Our name is one of the first things we learn how to speak. A unique identifier which stamps our place in the world. It is the point from which we are connected to others.
I have a name that I love, but is difficult for people to pronounce. I use it as a test. I have found that if people give a shit about me they will make an effort to get it right.
In a conversation with a friend recently I mentioned I was adopted and that I had been given another name by my birth mother. I didn’t learn about this other name until I had my birth records released in my twenties and it was learning of this other name that held the most power in that experience. I sometimes wonder about who that other person might have become. She certainly wouldn’t have spent a lifetime correcting pronunciation.
Yesterday afternoon I was at the State Library of Victoria for a letter press workshop. Learning how to ‘set a line’ (newly learnt printing term), chock it into a frame, prime the press, choose the paper. All intoxicating and new and wonderful.
Of course I chose to print my name, as did everyone else.
I suspect there is more to say, but because its #blogjune I might pace myself.