That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.- William Shakespear

I'm having an identity crisis.  This isn't a spiritual crisis or a mental crisis, it is an actual identity crisis.

When I was born, I was given a lovely name.  Mary Elizabeth.  I was named after (or in honor of) several people who were important in my parents life.  Since my mother's name is also Mary, they called my by my middle name.  But Elizabeth seems too big a name for a small baby, so it was shortened to Beth.  I've been Beth all my life.

I remember going with my mother to open a savings account as a child.  You need a social security number in order to open a savings account, and oddly enough, my parents had neglected to establish one for me until then.  Since I was old enough to write, I signed the card myself.  I wrote my name, Beth.  That's were it all started to go wrong.

When I turned sixteen, I was lucky enough to be given my grandmother's old car.  There was only a slight hitch in transferring the title.  The names on the documents included: my grandmother's name which was Mary Elizabeth (Betty to her friends),  my mother's name as my guardian (another Mary), and the notary (guess what her name was).  The transfer was held up a few days due to the confusion of all the Marys and who was who.

As I grew older and had to sign my name to more and more things, I began to become two people.  I wrote the name on my birth certificate for most official documents: Mary Elizabeth. For more personal or informal things I was Beth.  When I entered the work force and had to fill out paperwork, I fluctuated between the formal name and the name on my social security card.  So the ball of confusion grew.

Just in case things were too easy to figure out, I got married.  Added now was a married name, a maiden name, a birth name, and an everyday name. I don't like to throw anything away, so I held on to all the names.  My signature grew longer and longer.  I actually got the name changed on my drivers license to include them all.  When I went to the social security office to change my name on that one....well, I'm ashamed to say I thought the line was too long.  I put it off to do another day when I had more time.  Days turned to weeks, weeks to months, and months to years.  And here we are.

I thought about getting a passport, but I don't know which name to put on the application.  I had to sign a special disclaimer for a loan stating I had 'aliases'.  Insurance cards, bank accounts, credit cards, W2's, and countless other vital documents have a plethora of identities.  I don't know what name to sign any more.

Well, no more.  Since I'm on a role of change lately, I've decided to change my name.  No longer will I be she of many aliases.  It's a little scary.  Part of me feels like I am turning my back on who I was by changing my name and dropping some of the extra's.  But then I think of the above quote and remember that what I call myself doesn't change who I am.  I could change my name to Rumpelstiltskin and still be me.