I made an appointment to have my hair cut over the weekend and when I arrived, I was told that their senior price doen’t apply on weekends.
They keep their appointment calendar in pencil, so my name was dutifully erased…
Watching my graphite name disappear reminded me of my own mortality. One day my living name will also be erased – and there will be no more Monday Musings.
On my way back to my car, looking at the clouds over Table Mountain, I stopped to chat with a security guard. I greeted him in one of the few isiXhosa phrases that I know, and his neutral face broke into a broad smile. His name is Mzikile He’s originally from Mthatha, but now lives in Cape Town, where he says everything is ‘number one”.
When we talked about his name, he told me he also has an ‘”English name”.
Morgan.
Why? Because some people struggle to pronounce “Mzikile”.
Now, I know that a rose by any other name would smell as sweet – but what does it do to someone’s dignity and sense of self when their given name is replaced, arbitrarily, with something mor “convenient” to other people?
And what about the names we give ourselves?
“I’m not good enough.”
“I am bad at delegating.”
“It has to perfect.”
“I just cannot …”
Could those labels be quietly spiraling us downward?
And what if we turned those thoughts around?
Have a number one week!
“You have power over your mind — not outside events. Realize this, and you will find strength.”
— Marcus Aurelius