Do we have the right to change something as permanent as our name?

A reflection on what it means to change the unchangeable. 

I think so. I think we have the right — and dare I say responsibility — to change, accept or leave, what doesn’t work for us. 

What doesn’t work for us?

The things that feel like trespasses against our soul. 

Dramatic, I know. 

It could be simpler and less intangible in its explanation. 

Let’s say that soul is simply the core of you. 

The part of you that knows you probably shouldn’t have that next drink, should really go for the new job, and certainly wear a lot more glitter, because you look *amazing* in sparkly attire. 

There are so many unspoken“rules” to how life is supposed to run and it’s often when we assume, unknowingly, that one of these rules are unchangeable, that we feel the ping of eeeeeeeeeekkkkkk inside. 

It can feel like death. 

It can feel like screaming. 

It can feel like gas. 

In fact, it might be gas. Check what you ate before you read the rest of this post. 

Changing my name from Lauryn to Lalita was challenging, especially because I still feel that I’m both of these people. So how do I choose? I love the name I no longer stand as and am still growing into this new one that feels fresh, unsure and impermanent, like that of a new boyfriend you’re trying on for size and hope that he fits. 

We can change things as permanent feeling as our names, the cardinal rules of our lives that seem like staples of our very existence. 

Our address. 

Our relationship status. 

Our sex partners. 

Our pronouns. 

Our vocation.

Nothing is so permanent as life and everything is up for grabs. 

Meaning, you can change your name, your hair and anything else you wish. Try it all on for size and leave what doesn’t suit you. 

Sometimes our stirrings for change are out of restlessness. 

Restlessness as we run away from something in our system that’s signaling for our attention. 

Other times, our stirrings are horizon bound. In the pursuit of the dream, the inspiration. Expansion.

And in between, there’s something, too. I’m curious, always, it seems with the in between. 

And in the space that spans both, a mix of fumbling forward that’s part escape and part desirous expansion. 

The nectar beyond the running or striving, which are really opposite sides of the same coin. 

Does it even matter? The reason for our pursuits? 

Go deeper. 

Lean into the desire. 

Change your name if so you please. 

And realize that nothing is so permanent that it cannot be challenged, reinvented, or reimagined. 

Ever.