What's In A Name?

serene
adj. 1: characterized by absence of emotional agitation; "calm acceptance of the inevitable"; "remained serene in the midst of turbulence"; "a serene expression on her face"; "she became more tranquil"; "tranquil life in the country" [syn: calm, tranquil] 2: completely clear and fine; "serene skies and a bright blue sea"

(Source: WordNet ® 2.0, © 2003 Princeton University)

etymology: 1508, "clear, calm," from L. serenus "peaceful, calm, clear" (of weather), of unknown origin. Applied to persons since 1635. Serenity (1538) is from O.Fr. serenite, from L. serenitatem (nom. serenitas) "clearness, serenity," from serenus.

(Source: Online Etymology Dictionary)

When I was younger, I got a thrill when I found my name in the dictionary; because, I'd thought, unlike my sister, my name meant something - and, there, it's in black and white in one of the most important and impressive books in the house!

Then I grew older, entered primary school, and discovered my name was actually very common. There were two other girls with the same name in my cohort alone. And later, in my diploma course, there had been one for three consecutive intakes (I was then the latest one to join the litter).

I once asked my Dad about my name, and he said I'd been thus named because he wanted me to be serene; but, really, I wasn't an active and noisy infant and child to begin with. My Mom once told me I was so quiet as a child she was worried I might be autistic. (I think she was right; I've always suspected I have some form of mental and psychological retardation.)

I've been obsessing with my name for some time now, and I've decided I don't so much as have a name as I do an adjective - a particularly ironic one. With this particular adjective for a first name, my entire existence appears to be something of a cosmic joke; or, it is, to paraphrase Lord Melchett (Stephen Fry) in Blackadder II, private parts to the gods, and they play me for their sport.

It's not that I don't like my name, it's just that I think it's somewhat ... incongruous with my self, in general. It's like, I don't have a name - I have a misnomer.

Then again, as Juliet had mused, what's in a name? It's not any body parts, and whatever a person is, they are everything they are, which owes nothing to their names ... right?

On the other hand, isn't your name a part of your identity? Occasionally, I'd ask my friends, "Who are you?" After giving me a weird look and making comments along the lines of "What the hell's wrong with you?", they'd humor me and answer my question, and their answers are all the same - they give their names.

I suppose naming someone or something is an exercise in ownership; giving someone or something a name is to confer them a role within a group (maybe a sense of belonging), and it makes for easy classification. If you have a name, then you belong to someone (and/or something).

Sometimes, I wonder if my (sort of) rejection of my name has to do with the fact that I'm really not comfortable with my own identity, or with the fact that I don't in fact feel like I have an identity. Maybe it's a Catch-22 whereby because I don't have a 'real' name, I don't have an identity; and because I don't have an identity, I don't see my given name as a 'real', preferring to think of it as an adjective (as printed and defined in the dictionaries).

I think ...

I'm going crazy.

Maybe it's the lack of sleep. Maybe it's the too strong and overly sweetened coffee. Maybe it's the moon. Maybe it's because my head is so full of incessant, buzzing thoughts I can't articulate. Maybe it's because I don't know what sort of music I need to blast to be able to tune them out.

Or maybe I don't need a reason to go crazy.

Crazy ... oh well - by any other name, eh?



(Maybe I should pick up a couple of books on existentialism - maybe they'll put me out of my sleep-deprived misery.)