When we are born into the world, each of us is gifted our own name, our own title; however, what does our name really mean? More importantly, what does our name develop to mean to our own unique selves?

When I was born, my name was a flash-of-the-moment kind of thing, considering the doctors all thought I was going to be a boy. After considering all the top options, my parents decided to name me Jordan, inspired by the daughter of an old friend. Moreover, my name, which is unique to me, came into the world based off the name of another, but that was just the first piece that would lead up to this forever developing complexity that hides within a simple title.

As a baby in this new, unknown place, we aren’t immediately gifted the knowledge of who we are, let alone where we are. We start off as nameless people; eventually, however, we catch on to the constant word people speak when referring to us. I grew up hearing my name constantly, so when I could finally learn it, my name was the first concept about me to ever solidify in my mind. My name was the first thing that had the power to characterize me in my own head.

Yet, I could have never predicted that this simple perception of my name could become so important to distinguish who I am.

So, what does a name really mean?

It’s a question with an infinite amount of answers, a question only capable of being answered by the person it belongs to. However, much of the simplicity we see in a name is merely glazing over a surface of an entire story, a story that started the second a child was named, a story that continues to veer this way and that, and a story that most people don’t realize even exists.

One can love a name, and one can hate it; but the truth is that a name is tied to every instance it is used, every instance it is written, every instance it is thought of. It connects to a perpetual line of people and a concoction of emotions.

A name can fill someone with confidence or lead to the utter crumbling of a person. It can be a first element, or the last word ever spoken by someone. It can be said in a multitude of ways, followed by a series of intertwined events. A name can have the value of so much or so little, and a name can carry the lies and the truth that follows its owner.

My name has been evolving since the day I was born. It started off as what I learned to understand myself as, but it adapted into a story too perplexing to transfer into words.

Some days, hearing my name makes me proud; other days, my name serves as something sorrowful, something lost.

I think of my name, and I think of all the past events sealed to it. I think of the present and how my name has altered and shifted in my mind compared to everything I once thought of it. I think of the future and what story my name will reveal later on in my life.

My name is unique to me not because of the reason it was chosen or the letters I use to spell it but the story obscured behind it, the story that only I can confess.

A name doesn’t mean just one thing; it doesn’t just have a single, stand-alone answer. A name is an intricate equation with a solution of infinities, depending on who is solving it. It is so much and so little, so important and so frivolous.

Such an inexplicable thing, yet formed notoriously is viewed as such a simplistic concept. A name is everything and nothing: a story, a title, and simply a pure word that one is gifted upon entering a new, foreign world.