So where did this new name come from? Over the past year, as Carl and I have worked out our dissolution agreement, I would from time to time think about changing my last name. When I got married, it took a year or so before I got around to hyphenating. So, I figured when it came to getting divorced, there was no need to hurry. I was pretty sure I would change my last name... eventually, at my usual snail-like pace. However, this past May, I was reserving a facility at the Lake Metroparks for an event with my entrepreneurs group, and I noticed that the woman I had been corresponding with had a different last name in her email vs her voicemail. I asked her about it, and she explained that she was recently divorced. I told her that I was also in the process of ending my marriage. She told me that if you change your name at the time the divorce is finalized, it's $300 cheaper and a lot less complicated. Apparently $300 is all the motivation I needed to decide that I would, indeed, have a new name by the time Carl and I finalized our arrangement. At that point, I thought that we were really close to having everything done, so I felt a real sense of urgency about it. (Who knew it would take till September to get everything organized?)
So how to find a new name? I could use some sort of divination or numerological process. I could crowd source it. Or I could ask my friends and my family, which is primarily what I did. I asked just about everyone I encountered. My friend March suggested "Friday", which I liked, but wasn't quite ready to adopt. On the drive back from a visit to DC in May, my daughters and I brainstormed on names. Most of the ideas were nature-related... somehow associated with moss, ferns and water. The girls seemed a little uncomfortable with the idea of me changing my name, but they were going along with it. Charlotte recorded the names we liked on a piece of paper. But bottom line, nothing was "sticking"
As the weeks passed, and I explored this question, I realized a few things about names. While a name may be somewhat arbitrary, it is a vehicle, a container, for assembling one's identity. And this identity is in large part determined by the agreements we have with other people. We agree to call each other by the names we have been given or the names we have chosen. Names are a collaboration, generally... they start with what we are given, but then we make a choice about how to use them from there. Like what nickname we want to be called by, how we refer to ourselves, and, very importantly, how we introduce ourselves. Whenever we introduce ourselves to another person, that's the moment at which we "create" our identity in that relationship.
The names we are given (as women) are generally, in our culture, determined by our parents and either our fathers or our husbands. As I visualized the process of changing my name, especially to one that I was going to choose for myself, I realized that this would be quite the radical act. It represents a step away from tradition, and a step towards choosing and creating my own identity. I also realized that it would require a lot of conversations. I would essentially need to reintroduce myself to everyone I knew. And tell them *why* the name change.
In my minds eye, I view my life like an intricate web. All the relationships in my life are the filaments that form me, influence me, and feed me. And so by slightly altering each agreement I have with each person in my life, about what everyone "calls" me, this requires an absolutely thorough attention to every filament of my life. What a fascinating opportunity to intentionally step into the next version of myself.
But in order to do that, I needed a new name. And not just any name. It had to be one that I felt good about, that had some character, that had some meaning.
One Friday night this summer, I had made plans with a friend and she cancelled sorta last minute. Without much hesitation, I gathered up a manila folder labeled "Ancestor Research" and headed over to my Dad's house to flip through the family bible, which has names recorded in it going back to the 1800s. Once I arrived, I explained to him that I was on a quest for my new last name, I plopped down in a recliner, near his omnipresent bag of jelly candies, and started to let the names wash over me. The names in the bible were all pretty boring... Harding, Long, Trombly. I was even considering using first names as a last name: Irene, Ralph, Ellen. But nothing struck me. So I opened up the "Ancestor Research" folder, which contained notes from conversations with my maternal grandmother about my Mom's side of the family, the Gagnons, primarily. It also contained some questions and answers from a family tree project that I had done in 8th grade. As I began flipping through these papers, I realized that I was pretty clear about what I was looking for. I was looking for a family name that I LIKED. I was hopeful that I would read a name, somewhere in those old papers, that seemed shiny and resonant, and that spoke to me.
As I unfolded pieces of paper and deciphered notes, my Dad was having me watch various magic shows that he had recorded on his DVR, primarily Ricky Carbonaro (magician by trade, prankster at heart). We watched him freaking people out with perception-bending experiences in office and retail environments.
It was fun to read through all the French Canadian names from my Mom's side: Menard, Duguay, Bouchard. These names had the French panache, but I didn't like the sounds of any of them. So I kept looking. As I got deeper into the folder, my sense of hope that I would "find" anything I liked started to be mixed with a sense of desperation. If I didn't find anything tonight, when would I find a name? And would I even know it when I saw it? The lawyer had been asking me for weeks at this point for what my new name was going to be so that he could fill it into the paperwork.
Then, one of the things I read through was an interview that I had done with my maternal grandfather (Gerard Gagnon) in 8th grade. It was written out in my grandmother's hand... we had done an interview by mail, I guess. My grandfather never learned to speak or read or write English, so my grandmother took on the role of his scribe. One of the questions that the assignment had specified was that I ask my grandparents if their family's name had changed when they came to this country. The Gagnons came to Canada in the 1600s; they were one of Canada's "founding families". Specifically, Lucien the Patriot was the originating French Canadian in our lineage. And my grandfather had responded that yes, the family name had changed. It used to be "Gagnon dit Belzile".
So yeah, I read that name, and I just knew. There it was. Belzile. I loved it.
I told my Dad that I really liked the name Belzile. He nodded, and said "OK" in his usual non-judgmental way. That was it. We went back to watching magic shows and I left a little while later, with a little more peace in my heart than when I had arrived.
A week or two later, I found out, indirectly, from my Mom, that he was actually a little bit upset about me changing my name and losing the "Wilson". So I asked him if he would feel better if I kept Wilson as my middle name. "Yeah," he said. "OK, that's what I will do, then," I replied. [full stop]
I ran it by my girls (via text, I think, because how else do you communicate with teenagers?) and of course my Mom, and got their stamp of approval, and the decision was made. Then I just had to sit on this for a few months, while I figured out how to announce it. And, in the process of that sitting, the idea for the party was born.
What does it mean? I don't know. I haven't made much of an effort to find out. Because.... why? I like it. I don't need to know what it means. But if I had to guess or fabricate something, "bel" is probably related to beauty and "zile" is probably related to either island (isle) or passion/emotion (zeal).... all of which sound good to me. Beautiful passion? I'm in!
So there you have it, people!
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