The Journey Inward

My name – Leigh Anne – a combination of the names of the parents who brought me into this world. Leigh for my father. Well, kind of. He was Levin, Lee for short. Anne for my mother’s middle name, Joanne. A group effort for their last child. A sweet story.

Except I hated my name. Always. It was long. It was two names. It had a space and two capitals. No one ever spelled it right. It sounded ominous when my mother said it in anger (though in fairness, I bet everyone’s does!). I only knew one other person with the name and she was older and intimidating.

I preferred AMY. Short, sweet, easy to pronounce and spell. Bubbly, cute, fun. I wanted to be an Amy in the worst way. Staring in the mirror, I felt it suited me.

In 5th grade, I took matters into my own hands and changed the spelling. I experimented with Leeanne, Leeann and LeeAnn. Mrs. Krystow took a dim view of this rebellion and squashed it by deducting points off my paper every time.

In high school, I became aware of the actress Joely Fischer and thought my parents could have really killed it if they had thought outside the box a bit more. Joe sounded like a way cooler part of Joanne to use.

In college, new professors taking roll would call, “Leigh” and there would be silence. I didn’t answer because I never thought of myself as a Leigh. It didn’t resonate with me at all having never been referred to as that. Class after class I would raise my hand sheepishly when at last my last name was added to Leigh. Students and teacher alike looked at me, baffled. One time it was even pronounced leigh, like sleigh or neigh. I looked around to see who the unfortunate recipient was that all the snickers were pointed at, only to hear my surname once again. That was the last time I didn’t quickly cop to being Leigh.

I don’t know why I didn’t think to reinvent myself in college. I could have introduced myself to everyone as Liana or Lea, both close enough to be possible nicknames, and not totally offend my parents, and both like music to my ears.

I missed the opportunity when I started my new job, too, and two more times when I moved to new neighborhoods. Somehow I just haven’t recaptured the ingenuity or creativity I had in Mrs. Krystow’s class.

These days I am pinning my hopes on the move to my retirement home in Georgia as the time to reinvent myself. I’ll pick the perfect name that will go with my gray hair and flowy clothes and unconventional hours.

Or maybe by then I will have finally grown into my name and I’ll be at peace with it. Besides, my two brothers will be living there, and I’m pretty sure their families will out me pretty quick!!!