Do you like your name?  What does it mean to you?  Is it merely a method of identification, of no more import than if you had a number?

I was named after my father’s sister who had passed away when she was 5, so it was quite significant, I believe, that his family got to use the name again after so many difficult years had gone by.  

But I never liked the name.  ”Diane.”  I take that back; I think it is a fine name, but it never felt right for me.  I always balked at being called that name.  It felt wrong, somehow.  My middle name was “Elena,” after the song “Maria Elena,” and I always loved it.  I would sign my name “Diane E. Horton” and hope that someone would ask me what the “E” stood for.  I remember telling my mother many times that I wanted to change my name to my middle name, but it never happened.  Until I was 21, and I decided that, even though I didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings, I really could not stand going through my entire life with a name I didn’t feel suited for.  When I went to the DMV and changed my name, after having gone through the entire legal process, they tried to put me down as “AKA “Diane…” and I said, No!  I’m done with that name, I paid my money and I filled out my paperwork, I don’t want to have to deal with it anymore.

When we name our children, most of us think long and hard and finally decide on something that we hope will be a positive designation of their individuality and personhood.

But of course, it’s not a guarantee that it will fit.  My daughter didn’t like “Willow” and decided to change her name to “Rose” when she was 4.  Considering my own experience, I had to go along with her decision.  So far, the other three are content with the names they got, so I’m batting .750.

One of my last names, “Margo,” I took when I was 25.  I was in the middle of an unconventional, difficult marriage, and I was quite done defining myself through men.  My mother’s name is “Marguerite,” as is her mother’s, and my other grandmother’s name is “Marian,” so I took the first letters of the first names of the women of my family (because if I’d taken one of their maiden names, it would have been another man’s name, wouldn’t it have?) and I took on “Margo.”  For several years my name felt, finally, as though it fit who I really was.

I added “Gould” when I got married to a man of the same name because it meant a lot to him, and because it meant a lot to me to be identified as a part of his life.  At first I thought it would be awkward, and indeed, there is no government office or any other type of bureaucratic institution that can fit their head around someone having two last names, but in spite of that, legally I have no middle name but two last names.  And now it feels as though my name not only fits my person, but that it accurately reflects who I am and what is meaningful to me in this world.

How many people can say that?  How many people go through life with a name they can’t stand, for whatever reason, but suffer through because it is just goofy to be so self-indulgent as to change your name and make people call you something different?

I must say, to anyone considering such a move, it is well worth the trouble.