What is a name? Is it the one, true defining aspect of the human experience that separates an individual from his brother? Is it just a title, a trapping, a simple stringing together of letters from a society's lexicon to open the door towards a much more complex existence while subtly hinting at its desired course through forgotten subtext? Or could it be some combination of the former and the latter or even something further? That may simply be something up for the philosophers to decide and the common man to only muse about when a deep mood takes hold of his faculties.
My mother bestowed my first name, Cody, upon me because she wanted her son to have some strength to his identity. The defining frame of this strength for her came from the era known in the public collective as the Old West; the nimrod turned proprietor William Frederick Cody as the origin of my most common appellation. My father wrote upon me his surname by right of his position in the structure of my family, but I know little of its meaning or depths aside from its Germanic roots.
To some, a name holds a deep meaning, a personal truth that helps them ground and center themselves as they travel in the maelstrom of the combined gest that we call Life. But to me, a name is simply just words to be written down or spoken allowed to draw my attention or to allow others to aid themselves in rationalizing and processing the concept of my presence. I care no more or no less that I am known as Cody Hiebler than I care about such things like chocolate being varied shades of brown. Such thoughts simply do not cross my mind.
Well considered and an opinion not held by many. Most people have relatively strong feelings about their name. I wonder, though, if your name signifies little to you, what might it signify to others?
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