Will I Change My Name?

"It'll be so weird when you change your name," said a friend recently, quite casually.

"She's not changing her name," shot back another friend, before I could even reply. "She would never change her name."

I started working on this post, and Groupon sent this out.
STOP IT, BIG BROTHER, YOU'RE TOO OBVIOUS NOW.

"Well, I might, but I might not," I said, and they both stared at me, equally shocked.

That's the truth, or at least, that's a snapshot of the truth, right now. But now moves quickly, as does truth. And when it comes to the name game, the whole truth is a trickier and constantly-evolving little beastie.

Truth, Then: Despite being raised by a feminist mom (who hyphenated her name, by-the-by) and open-minded dad, I still grew up assuming that someday I'd grow up, find Prince Charming, marry him, and then we'd be the Charmings.

(Incidental Reality: I didn't ever meet Prince Charming. But I did eventually meet a guy who, as it happens, has a last name that essentially translate as Prince. Close enough for this chick!)

Truth, Now(-ish): I'm really attached to my name. I have several publications attributed to this name, a solid professional reputation linked to it, more than three decades' worth of largely-positive-associations with this moniker - to say nothing of, like, Twitter and stuff. I've done a lot as this person, called by my name. It's understandable that my close friend (several, actually) was shocked I would even consider changing my name. Plus, I'm certainly a feminist, progressive person who balks at the idea of having my identity somehow become adjunct, deferring and docilely submitting my own name and allowing it to fade into oblivion as I now don my husband's name.

But.

My current name, let's be honest, is still tied in to the patriarchy. It's my father's surname, and his father's surname (well, his father's post-Ellis-Island surname; really, this name with this spelling has only been in the family for three generations). My mother hyphenated her own name, but my siblings and I all simply had my father's name. I love my father; I'm proud to have his last name...

Yet, objectively, am I any more or less a part of the patriarchal system if I keep my dad's last name, as opposed to taking my chosen partner's last name?

Still, even if it trotted its way down a patrilneal path to get to me, my name has now been mine for thirty-two years. After this much time, I have claimed it, shaped the perceptions associated with it, and giving it up seems ludicrous. So as of a few weeks ago, I made the decision - and even announced to a few close friends - that I would be keeping my name.

And then...

I had yet to fully discuss these thoughts with The Fiance. (BTW, I'm going to preempt the "why doesn't he change his name?!" question and say that honestly, he has a really cool name - an alliterative name that he loves, and makes him feel close to the alliteration-addicted-allies he adores, like Peter Parker, Bruce Banner, etc. Not to get a dig in about age, but he's had his name even longer, and for a variety of genuinely-not-Neanderthal-ish reasons, him changing his name is not on the table.)

And then, yet another chatty friend said, in front of The Fiance, "So, like, are you keeping your name or what?"

I just stared at her for a second. Poor thing had no idea how big a question she'd just asked, especially since she asked it of me, and my mind has thirty thousand thoughts swirling around in it on a slow day.

Luckily, The Fiance, who is rarely at a loss for words and always quick to look out for my feelings, took the opportunity to make this lovely statement: "Oh, I pretty much assumed that you would want to keep your name, and that's totally fine with me, of course. I don't see it as any sort of litmus test, does-she-love-me-enough-to-take-my-name or anything. Anyway, it's a good name. (Says my full name.) I love that girl."

And right then, I realized that dammit, no litmus test required, I do want to share a name with him. The feminist in me pouted, but then she got a little less petulant and a little more poignant about it. It's still my choice, after all, and isn't that what it's all about? Not the ultimate choice we make on issues like this, but the fact that we're empowered to have our own choice in the first place?

People change names to mark transitions. When someone takes on a new faith, or confirms their faith, they often receive a new name: a Hebrew name after conversion to Judaism, a Christian name after baptism, heck-- the Pope gets a new name when he gets the big gig, and far as I know there haven't been too many lady-Popes. So it's not just a gendered thing - although speaking of gender, trans* persons go through the process of finding themselves a new name that honors their identity. People change their names for plenty of other reasons: to advance their career, to better reflect their personality, to mark themselves in some way as something different from how they felt encased in their old name.

