What’s in a name?

"What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell just as sweet."
(William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, Act II, Scene II)

Amusing story from the honeymoon – We were checking into the hotel in Toronto, having been married less than 6 hours at this point. Michael was standing at the desk, filling out the registration information when he turned to me and said, "Who are you anyway?"

The clerk flinched but like all front desk staff around the world, you needed to be at just the right angle to catch it. I started to laugh and Michael clued into his unintended joke. He laughed and slightly sheepishly, told the clerk we'd just been married and well, what name…

We had never discussed it before the wedding and in my mind, I always thought it would automatic for me to assume my husband's surname upon marriage. In fact, if Michael had written down "Mr. & Mrs. Michael Smith", it would have been a done deal. But he didn't assume and turned to ask, and in that moment, I hesitated and I realized I was unsure of the answer.

"I don't know" was my answer and the question was fodder for many conversations over the next week. I'm very ambivalent over it right now. I bounce back and forth. I'm an only child which means my father has no sons to carry forth his name into the next generation. There's part of me that hates the idea of it dying out here but truly, that is the nature of life.

The other part of me loves the idea of 40 years from now, Michael and I being "The Smiths over on Walnut St". I like the idea of the unity and the tradition of it all.

I asked Michael about his preferences. He thought about it a bit, "My first wife took my name when we got married. It didn't help one bit." He's firmly in Bill Shakespeare's camp on the matter. He doesn't care if I answer to Smith or Jones, just so long as I continue to answer to him and him alone.

There's another point, although rather minor in the scheme of things. I have a very common surname. I rarely need to spell it out to someone. Michael, on the other hand, descends from Danish immigrants to Canada. His surname has unusual phonetic combinations and he's always spelling it out, and the listener still runs a 50% chance of getting it wrong. At one point, when he was charging something to our room at the resort, and had spelled his name out three times for the staff member, he turned to me and said in mock exasperation, "Screw it. I'm changing MY name to yours."

I've given myself to the end of the week to decide what I'm doing with it. Is the symbolic gesture worth all the time and paperwork it'll take to change my official profile in the world? Does it mean anything to anyone really? After all, whether the surname is Scottish or Danish, I'll still be a ~~doll~~.