Long ago under a moonlit sky, the uber-famous Juliet once pondered, “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” The star-crossed lover was merely professing that she would love a rose (namely, Romeo Montague) if he had any other name (Juliet’s family, the Capulets, loathed the Montagues).
Whether you like it or not, your name is your identity. You’re stuck with it. You learn to spell it. You see it on your ID bracelet when you go steady (dating myself, I know). Later in life, you use care in selecting your own children’s names. Then comes the day, if you are fortunate, that you must name your beach house (and you made fun of my ID bracelet).
But how does one marry a love for all things ocean and also enjoy seeing the name in print?
You just go for it. After long debates, emptied bottles of wine, and second and third thoughts, you decide it fits and you measure for a sign.
Enjoy all your hard work and have Allie June embroider your beach house name on a pillow. When you are away from your rose, you can cozy up to your pillow and remember how you will escape from all of life’s pressures.
And, even if you second guess your choice, you know you are stuck with it. And it’s ok.