentive literalist in me needed to make that clear.

Editor’s third–and hopefully final–note: If you’re interested in these stories, stay tuned. I will be posting them here in My Ramblings from time to time. I have already posted the first such story. You can read about the time I creeked my car here.