Echoes

"Egypt loved the lotus because it never dies. It is the same for people who are loved. Thus can something as insignificant as a name -- two syllables, one high, one sweet -- summon up the innumerable smiles and tears, signs and dreams of a human life. ... My heart brims with thanks for the kindness you have shown me by sitting on the bank of this river, by visiting the echoes of my name."
- from The Red Tent by Anita Diamant

I've always thought that names had an interesting, powerful quality. They are chosen for us either before we are born or very early in life, yet they become the most important words we will ever use. Names sum up an entire identity in a way that no other phrase can. When I think of a person's name, a flood of images, characteristics, and episodes come to mind immediately.

Just today, I heard the name of someone I have not spoken to or heard from in years. I won't actually say her name here, but these are the sorts of things that immediately came to mind: She loved to talk, that one. Still, she listened too. I don't think she had any idea what she wanted to do with her life, but at least she owned that. She didn't fake it the way I did. She said and did some weird things, but she was a good friend. She took good care of my on my birthday that year. She had read a ridiculous number of books.

At times when I have a flood of thoughts of a person, I sometimes wonder the kinds of things that come to mind when people hear my name, whether they have talked to me recently or not. Here's a few of the things I'm betting come to mind:

I never understood how she finished her work that fast. Though I am not a mathematician by trade, I still think in mostly mathematical terms. I'm always quantifying the time and effort involved in tasks and looking for the most efficient way to get things done. Thus, I have found that I can accomplish a 10-week quarter's worth of work in 8 weeks. Lest this sound like bragging, let me assure you that this makes me miserable for 8 weeks, and usually is not worth the 2 extra weeks of freedom. Yet, I can't help it. I'm always afraid of running out of time, and so I try to do things as fast as I possibly can.

Man, that one used to cry a lot. I have virtually no control over my tear ducts. I have cried in front of every boss I have ever had, my advisors in both undergrad and graduate school, and probably every friend I've ever had. Genetics are partially to blame -- my mother is the same way. Still, I am a crier all on my own.

She wasn't fast, but she never quit. Running has become a part of my identity in recent years, and I don't see it going away for some time. Most days, I think "runner" is a generous term, as I don't run fast and usually don't run far. However, motivation is definitely not my problem. I get out there at least four times a week. And I have to be very, very injured or discouraged to quit a training program. I think people remember that about me.

Wow. Paranoid much? She can worry about anything! I am quite the anticipator. I will sit and analyze something that is coming until I have found every possible thing that could go wrong. I have to give a presentation? I have definitely misinterpreted the assignment, and I will fail. I'm going to this party later? No one I know will show up, and I stand awkwardly in a corner for a while, then leave. I have the worst headache of my life? This definitely means it's a brain tumor. Know me long enough, and I'm certain you will remember me for my inane worries.

She's nothing if not punctual. I hate being late. I hate it. Hate it. Hate it. Thus, I am always on time or early, to the point that people call me, worried, if I am not there 3 minutes after something is supposed to start.

That girl was unhealthily obsessed with showtunes. What can I say? I can sing every word of several Broadway scores. I've seen 66 different musicals. I just love musical theater. I've yet to meet anyone else with quite the same appreciation for musicals. It's something uniquely me.

Obviously, I'm prouder of some of these things than others. But overall, I'm comfortable with what I imagine are the "echoes of my name." Part of me thinks I should aspire to change my echoes to things like She really gave of herself, but another part of me is content to be thought of as a real, multidimensional person. If these are the things that people remember when they hear my name, then I can at least be content that they really knew me. That's enough for now.