I do believe that marriage will be a transition; that something about my identity will shift, though I will remain autonomous and very much myself. I will be committing, publicly and wholly, to throw my lot in with another person's, and create a new family. (Let's not even open the issue of having the same last name is easiest if there's kids - this post is already looooong.) It is a transition, and thus many things will change - but will my name be one of them?

The Inconvenient, Clock's-Ticking Truth: I still don't know. At the moment, I'm considering hyphenation for daily life, but maintaining my current name as my professional name. I still don't have a final decision... but I did buy that Groupon, just in case.

What are your thoughts? I'd love to hear from folks who took their partner's name, folks who kept theirs, who hyphenated, whose partner took their name, folks who changed their name due to another change or transition in their life... What was this decision-making process like for you, and when (if ever) did you "know" what the right name would be?

THE STORY

"When do we get to hear The Story?"

I've been getting that question a lot. Truth be told, it's a bit disappointing for a writer to suddenly have everyone asking her about The Story, only to swiftly realize that they don't mean that novel you're working on, they mean OMG HOW DID HE ASK YOU TO MARRY HIM WAS IT SUPER ROMANTIC THIS IS BANANAS I'M ALREADY CRYING!!!???

Seriously, though, it's sweet.

When people ask about The Story, I mean. That's sweet: friends' excitement, exuberant curiosity, wanting to know how this fabulous news came to be. The Story itself, well - at first glance, it's not actually what a tale that would be universally characterized as sweet. It's certainly not epic or flowery. No one gets down on one knee and there were no flash mobs. If you want to see something like that, watch this couple instead:

ALL THAT SAID, I'll oblige all of y'all and tell The Story. Then we'll see if it's sweet (or OMG-BANANAS-worthy) or not. So here it is:

How We Got Engaged
Or, The (Lack of a) Story

Once upon a time, there were two lovely, brainy, and romantically-inept people who loved each other and were already pretty ding dang committed to each other and had started finally talking about the fact that honoring and formalizing that commitment might be nice. There was discussion about a ring, and two things were decided about said ring:

1) Spending a crazy amount of money on a ring actually is crazy - or, said in a less judge-y way, spending more than they could afford on a ring just wouldn't do for these two.
2) One couple's joy shouldn't be symbolized by anyone else's misery; in other words, no blood diamonds or shady-gems allowed.

This led to the decision to procure a certified-ethical, sustainably-produced diamond from Canada. Aboot time, eh?*

Speaking of time. It takes some time for an cruelty-free international engagement ring to arrive at one's doorstep. No matter what the tracking information says. Which means that on two separate occasions, planned romantic proposal situations were thwarted by the postal system and its tediously slow delivery of The Canadian Ring.

To make a long (and, for real, not that interesting relative to all the other crazy awesome stories we could tell you) story short, the ring dawdled and no romantic proposal happened.

Then one Monday night, after a somewhat long and stressful day, our heroes were sitting on the couch. Feeling like they needed a pick-me-up, they decided to have an upscale takeout night, and were eating some delicious gourmet pizza and drinking some good red wine. After finishing an episode of Game of Thrones (clearly, the most romantic show ever... um, not really) while snuggling with the pets, this conversation took place:

Me: This is just a really good night.
He: Hold that thought.
(He runs upstairs, and comes back down with a small box.)
Me: Hold on.
(I chug the remainder of my glass of good red wine.)
He: Let's see if this fits.
Me: Is this really happening?
(He puts a ring on my finger.)
He: Yes.
Me: Don't you have to ask me a question, or something?
He: Okay. Do you want to love me for the rest of your life?
Me: That's the plan. Do you want to love me for the rest of your life?
He: Already doing it.

I had to go to a jeweler later that week-- because, as it turns out, the ring didn't fit.

But the proposal actually did.

*I grew up near the Canadian border and would just like to go ahead and apologize to my Northern neighbors for that cheesy accent joke, even if it's pretty accurate. Also, thanks for the cruelty-free sparkler, Canada!

I Didn't Go To My 10 Year Reunion

Class of 2003

This weekend was my 10 year college reunion. I didn't go.

