‘Cursed with a boring name: Why I’d love to change my Plain Jane moniker’

My first granddaughter, Adelyn Rai G, was born recently. I am delighting in all that she is and means — her little hobgoblin features; her bow-legged, heavy-headed baby shape; her random squeaks and movements; the soft, snuffly, sweetness of her; the protectiveness and resolve she inspires in her people; the explosion of joy that was released into the world with her birth … But I am also delighting in her name. I practice saying it, and I try various shortened versions — Addy, Adel, Lyna — all sound ‘worthy’ of this tiny enchantress.

I have a thing about names. You see, I suffer from Plain Jane Name Syndrome (PJNS). Kay Smith. No use trying to offer reassurances. My name is unarguably plain. Boring and plain. Once, while holidaying abroad, a fellow traveller asked if my name was real, or was I perhaps travelling incognito? I wanted it to be the latter, but responded apologetically — in a way that matched my name — yes, it’s real.

On that same holiday abroad, I found myself dining one evening in a multicultural group of mixed ages and genders. At my end of the table were Stefan, Melina, Krista and Gabriele. Later, a particularly attractive 40-something woman arrived. “This is Alessia Blanchetti,” said Justin. Of course it is, I thought. An interesting name to match its striking bearer. A name that announced her substance, her place in the world. Did I have to tell her mine? How to sparkle, shine and dazzle when you are called Kay Smith! I think my name impacts on how I dress, too: Alessia Blanchetti was casually, colourfully elegant, but a Smith needs serviceable work clothes — no call for style and panache. (Although I do boast something of a flair for teaming greys and browns.) To be fair, in the group there was also a man called something like Poobus or Rottgut, but he seemed to match his name and I have nothing more to say about him.

As a child, I wasn’t alone with my Plain Jane name. There were a couple of Kays in my peer group at school — along with some Gays and Fays, and some Janes come to think of it. We were victims of the fleeting fashion of the day, I guess. The story in my family was that Dad had wanted to spell my name just capital K, allegedly so that I might seem precocious when I was the first toddler on the block to be able to write my name, but Mum (assertive creature that she was) drew the line at that — instead, I would have a whole three letters to struggle with. When it comes to names, there will always be victims of fashion, who eventually mutter their names quietly when asked and I won’t curse the bearers by listing likely contenders among them.

In my friendship group, there is a Fay Green, who has managed to transcend her name, so stylish, influential and well-off is she. (There is also a Jane Duck, who hasn’t.) Yes, transcendence is possible — indeed, it’s one of my regular favourite possibilities in life. I do have a highly successful namesake: Kay Smith, watercolour painter, Texas. (Google her and be captivated by the charming works and confident aura of this award-winning artist.) Inspired by her and this notion of transcendence, I won’t be changing the name my parents chose for me; instead, I will endeavour to raise it up by all that I achieve with it, or in spite of it. That is my life-long challenge. It’s just that (yes, sorry, another whine) a name is part of a first impression and can go a long way towards ensuring people take you seriously. A good, robust name kind of gives you a head start in the race. We expect worthwhile suggestions from Diana Meyer; we are already interested when we hear of a book by Monica Bryson; Lauren Crichton won the Achievement Award? That’s no surprise.

To some extent, names can create destiny: I must perpetually drag mine towards the dizzy heights of (so far quite elusive) success; but Adelyn Rai, you are already assured of easier, name-assisted progress in life. Your name has given you wings. May you soar towards what brings you joy, secure in the unbounded love of your people. As one of them, I promise I will always cheer you on.

Meanwhile, just once, when someone asks my name, I want to say it’s Iris Elba, or Eudaimonia Waterford-Crystal, and savour that rolling off my tongue. Just once. When that someone inevitably says, “Pardon?” I know I will mumble, in my Plain Jane way, “Kay Smith”.

What do you think about your name — do you love it or does it fall into the ‘PJNS’ category?

Do you have a story to share with Starts at 60? We want to publish it. Sign up as a contributor and submit your stories to Starts at 60. Stories written by over-60s go into the draw for some great weekly prizes. You can also join the Starts at 60 Bloggers Club on Facebook to talk to other writers in the Starts at 60 community and learn more about how to write for Starts at 60.