On names and identity: a birthday tribute
A short reflection on turning 44
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Yesterday I turned 44. To some, this is young. To others, it is old. Both are correct—it is both young and old. It is also neither young nor old.
Time is strange now that I’m in the thick of midlife. Last year I expected grand things, but it ended up an ordinary year of ups and downs and everything in between. Today I don’t carry high expectations. In fact, I’m content with the idea that today may well be another ordinary day. Except, it’s not. Each day holds some seed of possibility in it.
The question is, will I notice that invitation in the humdrum happenings of today?
I am hopeful but also heavily burdened. I can’t stand to see so much suffering. Everywhere. But it’s reality. So is joy. So is beauty. So is hope. All of it, every day.
When I was a little girl, I hated my name, because no one else my age shared it. Naturally, I was called “Meannie Jeannie” (even though I wasn’t mean) and “Jeannie Weinie.” Some of my friends in high school nicknamed me “Bean,” which was okay because it was cute, but still.
I was named after both of my grandmothers—Jean after my mom’s mom and Elisabeth after my dad’s mom. Not only did my parents want to honor their mothers, but it was important to them to preserve the memory of my maternal grandma who died at age 36. In my grandpa’s arms. When my mom was almost 12.
From what I know, my grandma Jean was sickly most of her life. Diagnosed around age 3 with Type I Diabetes, she was in and out of the hospital throughout my mom’s young life. And then she died one day at a young age, before my mother became a woman and quite possibly during those years when she needed a mom more than ever.
I didn’t like Jean, because it sounded too old-fashioned. Most of the girls in my generation were Stephanie or Tiffany or Jessica or Molly or Shannon or Lindsey. Those were fashionable names. Those were sophisticated names. I never once considered that Jean Harlow was a famous actress when my grandma was alive.
Eventually, I asked my parents about the meaning of my name. Jean means “God is gracious” or “God’s gracious gift.” I realized today that God’s gift to me is my life and everything I’ve gone through. My gift is living well, surrendering to love over and over, regardless of the moments I want to give up on its possibility or fulfillment.
To be gracious is to be kind, generous, tenderhearted. Other synonyms for gracious include:
forgiving—magnanimous toward a person who is in a position of powerlessness, or toward a perceived rival
clement—mild in character
compassionate—showing concern for others’ welfare and needs
lenient—tolerant, sparing someone judgment or condemnation
diplomatic—handling tricky situations between or among people in conflict with tact
civilized—respectful and well-mannered in social situations
decorous—polite and restrained in emotionally heated discussions
humane—demonstrating benevolence, understanding, and consideration of all people
forbearing—patient in times of turbulence and tension
merciful—offering relief in suffering
I ask myself how I can be these in small, simple, everyday ways. It’s not possible to be all of these all the time. I know that. But I am intrigued at these adjectives for “gracious,” and their meanings.
Don’t we live in an increasingly hostile and combative world? I wonder if more of us might exhale in relief if we encountered people who exhibited more graciousness. These social mores might be unusual, but I know that if I continue to respond to the moment I find myself in—today, just as I did yesterday—then turning 44 won’t feel extraordinary, but it will be impactful.
Because the ordinary, just like the extraordinary, is a gift.
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So many wishes for an extraordinarily ordinary birthday, Jeannie! Cheers to another year of living well. 💫
Hi Jeannie, happy birthday!
If I think about all the cruelty in the world, I feel horrid, and as an empath, unfortunately, I feel devastated with each horrific event. Like you, I want to appreciate the ordinary because that in and of itself is a gift.
When I was going through a cancer diagnosis and treatment, all I wanted was the ordinary. I had taken the ordinary for granted. Instead my life got exciting -- but not in a good way, of course. Once I was finished with treatment, I cherished the ordinary: a peanut butter and jelly sandwich that I could finally taste after chemotherapy, for example. Being in a meeting room at work made me happy.
It's amazing how are perspectives change, depending on our life events.