However, thanks to social media, I've seen posts aplenty about the event. Though I've been busy with other commitments all weekend, I've had these little reminders keeping this milestone in the back of my mind.

And so, in honor of my 10th college reunion, here are the top ten reasons I didn't go back to campus.

10. Facebook. I seriously blame social media in general, and Facebook in particular, for making reunions seem increasingly obsolete. You got married? Had a baby? Spent time in Ghana? I'd ask you to tell me about it, but I already totally liked all of this. As it was happening.

9. Denial. I can't believe it's been ten years since I went off to college! It seems like only yesterday I was packing my bags to head to Boston and -- wait wait wait, what? It's been ten years since I finished (not started... finished) my undergraduate career?! Nope. That can't be right.

8. Budget. Plane tickets, hotel room, public transit or rental car, class gift, meals out, registration - um, that'd all add up really quickly. (I think I'd also be the only member of my class traveling from Mississippi to Massachusetts. From what I've seen, it looks like most folks are coming from, say, NYC to Boston; an easier trip.) This year has already been stacked with travel, with more ahead... oh, and, yeah - kiiiiiinda planning a wedding, which apparently, isn't cheap. Also, re: plane tickets - that could also mean puke.

7. Weddings & Funerals. The honest truth is, between weddings, funerals, and planned encounters... I'm lucky enough to be able to say that within the past couple of years, I've seen all of my best college friends; more than once, in some instances. We don't need reunions to connect us with those we hold most dear. Reunions are for bringing "the gang" back together.

6. Gang? What Gang? Right, speaking of which... I was part of several different circles when I was in college. But some of them were multiple-year (i.e., sophomores, juniors, seniors - with so many of my friends a year or two older or younger than I, they wouldn't be at this reunion) and others, frankly, fell apart as soon as we tossed our caps in the air. What "gang" would I have at a reunion?

5. I Suck at Schmoozing  The next critical consideration, for a girl without a gang: I suck at schmoozing. More accurately, I don't enjoy it. I'm actually a pretty decent small-talker when I need to be (Theater Background + Life In The South = Excellent Small Talk Training). But I find it exhausting. My introverted self shivers just thinking about it. Reunions are a small talk smorgasbord, and I. just. can't.

4. I Said Bye-Bye, College. Since I haven't made it clear yet in this post, I should say - I appreciated, valued, and (mostly) enjoyed my undergraduate experience. But when graduation rolled around, I was ready. I haven't been missing the college, or wanting to re-live those years. I didn't meet my future husband there (just went through some nasty breakups). I don't have any "special campus spot" I need to re-visit. Most of the moments that resonated most with me were fleeting - onstage and backstage, off-campus with friends, in the classroom (YES, I'm a nerd and some of my fondest college memories were in a classroom). Moments that had to be let go as soon as they happened. I let them go; and when I graduated, I let college go.

Romy & Michele: Winning.

3. The Game. This is sort of the classic reason people dread reunions: The Game. Who got married? Who had kids? Who has a successful career? Who got fat? Who's unemployed? Who's winning at life, and who's losing?

In addition to already pretty much knowing all of this information (see #10 above), the idea of competitive chit chat makes me break out in hives (see #5 above). As for me, am I where I thought I'd be, ten years out? Nope. But I don't feel like I'm losing.

2. I Had Other Plans. Legitimately, this weekend was a bad one for me: my life, here and now, had multiple demands on me. An organization I'm currently president of celebrated its 10th year with a big event; I had to skip out on an annual banquet for another organization I'm on the board of here in Mississippi. Reminiscing about then might have been more appealing if I didn't have even more going on now.

1. There's Always Our 20th. Right, y'all? Excuses aside, I'm not off the reunion hook - at least, not nostalgia-wise. I'm still thinking about the milestone; all that has and has not happened in the last ten years, all that may or may not happen in the next ten. I wish only good things for my classmates. I'll continue the visits and Facebooking. And who knows? Maybe in another ten years, I'll be a better schmoozer.

In the meantime, The Fiance confessed that he didn't even know when his ten year reunion took place, though it would have been five years ago. The reminder that I'm always and forever five years younger than he is made me feel better. ;-)