|"Grande latté for Uby?"|
I looked around the crowded Starbuck's. A line of suits jostled for their morning dose of caffeine like siblings fighting over a Christmas present 'to share'. But no one was responding to this coffee order.
"Uby? Latté for Uby?" repeated the barista, looking around for a hint of recognition in the queue.
"Do you mean Libby?"
When the barista at Starbuck's asks for my name to write on my coffee cup I am always tempted to give a joke answer like 'Beauty' or 'Awesome' just to hear them call it out. I had used my real name, but that morning I was given both a coffee and a name change.
The reality is it wouldn't be the first time that my name has been under dispute. My birth certificate says Elisabeth, but I have been Libby for as long as I can remember, or more accurately for as long as I stopped responding to Elisabeth. My passport may disagree, but I am not an Elisabeth. I am Libby, and my name has come to be an important part of who I am.
But it makes me wonder: in a world where a coffee giant wants to know our names, how well do we really know ourselves?
This is me:
My name is Elisabeth Ann Page, but I am Libby.
I love colour (and think it is underrated in our wardrobes).
I love rabbits and novelty knitwear (and clothes that make me smile).
I love food (and the role food plays in our relationships and lives).
I love working (when I love my work).
I love pink (but I'm not a Barbie-bimbo).
I smile (and believe you can get where you want without changing who you are).
I write (because I love it and because it is 'like thinking on paper').
I love love (but despite the romantic inside me there is also someone realistic).
I love clothes (and think they make an important statement about who you are).
I love cake, and I love to bake (but I can still be a strong and independent woman with my apron on).
And I love drinking strong black coffee in independent coffee shops, but sometimes I buy a milky latté from Starbuck's. No one is just one thing, but I guess that's what makes us who we are.