“…that which we call a rose / by any other word would smell as sweet…” ~Romeo and Juliet, 2.2.43-44
(cw: grief, complicated family dynamics)
I feel like I write one of these every few years at this point—a post in which I wax poetic about how many names I have and why I have so many and what they all mean and what I would like to be called, et cetera, et cetera, ad nauseam. so I figured, for once, I’m going to write that post not on Facebook and I’m going to archive it somewhere where I can just have a handy link for future reference. 🙂
why do I keep having to do this, you might ask?
the truth is that I was doomed from birth—I had been destined to be the third of my name, named after my grandfather (who had no sons) and his father before him, but then I was assigned female at birth and my mom had to get really creative really quickly and ended up saddling me with a host of names that have started many an interesting story.
(this is not the post I had mentioned I was working on, but it’s so relevant after last night that I took a detour just as Shabbat ended to talk about this)
If you know anything about me, you know that I struggle with making decisions, staying focused, and being on time. Like, literally, those are my top three struggles. (How it never occurred to me that I might have ADHD is seriously wild.) Now, for a long time, I have talked about how my issues with time have to do with the fact that I don’t see time in a linear fashion (Business Insider’s explanation of linear-active time is the best I’ve seen re: my own conception of time)—but I think 11.5 years in the States have changed that a little bit.
Yesterday, I spent some time with my uncle for lunch—and it became abundantly clear that I am starting to see time differently, even though he has lived here for longer than I have.