I filed the papers to change my name today.
It’s something I’ve wanted to do forever. I’ve never cared for my last name. It gets butchered as Nieman, Neeman, Ninan, whatever. It’s hard to spell on the phone “en, eye, em, oh, en… no- not em, eye, em… EN, EYE, EM… .” You get the drift.
Over the years, I’ve pondered what name I would choose. Somehow when I decided to shorten Sue to Su, that just felt like such a good fit. So it just remained what last name? When I started painting, I signed paintings “su ni.” I considered just changing the name to that but it seemed a bit cryptic. So I had used up 4 letters, su and ni, so all that remained was mon. It was an easy change to moon, as in case you don’t know, I love la luna. So su ni moon was my choice.
I made that choice years ago. So why change now?
I think a more important question is why did I wait? The answer to that question made me sad. I didn’t change my name before because I worried what people would think? I thought maybe it was just weird? I was waiting for some sort of permission or a sign? Last year, I had a chat with my sister about my idea to change my name. She informed me that it would cost $84 because she had already looked into it for herself! So much for the weirdness worry! My sister is the nice, normal one in the family.
So with that “permission”, why still not make the change? I think it still has a lot to do with approval, I’m sad to say. But awareness of a problem is a step to being freed from it. In the last couple months, I’ve really been “in the flow” so to speak about how I want to change my business and myself. I’ve signed up for a conference next spring where I’ll meet a lot of people doing more of what I see myself doing down the road. I hope I’ll be meeting perhaps a bit of a new tribe. I realized that I want to meet them with my new name.
So I sat down, read the directions, filled out the forms and marched down to probate court. No one there pointed a finger and laughed. They just stamped my forms and took my money. 😉 So step one is official.
The moral to the story is the same old one that I often find. Worrying is like getting your car stuck in the mud. The wheels spin and make a great noise and mess, but I don’t go anywhere. Once, I actually take some steps toward a new goal, it’s almost always way easier than I worried that it would be.
So you can call me… su, just like you do now? Why did this all seem so hard?