Our homegirl Juliet famously said “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose
by any other name would smell as sweet.” In her case, because she and Romeo had different names (and therefore different worlds), they could never be together.
So, what really IS in a name?
Take me, for example. I am writing this post anyway. I was born with a first, middle, and last name. I was never addressed by my first name, my parents for whatever reason choosing to call me by my middle name (my brother has the same deal). When I got married, I wanted to drop my first name since I didn’t ever use it, but because it was my first name it was technically considered a legal name change. Enter an add in the paper, lots of state-mandated paperwork, a trip to Social Security and Motor Vehicles and, a few hundred bucks and a court date later, the illusive “Emily” was no longer a part of me. As a little tribute to my former self, to this day when I initial something, I use the initials that I had at birth. Call me crazy, but I like the ambiguity of it all.
Over a few (not really, more like many many) drinks this weekend, my friend Mary Kay was filling me in on her high school reunion she attended in Washington State. She spoke about how some people referred to her as Mary, even though she goes by Mary Kay. I remarked that I was Annie as a kid, but when I was eight or nine and therefore an adult in my mind, I made a declaration that I was now to be addressed as Anne.
I’d like to go back to Annie. I like the ability to reinvent myself, or change myself depending on the situation. If you’re a Michael, you can always be a Mike. If you’re a Robert, you can be a Rob (or a Bob, or Robby, or Bobby, or maybe even a Bert). When you’re an Anne, you’re an Anne. That’s it. So, maybe I’ll be an Annie- it smells just as sweet, after all.
