At tourist destinations, I always found my name emblazoned on every pen, magnet, or circular rainbow button. Amy, how common.
But that's me, Amy. My name means beloved.
In my eyes, my friends' names held power like a personal fortune cookie for life.
Genevieve, white wave.
Melissa, honey bee.
My name's meaning, like my name itself, seemed generic, beloved. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yawn.
But then something happened. I guess it happens to all of us as we age. We start to get comfortable with who we are, and our skin doesn't feel as if it's something we want to shed, but something we want to embrace.
We stop longing to be others and start to own who we are.
Beloved feels good. It's right, like my favorite jeans. To be loved. Isn't that what we all strive for anyway?
Oh and PS: Melissa, your butt length, blonde hair was beautiful and your gymnastics skills awe inspiring, but you can go ahead and keep "honey bee".
What does your name mean? Do you feel as if it reflects who you are?: :
This post was inspired by the group of writers participating in Five Minute Friday. In this community, writers are given a prompt and asked to write for five minutes. No looking back, no edits, just clicking away on the keyboard. This week's prompt: beloved.
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