Personalized party favors.
They were all the rage when I was a kid.
Go to a birthday party and you’d get some inexpensive cup or trinket with your name painted on it.
Or something like it.
You see, my name is Dylan. But according to dozens of party favors, it was Dillon.
An honest mistake? Perhaps. But try telling 4-year-old Dylan that.
It was bad enough to hear people mispronouncing my name. (It’s not Die-lahn, people. It’s Dill-in.)
But to misspell it too? That was one indignity too far.
All those party favors that read Dillon? I threw them in the trash.
Naming can be a thorny subject.
What might seem like a parent’s expression of affection can quickly turn into a burden.
Odd names might lead to teasing on the playground, or flustered looks from teachers. They might even make you a punchline if you end up on the news for, say, leaking intelligence reports.
This burden weighed heavily on me throughout my childhood. There weren’t many other kids named Dylan back then. And a big part of me wished I wasn’t either.
I remember thumbing through those souvenir racks at gift shops, looking for a mini license plate with my name on it. I would always come up empty.
It was exhausting and demoralizing. I felt like I was fighting my way uphill just to be seen — in a way that a Dustin or Justin or Kevin didn’t have to.
Those days are behind me now. I’ve come to embrace my name, and it’s become immensely popular. Not only can I find that personalized mini license plate at the gift shop, but I can hear my full name on ESPN’s SportsCenter.
(Of course, I’m hearing it because the other Dillon Brooks — the lanky, smug Canadian — is punching the world’s best basketball player in the groin during a game. But that’s beside the point. That Dillon Brooks spells his name wrong anyways.)
Yes, it’s much easier to be Dylan as an adult than it was as a kid. But when someone mistakenly calls me Dustin or Justin or Kevin, I still hesitate for a moment before correcting them.
Names carry weight. And old habits die hard.
For 400 consecutive weeks, I shared a fresh article on a website called Words of the West.
Writing something new each week was — and still is — a passion of mine. But the name of the publication I shared it to? That was anything but.
Truth be told, Words of the West was not my first choice of a name for this venture. I’d thought of the name I really wanted some weeks before. But I’d forgotten to write it down, and it slipped out of my memory banks like a bandit in the night.
So, I found myself brainstorming name ideas, and Words of the West was what stuck.
At first, it was no big deal. But as the articles accumulated, the name felt like an albatross.
I wasn’t sharing Cowboy Poetry or recounting trips up a rugged mountain. I was sharing my thoughts. Thoughts that transcended geographical boundaries. Thoughts meant to apply to all.
Plus, Words of the West was too lengthy of a title. It was clunky, hard to remember, and grammatically complex. I knew better than to roll with a name like that.
I had failed as a publisher, as a marketer, as a wordsmith. I needed to do better.
Now, I have.
This is the first article under this publication’s new name — Ember Trace.
It’s not quite the start of a new era. It’s the evolution of a longstanding one.
The name and the website domain are all that have changed. They’ve evolved to reflect the ethos of this venture I began years ago.
So, why Ember Trace? What spurred that title?
Well, it’s shorter. Snappier. Catchier.
But it also has its own origin tale.
You see, the writings shared on these pages tell a story. And storytelling itself is an art.
Long before there were books and silver screens, our distant ancestors would gather to share in words of wisdom.
These gatherings would often take place around the glow of a fire. And even after the fire burned out, memories of what was shared would linger.
Those tales were what remained from the fireside gathering. The traces of its dying embers that could carry over to the next get-together, and the one after that.
This is the spirit with which I write. This is the impact I hope to have here.
I hope that the words I share light a spark. I hope they move, inspire, or lead to introspection. And once the embers have died out, I hope the trace of the experience lives on.
That is what storytelling is about. That is what I am about. And that is what Ember Trace is about.
Back in 1975, a fledgling company debuted with a unique name.
Microsoft was simply announcing what it provided — namely micro-computer software. But the single-word abbreviation stood apart from such corporate titans as General Electric and U.S. Steel.
Around this time, another new venture in the Pacific Northwest adopted a short name. Blue Ribbon Sports became Nike, featuring a swoosh logo on its signature shoes.
These companies would grow into behemoths, rising from obscurity to prosperity. And as they did, they changed the game.
If you look at the Top 50 list of the 2020 Forbes Most Valuable Brand list, you’ll find a total of six companies with multi-word names. Only five more feature punctuation, such as hyphens or apostrophes. And only about half have more than two syllables.
Corporate naming has gone from a legal requirement to a brand asset. Companies have shed the technicalese for monikers that consumers can embrace. Heck, even General Electric has rebranded as GE.
At the same time, human names have gotten more unique. That playground teasing mentioned earlier has gone by the wayside as common names become less prevalent.
Which shift is the right one? The one toward uniqueness or the one toward conciseness?
It’s hard to come up with an objective answer. Maybe because we’re asking the wrong question.
Perhaps we should be considering what the purpose of a name is. What it does. What it symbolizes.
Yes, a name is but an appetizer. A vessel to connect us with the uninitiated.
It needs to draw attention. But it needn’t be the event.
Striking that balance is challenging. But it’s a challenge worth pursuing.
I hope to strike that balance with the Ember Trace moniker. Thanks for coming along for the ride.