It’s already Table Topic Tuesday.
I went rogue this week and picked from the middle of the deck. Gasp! And the question is:
I’m Mindy–just Mindy. It’s not short for Melinda or anything else. And I am such a Mindy.
I have always felt like my name is one syllable shy of sophistication. And, at a low-talking 4 feet, eleven inches, I can use all the help I can get. If I were Eloise, say, I could rule the world. Or, at least the room. Eloise. Look at all those vowels. She has to be a storybook heroine. Quirky, poetic, amazing.
I love Clara, too. It’s my two-syllable exception. Maybe it’s the wishful ballerina in me. She just sounds so graceful. And tall.
And I coveted the name Felicity for a while, when the show was big. But there’s a lot of pressure when you’re named for an emotion or word that’s full of promise. Like this gal.
Ah, Belle.
Maybe Mindy is just right.
The girls weighed in, too.
My sister Lindsey says:
What’s in a name?
My name is one that was really popular in the early 80s – so there were a lot of other “Lindseys” in my classes- not a way to feel very unique. The various spellings are problematic with my name too: Lindsey, Lindsay, Lyndsey, Lindsy, and so on. I’ve mostly gotten used to constantly correcting people on the spelling. Though it was always kinda heartbreaking as a kid to go into one of those touristy shops where they put your name on everything only to find that Lindsey with an “a” was the only thing available.
I always thought having a unique name would be fun. Something recognizable so you only need the one – a la Madonna, Beyonce or Cher.
Since I’ve been Lindsey, or Lins for a little over 30 years now – it’s hard to imagine being anything else.
And Lindsay says:
I’ve often thought about this. I like my name — Lindsay — but it’s pretty common these days. Actually, can I tell you all a secret? A couple years ago I went on a solo shopping (more like browsing) trip to Anthropologie (swoon). I picked out a few things to try on and headed to the dressing room. A younger, trendier associate asked, “How many do you have?” I told her. She picked up a marker and stopped at a dressing room door, “And your name?” “Violet,” I told her. She wrote it on the door in purple script. I shut the door and started laughing. Why the heck did I do that? I didn’t end up buying anything that day. But I left with an overwhelming sureness that we can be anyone we want in this life. I felt a little indie. A little artsy. A little punk. A little sassy. A little sweet and a little bit classy. I like it. I’d definitely be a Violet.
Have you ever wished for another name? I want to hear it.
my ft.notes 