Your name. Do you ever say it aloud? Feel inextricably tied to it? Maybe you like it. Does it feel like you?
I went to an informative presentation on through-hiking last night at a local "adventure store." The speaker was the esteemed Karen O'Hara who goes by "Cozy" and constantly quotes her catchphrase: "Cozy likes to be Cozy." She spoke on trail names for a portion of her time. Hers was self-given but others are bestowed a name at the whim of others. One over-packed hiker was called "Pantry" and we can only hope she had no insecurities about her weight. She said the names were for fun but somehow you came to embody this moniker.
I have the grandiose task of naming a child. Like Adam in the garden. I place my hand on my wife's ever-bulging bump and try to tangibly communicate with my son. I talk to him and think of what he is like. Because he already is. That's what makes it feel so difficult because I don't even feel like I am naming him but rather discovering what he is called. It isn't a name for a cat that you call to inform of replenished kibble. It's who he is. It has become a task of archaeology: to excavate my son's name that has always been.
His bones have been imbued with a spirit, a soul. Life breathed into the dust. And I wonder why this chokes me up! What is a name but a voice called by the one who loves you? People will love him. I will love him. What should I name him? Give me lists, family trees, boring chapters of the Bible.
I will call him mine.
