Pleasure Notes

By Any Other Name

What’s in a name? Do you think you would be a different person if you had a different name? Have you ever thought of changing yours? I know I’ve thought about it many times. In fact, I’ve even acted on the impulse.

Yes, ladies and gents, I have changed my name, more than once. My boss recommended I use a different name at work, because future employers might act wonky if they knew I’d once punched the clock at a dildo factory, so I have. When I started college, I attempted to make people call me by my middle name, but it never caught on. I even tried out numerous alter egos while pursuing an acting career, going so far as to practice various signatures in case my “real name” was already taken by some other ingenue in SAG; I eventually went with my given name when I joined the union – due to indecision rather than conviction.

So it should come as no surprise to you that when I started this blog, I created a new name for myself. It wasn’t far from my given name – everyone calls me Em. You see, I was unsure about how much of myself I would end up revealing in this blog, what subjects I would eventually want to discuss and how many secrets I might reveal. I did not want to censor myself for fear of upsetting someone I love or have my personal opinions affect my career – the one that doesn’t involve the dildo factory.

Recently, however, my cyber identity and my “real” one collided, and my anonymity was accidentally broken. Luckily, people before me, like the amazing Lemmonex, have been in similar circumstances and shared their experiences. I know I am faced with a choice, either to put a great deal of effort into keeping my two lives separate or to trust that a name does not define me.

While I am not going to now shout the name and social security number that are on my birth certificate to the roof tops, I’ve discovered that I don’t care anymore if someone puts two and two together. I have grown to really love the name Emma James, and how I express myself while identifying so. When someone refers to me as Emily, however, I’m not going to pretend they’re actually just discussing that Dickinson chic. For whatever reason, Emma does provide me greater freedom, or at least I perceive myself as more free – to be me. Strange, perhaps, but perception is everything.

How do you think people perceive you, based on your name? Do you think you fit your name? If not, what name would you choose, to express who you are?

December is one of those months in which the frequency of my trips taken to or from an airport tends to rival that of my trips to the bathroom.  Unless I have the stomach flu.  Then the bathroom wins out.  (And no, I do not have a bladder problem, thank you.)

This realization about how much time I’m spending in airports has me reflecting on the pleasures of airport anonymity…

Many people, when forced to envision airports, can only think of long security lines or lost luggage or over-priced Starbucks (how’s that for redundancy).  I’d like to offer a different perspective.

Airports highlight one of mankind’s greatest skills, and I’m not talking about the ability to create cool architecture like the Langenheim Theme Building at LAX or the Sky Plaza at Chek Lap Kok.  No.  I’m talking about the skill of reinvention.  Stick with me…

LAX

There is a great equalizing phenomenon that occurs in airports.  Even those who are traveling first class, and race to the Admiral’s Lounge or whatever as fast as their Louboutins can take them, must still walk the terminal corridors like the rest of us.  And it is in these corridors that reinvention is possible.  In fact, anything can happen.

As just one of millions of travelers, you are automatically cloaked in anonymity.  You can be James Bond, or Jane Bond, or a Bond Girl, or even “M” if you’re in the Medicare demographic.

Fantasy Material

As you sit in the airport bar closest to your gate and listen for announcements justifying your delayed flight, you are whomever you want to be.  Come up with a fabulous backstory and try it on the man two stools over.  See how fast he slips off his wedding ring or starts to expound upon his luck at getting out of hedge funds with his billions intact.  You soon realize that you are not alone in your anonymity, you are not alone in your fantasy, you are not alone in your need to escape.

Indeed, escaping is what airports are all about.