Parents spend countless nights pondering what to name their child.  Teachers call their children unique names no students previously have held; certain words may be linked with unpleasant memories.  Names carry a weight that, when spoken to one another, invoke an emotion formed from the character someone has built around them.  To every individual, a specific name conveys a special meaning, defining that person in their mind founded upon that word.  Admittedly, these titles display more than the letters forming them.

Have you ever judged someone by their name?  Be honest.  Upon hearing someone’s name for the first time, it isn’t unusual to think about others in your life holding that same name.  That’s what I enjoy about my name–its authenticity.  Very few bear my name, making it difficult for those I meet to form an opinion on me solely based on the letters that make up who I am.

Oh no, I may have misspoken.  Do the letters that construct your name define who you are, literally?  Hopefully not.  My name is derived from the Anglo-Saxon word for valley.  Frankly, I tend to think of myself as more than just a valley.  Unless it is the Yosemite Valley.  Then I would be quite content with my name.  Still, I find myself jealous of those whose names convey real significance, like Luke (meaning light giving) or Paul (meaning humble).  On the other hand, the pressure these names entail on their owners makes them undesirable to me.  Here rises a dilemma.  As a parent, do I entrust my offspring with a name carrying significant meaning, dumping all of that pressure onto them?  Or do I give my child a simple, elegant name, bearing no higher meaning?  Hmmm.

If your name does not describe yourself as an individual, what more can it possibly communicate?  When asked what objects or ideas come to mind when meditating on my name, I struggle to produce anything.  The distinctiveness of my name makes relating anything to it strenuous.  Everything that my mind imagines is how I feel about my identity, not necessarily my actual name.  My passion for music, my favorite color blue, and ice cream, the food that makes me happiest; everything that relates to my personality I relate to my name.  Really, the only unbiased source to interpret your own name are other individuals who you are not yet acquainted with.  With this additional support, I could purely describe my title as follows:

My name, like a colossal mansion, emits authority.  Its short but cold structure brings the arctic to your mouth when uttered.  The rhythmical formation of its letters smells like laundry detergent, clean and fresh to the nose, yet icky when tasted. Four letters and one syllable, this word is almost begging for the innumerable nicknames it will unquestionably be given.  Although the name itself establishes soundness and completion, when spoken repeatedly it loses definition.  Eventually it is not a word anymore, just a singular movement of the tongue.  This word bears an emptiness found after pronouncing it, the pin-drop silence after an astounding performance.  My name is deceiving, as am I.  The name appears whole, yet the bareness inside beckons for greater meaning.  I too act cheerful, like my life is complete.  However, similar to my name, there is a constant hunt for further potential that I may never satisfy.

While writing this vignette, I’ve concluded that thinking too deeply about the word you’ve been called your entire existence isn’t worth it.  After all, my parents named me because they thought the name sounded pleasant.  Here I am trying to bring meaning to a word that was given to me because of the way it is vocalized.   If there is anything I’ve learned, I am more determined than ever not to have children because of the magnificent responsibility naming a human being demands; a name that they will be called for the rest of their life, and may even write an essay on one day…