My name means pearl. It means strong or capable. It’s like a flower. A soft lavender. It is generic, nothing too special. Like vanilla ice cream. Plain. It has a calming sense about it. Like the sound of the ocean.

Not a lot of thought went into my name. My parents were in disagreement, so my aunt picked the first thing that came to mind. No consideration of how many others are named Megan. Like I said, generic. 

I used to want a new name. Something less ordinary. I blended in. Since I have learned, it is not a name that gives character or personality. Megan is not my identity. It is just a word that I carry around for people to connect to my face. Something as simple as the name Megan does not hold me back from being bold or outgoing.

Common—but common can be good. Megan. Not too formal, but not simplistic. Meg. It has a different sound than Megan. Meg sounds like a fun and willing spirit. Reserved for my closest friends and family. The ones who see me at my true self. Meg is special to me. Meg is like the color yellow. Less ordinary. 

Now, I love my name. I wouldn’t know some of my closest friends without my name. My best friend. Also named Megan. I would not have met her if we hadn’t bonded over our name. 

Generic. Vanilla ice cream. That’s ok. Vanilla is delicious. The perfect opportunity to add elements. Sprinkles, hot fudge, chocolate chips. Life would be different without the name Megan.