That is the question my friends.
You see, tomorrow I shall change my beloved yet funny last name to that of my husband’s. This is big. So big in fact, that when my BFF Amy just called and I told her my plans, she asked “So..what are you going to do – will you hyphenate?” I replied…”Nope. No hyphenating. I’ve decided I’m going to just be Lindsay Wxxxxx. (pause) I think.” Aww crap. I said “I think”.
So it seems that I might be experiencing a little separation anxiety. This is new for me. The last time I felt separation anxiety was when my parents left me in my college dorm room freshman year and the ache in my throat was so immense I can still feel it now.
I was never a blankie kinda kid. Wasn’t desperately attached to a doll or stuffed animal. I’ve never even had that favorite pair of jeans. But my name…it’s been with me for exactly 32 years and 278 days. Even though I used to fantasize about changing “Millsap” to “Mills” in case I ever got famous (Mills is cooler), now that I’m faced with saying farewell to this funny yet familiar and wonderful name… well, it’s got me in a bit of a panic really. Suddenly, I think it’s the best name ever! How could I part with the best name ever, I beg you?!
I realize no one is holding a gun to my head forcing me to change my name. This is my decision. My husband stands by whatever I decide to do. And you may recall, I’ve already harped on the subject before about changing my name and how easy I got off on this one. His name is a lovely one! His name is practically mine with just a few letter changes. It’s so simple!
The reason I’m doing it is simple. On the surface, I may not seem that traditional. But there are some traditions I find so endearing and time-honored, that I respect the sheer power in their meaning. I am also a hopeless romantic, and I am so very proud to be married to my husband that to share a name with him truly is an honor and a source of great pride for me.
And so tomorrow I shall go to the Social Security office, stand in line for hours with my fellow name changers, and get my new blue card. And at the DMV, a new license with, hopefully, a better photo this time. I cannot promise that I will learn to sign my new name well, or look up when someone calls my name from across the room. But I will know that I have made this commitment in the name of love and pride and tradition and romance. And that makes this separation a little bit easier to handle.
But Lenzo, please don’t stop calling me Millsap. Or Millslap. Or Millslut. I would miss that too much.